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thatdeadaquarius · 10 months

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Genshin Impact Sagau/Isekai:

You still have acces to characters! ...by possessing them. 👻

PART 2 (you're here!) / Part 1

All art by me! :] leave me a iced coffee?? :0

HEY!! REALLY QUICK PLEASE READ!

STOP tagging my posts as "Yandere Sagau", "Sagau Cult AU", "Sagau Imposter AU" or other related dark content tags.

I'm sick of seeing reblogs that tag my work as dark content, when I'm specifically trying to LIGHTEN UP THE SAGAU TAG 😭😭??

Please be more respectful of this. Actually read the work before you just tag it incorrectly. Tags do matter.

/nm /gen

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them)

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: Headcanons, Scenarios

Stars: Tighnari ft. Cyno, Alhaitham, Collei

Comets & Meteors:

Content Warnings: Mild violence (bandit attacks/non-graphic), Reader/you possess people non-consent (mild/consent given eventually)

& Trigger Warnings: Reader/"you" possess people non-consenually for short times, but given consent eventually.

(pls comment if any more!)

Edit 9/7/23: 1,000+ NOTES?? WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY- THANK YOU???

Edit 12/24/23 + 4/5/24:

☆

My goofy ass forgot to put this here .-.

Anyway this is a full length fanfic now ;)

…mistakes were made.

bad decisions were had, and okay, mayyybbbeee you could’ve taken more precautions against people finding out you were “real”.

afterall, you did see the Eremites reaction, even if it was only two guys (one from each camp) that you possessed :/

word spreads quickly amongst the Eremites groups, you guess, bc next thing you knew, after you’d moved closer to floating around Gandharva Ville,

they’d called that entire bit of forest haunted.

BUT IN YOUR DEFENSE-!! how were you supposed to know they’d blab to the whole camp they didn’t remember the past 20 minutes after you unpossessed them?? and immediately be on guard and jump to possession?? (Irminsul works hard but eremites/sumeru people work harder u guess)

And by the time you were happily patrolling with Collei, the forest rangers were just so chill you didn’t really expect anybody would think a ghost was possessing them (or whatever you were now… maybe,, just code?? it’s unclear)

so when u start to see Tighnari squint at people who’ve technically just “woken up” after you possessed them, mumbling under his breath more and more as a file he carries around gets thicker and thicker-

you start to think,,, maybe.

okay, mayyybbbeee,

you’ve fucked up.

◇

You really can’t help it, first it was making sure Collei got back safely from patrols (she’s ur skrunkly okay, you can’t help it, you’re still aware she’s capable but- the urge to skrunkle overpowers you- )

but then-!! You managed to spot Cyno! :D its ur boy!! ur little meow meow, who can throw people over his shoulder!! He really doesn’t need you, hovering around, but eh ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

what could it hurt! …it’s not like he can see, hear, or feel you anyway…

(unless u possess some animal/machine he thinks is friendly, which. sumeru is not exactly known for cuddly creatures. you don’t feel like experiencing death when possessing stuff just yet-)

imagine ur panic and shock as the General Mahamatra takes on a camp of criminals on the run, only for one of the old ruin machines (the ones that are just LEG and DEATH)

to hear the ruckus and come stomping around a thick patch of trees, it launched missiles!! You can’t warn Cyno, he can’t hear you!! No one can!!! The criminals are unconscious, there’s no other wildlife nearby they all ran off!!! FUCK-

You look at him and try to imagine his perspective as vividly as you can, he’s looking over the criminals, but now he’s turning, so people passed out and the tree-line got it-

Congratulations! You’ve possessed Cyno. 💀

It completely disorients you for a second, but then the panic of dodging the missiles comes back in time for you to make his body dive and roll off to the side, for as long as you can manage a roll too since you remember that’s the best way to dodge missiles in the game

…which works really well! bc he’s so fit and agile tbh

It was weird to finally run again after so long (two months now in teyvat?? wow)

with your feet suddenly in sandals, and feeling the breeze chilling your bare chest (Cyno’s chest??)

yeah its a shock considering most of the ppl you’ve possessed lately have been fully clothed rangers lol

you quickly imagine your ghostly form again, and just like that you’re drifting out of Cyno in ur “ghosty” form, having floated out and away from his back

Poor guy looks so fucking confused, and immediately is wielding his spear again, and is about to get out the crouch you put him in behind the dilapidated stone wall (dammit he better not waste ur efforts to keep him alive-)

until missiles slam and explode against it, he ducks back down (thank fuck) and Cyno just looks around one last time before hopping the wall and running to fight the thing

you notice that when the electro user goes to use his powers, they seem stronger than they were in his fight with the goons??

Maybe he was just going easier on them, since they are only human?

…so why does even Cyno look surprised when he goes to make a simple swipe with his charged spear and a bolt of lightning cracks out from his spear instead…?

…weird.

◇

Tighnari knows you’re here.

You figure he must have collected the reports of people “blacking out” or “sleep-walking” or whatever else and begun to suspect the worst.

…to be honest, you’re not sure what to do.

on one hand, it would be great to have someone know you actually exist, as yourself,

but on the other…

What would Tighnari think?

Of you possessing his rangers?? Temporarily taking ownership of someone without permission??? You’re afraid he’d think the worst of you…

tho u didn’t do so often, as u realized how messed up this could be, and u never did more than make them walk or talk normally for a few minutes before leaving them alone!

… afterall, you missed interacting with people. You were honestly a little worried abt going crazy, which is the only reason u were desperate enough to possess human people in the first place and continue doing so, just to talk to someone and have them look you in the face again like you really did exist as a person here-

(u thought u remember reading somewhere back on Earth that someone can only last 3 days of no other human contact until they start to lose it? but even if that’s not true, at the very least, u dont think talking one-sidedly to yourself all the time is healthy…)

so when Tighnari seems to get that file you’ve seen him adding onto, and gather up supplies, mentioning a day trip to Collei and the others to Sumeru City for some

“further research into these ‘blackouts’, and also contacting some of my colleagues who might know something…”

there’s no way you’re not going with him.

you feel increasingly anxious all day, and at one point when you were sure Tighnari was walled-in by books at the House of Daena, decide to go blow off the anxious energy by possessing an animal to get some food!

…you’re not really feeling comfortable enough to possess a living being into eating yet, that seems hella nonconsensual, and u kinda would be taking the joy of the meal from them tbh-

so u possess a cat!

a ginger cat, bc u like to think if u do anything weird, that ppl in Teyvat have the same type of cats back on Earth and excuse it as just:

“unhinged ginger cats being unhinged ginger cats yep makes sense” lol

you’d managed to be really cute (and wasn’t that weird, having to mimic animal behaviors like rubbing ur side against a person’s legs..)

and convince one of the cooks of Lambad’s Tavern to give u some leftovers, and been about to go off to try out sunbathing before the chore boy, little shit he is, tried to chase you off with a broom!! >:( the audacity!! you clearly have a little plate and everything!!

luckily, you’d finished eating, but still! Ouch!! those bristles fucking hurt-!!!

…you look and see a Sumeru-ified version of a skateboard, and u just know ur little cat face is just ✨v✨

and u steal the little shit’s skateboard as revenge! HAHA thats what you get animal abuser!!!

The kid’s yelling at you as you speedily skate away with ur little cat paws (LMAOO), but the cooks are calling him back in so he can’t pursue, (oh good u hear them get onto him for chasing u off)

and as u slow down to coast along the Sumeru streets,

you feel someone’s eyes staring you down.

You assume it’s just people being amused at a cat skateboarding, obv

but when you look just ahead of you to see a smiling Sumeru citizen or eremite-

Oh. It’s Alhaitham.

and he’s just… watching you.

he’s stopped reading whatever he’s got in his hand, and is slowlyyyy turning his head as you pass by…

You decide to just keep skating away. LMAO

◇

it’s already sunset by the you’re accompanying Tighnari back from Sumeru City, floating along behind him

and you’d been expecting a calm walk back, tbh you’d been feeling a little better bc the ranger hadn’t found much to identify you, yet, luckily-

but bc u can never catch a break:

Tighnari didn’t see the bandits dropping from the goddamn trees BEHIND HIM- and they had like claymores out- those were definitely gonna be killing blows-!!

so yeah.

You possessed Tighnari.

turns out ur pretty good at dodging bc this is second time now you’ve helped dive away for someone in an ambush, ur kinda proud of urself tbh💀

and as you make him take a few leaps back, ur ears twitch in the wind as you duck behind a tree, then float away and out of his body

The poor hybrid ranger visibly sways, then shakes his head out of it, and he flicks his ears in different directions, squinting into the woods, he’s pulled out his bow, so you’re at least reassured he’s aware there are enemies

Like Cyno last week, he too gives up and rolls for the next tree for cover and begins to shoot and take down the bandits

the rest of the week is kinda a blur after that, bc it’s mostly filled with Tighnari running in circles around the camp checking for blackouts, writing letters to Alhaitham and Cyno apparently, and you not possessing anybody out of paranoia :/

Most notably however,

you’ve unfortunately discovered one of the few drawbacks of ur possessions

(y’know, besides not existing essentially, what with no one being able to sense u outside of possessions)

apparently, if someone walks thru you, they accidentally force you to possess them 💀??

while it’d already happened once with a random ranger that you didnt notice was walking up behind you,

you didn’t want to test it again just yet bc it kinda made YOU nauseous and incredibly dizzy when this happened

(as in, u stumbled like a drunk after this poor ranger woman ran thru u, until you were so dizzy and the world spun sm u had to make her sit on the literal ground, luckily she just thought she was just really dehydrated when she came back into herself 😭)

so obviously, you’ve avoided crowds to keep this forced possession thingy from happening all the time

like at the Forest Rangers meetings or something, ur watching off to the side, instead of standing with them or beside them

so needless to say, after about a week and half since possessing Tighnari,

you definitely did not mean to possess Collei.

She’d been in her wheelchair today, the Eleazar flaring up and tiring her body out

so her wheels had been entirely silent when she rolled up to where you and Tighnari were leaning over some strange experiments of his- you were just trying to figure out what all these mirrors were for, didn’t he do plants more-?

you didn’t even know what the hell happened, you just felt that familiar dropping sensation, like a small drop on a rollarcoaster, blinked, and then suddenly you were sitting instead of standing/floating???

Oh god-

before you could even begin to process that Tighnari was in front of you instead of beside you, the world was shorter,

The fox-eared ranger yelled in triumph, grinning with sharp fangs and spinning around to look at you (Collei)-

“Ah-ha! It worked! Finally, I saw you! I saw you, I-?? Oh gods, Collei, NO-!”

And with quick reflexes, Tighnari’s summoned his bow, but he’s clearly confused on what to do about this situation, taking aim, but also holding the air glowing with dendro not as taunt as you’d seen him in the battle with the bandits

You scramble to raise your hands up, brown poofy sleeves rise to your command, light green hair you can feel on your shoulders, everything is familiar, but not-

“WAIT! I’m sorry!! This was an accident, I promise! I don’t intend to hurt Collei, or you!! Please, just, don’t shoot me, I think you’ll just hurt Collei instead…”

You talk him down and decide, that if he’s put this much effort into finding out about your existence, is an incredible leader and friend to everyone around him, and was able to accept the traveler and many other strange things that’ve (probably? maybe?) already happened in Sumeru (god fuck u dont even know where in the timeline you are)

that you can probably trust Tighnari with your existence, and your powers.

…He nearly passes out.

◇

Life has gotten a lot funnier, and happier, since you told Tighnari (and some of the more trustworthy rangers and Collei by proxy) about ur existence (or really, confirmed it)

He’d been wary at first, appropiately cautious and demanding answers, of which you were happy to give and explain yourself

luckily, after a whole lot of “hmm, I see, no, I think I’m understanding-” , finger on his chin and everything

he’s said it’s okay to hang around the rangers, so long as you don’t possess anyone anymore without them knowing about you/with permission (outside of emergency situations that is)

tho he did seem surprisingly understanding and accepting of you doing it before after you explained how u were just unbelievably lonely and were lowkey paranoid of going crazy-

The rangers seem to believe you’re some kind of god/spirit thing, as you had no explanation yourself as to what you were ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

Tighnari’s also given you the rule to help out around here if you’re going to “ghost-laze around”, as he puts it lol

you’ve redirected ruin machines/feral animals away from rangers many times by now, to the many thanks and gratefulness of the rangers

you’ve even managed to even figure out how to push Collei’s wheelchair around when she uses it!

mostly by possessing tree after tree and using vines, or occasionally a fungi that can fly so you can nudge her along

she has insisted that you possess a ruin guard and carry her just to try it… however, Tighnari overheard her talking to the forest rangers’ dog (you) and immediately knew shit was up and banned you from doing it (at least not yet)

While most rangers are okay with you possessing them for a few minutes (and they’ve developed this bandana wrapped around their upper arms policy of “red = no possess, green = go ahead”)

Collei is the most okay with it and for longer, so you “won’t be that lonely ever again!” :’)

Tighnari is busy with stuff, so you can’t possess him as often, but the ranger has developed a theory that the more you possess someone, the more they can sense your feelings during possession/while floating around in ghost form too,

so he’ll occasionally feel you in the room with him, and start talking out loud in some one-sided convo to make you feel more included to make up for not being able to interact with him sometimes :)

(after taking you off his list of worries he’s still pretty swamped, not that he’ll tell you that, as he’s still not quite sure why he’s so, warm and safe feeling when you’re around, so willing to trust you so naturally, that it makes him want to at leats pretend to be worried abt a possessing ghost god/thing hanging out with the rangers now)

◇

basically everything is great!

the rangers are okay with you, they got a system to interact with you consensually, Tighnari and Collei are fond of you, you get to finally have something to do instead of floating around all the time (joining ranger missions)

and look!! they’ve even been kind enough to build you a little shrine or altar of sorts! Notes about Sumeru life, recipes for you to try, occasionally some books for you to read, and even some snacks/desserts for you to try out the next time someone possesses you and gives consent! (you leave them a little note stuck on their hand with your question for specific actions like that, if there isn’t another ranger there to ask for you when you unpossess them)

and everything is so cool, and everyone is so sweet and accepting

…Until Alhaitham shows up in Gandharva Ville, knocking on Tighnari’s door.

☆

AHHHH idk if this is any good! sorry it took so long, it was mostly the art 😭😭

anyway its not the best (the writing or the art) but i hope it’s at least some content to look at and be entertained for a minute!

also figured it was a good day to post what with the attack on our beloved Ao3 (tho i think it’s back up now?)

anyway, feel free to leave critiques on this one! (which I’ll probably turn this into a real fic one day soon, but not sure what to do with the plot/do a diff setup than this or what)

☆

sorry abt the radio silence! I just needed to close my mailbox bc i had a lot of stuff to answer, ur welcome to send submissions to chat/non-requests!

and also this took time to make (once again, mostly the art, bc thats how it always is with art isnt it 😭)

☆

Safe Travels Stranger,

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @justlostintheinternet / @assassinsnake101 /@sun-wokung

If ur tag is here and didnt work, idk why!

Maybe see if your listed as a "searchable blog"?

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catopoliscat · 2 months

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absence / suguru geto/fem!reader

suguru's been working away for a few days. time apart always made your boyfriend a little insatiable. sometimes he couldn't even wait for you to wake up before he had a taste.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. (consensual) somnophilia. established relationship. canon!verse but slight au!suguru (not a cult leader/normal sorcerer). cunnilingus. fingering. one pet name, ‘my sweet thing’. spitting. suguru knows how to EAT. he’s also very, very into it if you catch my drift. porn without plot, really. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever.

wc: 1.9k.

a/n: is this a drabble? how small is a fucking drabble idk - but a lil smth small while i work on a lil smth fatter ehe

mdni.

It’s the throbbing between your legs that eventually wakes you up.

Your head is thick, still dusted and clouded with the heavy remnants of your disturbed dreams. There’s a cool breeze against your skin, and you vaguely become aware of the lack of covers on top of you… and yet your skin feels hot, prickly. You palm at the sheets, go to roll from your back onto your side but a firm grip against your thighs keeps you planted. The feeling of restriction rouses you more, your eyelids fluttering, squinting against the darkness of your bedroom—

—and the long, hot slide of something wet against your clit has you snapping awake.

Your eyes blink open as a breathless sound leaves your lips. Your hips buck up involuntarily against the unknown source of pleasure, a hot flush blooming across your skin. You go to rise up on your elbows, only to fall back again a breath later as you feel a strong suction against your swollen bud.

A soft moan falls out of you, the sound snapping through the silence of your bedroom, filtering with the lewd wet sound coming from between your thighs.

Looking down, you’re greeted by the mess of ink-black hair spilling over your lower stomach, untied and untamed, tickling your skin with every movement. You can make out a single ear and black gauge amidst the dishevelled locks, the soft moonlight catching on its obsidian surface.

Even if you couldn’t see, you could tell it was Suguru by the sounds of his deep groans alone.

“F-fuck, Suguru,” you gasp as those tight lips clench harder around your clit. “Couldn’t… ah, couldn’t wait until the damn morning?”

Something like a grunt and a moan is all you get in reply. Your hips go to roll again, but an arm is winding around your thigh—and a large hand presses down on your lower stomach to keep you still. Those sinful lips pop off of your clit with a wet smack.

“Missed you,” you hear Suguru murmur, the words muffled against your hot flesh before he gives one long lick from your entrance upward. He moans as if the taste is all he needs to sustain him. “Missed this.”

You bite your bottom lip, teeth dragging against the skin as your arm snakes down your body. Your fingers wind into those untamed locks, gripping the strands tightly at the root–and a rumbling moan vibrates against your hot, sensitive flesh in response. Suguru was always weak for having his hair pulled.

You rise up on one elbow. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your grip almost severe, but Suguru only groans again, his wet tongue sliding against your pussy messily. His head tilts up a little, two dark eyes looking up at you from underneath his lashes and the hair spilling across some of his face. Your own arousal glints against his lips and tongue, even his nose. A light flush blooms across his cheeks. He looks almost drunk.

He pushes against your grip easily, face diving back down an inch between your thighs. His tongue circles the slick rim of your entrance once again before sliding inside, a wet slurping sound filling the air—drinking from you like a man parched. A sharp nose bumps against your clit and you clench around his tongue tightly.

“A-ah,” you roll your hips toward his mouth, feeling his tongue probe deeper, and Suguru makes no move to stop you this time. Instead, his large palm slides up across your stomach, dipping under your shirt to grab greedily at your breast. “You’ve r-really missed me, huh?”

“You have no fucking idea,” he breathes out between thrusts of his tongue, voice muffled by your slick heat. Suguru wasn’t one for cursing often, but when he did, it never failed to make you clench, that coil in your gut winding a little tighter. “Couldn’t stop thinking about this.”

Suguru pulls back his tongue, purses his lips, and a trickle of spit falls against your pussy, wetting you further. He smears it with his tongue, his grip on your breast tightening. His ministrations are sloppy, a mixture of his saliva and your own arousal coating his lower face, strands of his untied hair, your thighs and ass.

“So fucking messy,” he groans, pinching at your nipple harshly almost as if you were to blame for all this.

Suguru was typically methodical and precise when it came to your pleasure… that was until distance separated you. Then he became like this–wanting, hungry, filthy. Almost insatiable.

Typically, however, he had the patience and restraint to wait until morning. It seems tonight he had been in a rush—not even bothering to remove take off his own clothes or even your underwear fully, instead tugging them hastily to the side. They were damp too, you could feel it, and you wondered how long he had busied himself licking against the fabric until his impatience had pushed him forward.

Your moans rise in both pitch and volume as he busies his tongue against your clit again, stimulating it in sure, quick circles with the tip. He lets the drool fall freely from his mouth until you feel it drip down between your cheeks to soak the bedsheets below you. You continue to tug and pull at his scalp, your hips twitching and your breathing growing increasingly ragged.

Suguru can tell you’re growing close—he knows your body well enough by now to recognise the signs. Laboured breathing, moans turning to pitchy gasps, the grip on his hair that’s almost painful. He doesn’t waste any time in sliding two thick fingers inside you, the passage barely felt with how slick you are. The pads of his digits pressing against the soft part inside your walls that has your hips nearly flying off the bed; not thrusting, simply curling. Insistently.

A guttural sound leaves Suguru’s lips in response, something like a growl.

“Fuck!” You gasp, the combination of his tongue on your clit and his fingers massaging your spot sending you dizzy. Your lips are dry, parched, as you pant into the cool air. “I’m gonna’ fucking cum-“

Suguru’s fingers rub more firmly against your spot and that coil in your gut is winding so tight you fear you’ll ache in the morning. You know you’re going to crash. Hard.

“Come on, come on,” Suguru is chanting against your pussy in breathless gasps. “Give it to me, my sweet thing, goddamn, give it—“

You glance down between eyelids that seem determined to clamp shut. You see Suguru’s face buried against you, hear the wet squelch of his fingers massaging you from the inside and you’re so close, so fucking close—

Then you see the movements of Suguru’s hips; small twitches and slow grinds as he ruts his clothed cock against the mattress—the thought that he’s as aroused by this as you are, as he always is when he brings you pleasure like this—sends you careening over the edge.

Your back bows, a harsh cry leaving your lips as your pussy clenches tight around his fingers. Eyes scrunched tight, you’re throbbing, crying out his name you think, but it’s hard to tell. Suguru’s groaning against you, whispered curses and praises falling from his lips like a symphony.

The pleasure is blinding, seemingly infinite—Suguru’s tongue and fingers working you even now, pushing you further and further until you can’t take it anymore. When it gets too much, even for you, you tug his lips away from your oversensitive core by his hair. He removes his fingers of his own accord, a slick sound accompanying the movement.

Your eyes are hazy, clouded, as you look at him, your breaths coming shallow and stilted. His face is soaked with you, his shining lips still parted, his tongue darting out to collect every drop as he stares back. The flush across his cheeks has darkened, and his breathing is shallow, too shallow—you recognise that look, it’s when—

A breathless laugh falls past Suguru’s lips. He seems sated, yet drained. With a breath, he pulls his hand from your shirt and rises up onto his knees, his movements languid and sluggish. As he sits back on his haunches, his knees slightly spread, you get a clear view of the swell in his pants—and the large dark spot blooming around it.

He had cum. Without touching himself.

Suguru’s lips tug to one side as he looks down at you spread out before him. He doesn’t seem sheepish or embarrassed, only vaguely surprised, yet satisfied. His hair is a mess, strands clinging to his damp face and neck. His hand drifts down to his clothed, softening cock, giving it a small squeeze. It twitches in his grasp, and a small ‘hah’ leaves his mouth as his hips twitch.

“Fuck,” he exhales as his eyelids flutter shut. “You made me cum.” He opens his eyes after a moment, letting his hand fall back to his thigh with a small sigh. “Couldn’t hold back. Not when you sounded like that.”

You chuckle weakly as your heart calms down in your chest, feeling exhausted in the best possible way. “Not like you to lose control,” you murmur, a lazy smile on your face.

“No?” He slowly crawls over you, two forearms bracing near your head, his hair tickling your collarbones. He dips down to press his lips against yours in a wet, unhurried kiss. You sigh as you taste yourself on his tongue, the taste of both him and you making you melt against the mattress beneath you. He pulls back after a moment too short, settling his weight down against you, but even in his tired state he’s careful not to press fully. “I think you seem to be the best at making me lose my sense.”

A nose brushes against yours, his eyelids fluttering shut in contentment. The weight against you grows a little heavier, and you imagine he must be beyond exhausted.

But still, you’re both covered in fluid, sweat and spit. It’s a little gross.

“We should shower,” you murmur, and Suguru hums in agreement. He makes no effort to move just yet, though. “And probably change the sheets.”

Suguru exhales through his nose sharply in amusement, his eyes blinking open to look at you through a hooded gaze. “Who said we were done?”

You raise an eyebrow and glance over at the clock on the nightstand. 3:56am.

“Sugur-“

His hips roll against yours, the fabric of his pants rubbing against your tender heat. You jolt a little, a small gasp leaving your lips in response to the stimulation—and the fact that Suguru is still very much hard underneath his trousers.

You look up at him with a huff of disbelief. “You’re kidding. You need to rest—”

“I missed you so fucking much,” he cuts in, the words deep in tone as his lazy gaze bores into yours from above. There’s an undercurrent of need in his voice, something damningly close to desperation. “Badly.” His hips roll again, more firmly this time. Despite your reservations, you moan at the hard pressure of his cock against you–and the fact that Suguru, composed Suguru, always seemed to be insatiable. Only for you.

His smiles, something frayed at the edges as his grinding becomes more insistent, fervent. “Did you miss me too? Hah, fuck, go on. Tell me.”

And you do.

You tell him how much you missed him many, many times that night—until warm sunlight filters into the room and you both fall asleep tangled together–amidst the very soiled sheets.

masterlist.

#jjk x reader #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk x you #geto x you #suguru geto smut #jjk smut #suguru x y/n #geto x y/n #geto smut

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blooming-violets · 3 months

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CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER FIVE (part one): YOU'RE IN A CULT

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

Chapter Five Warnings (spoilers): mild sexual exhibitionism (fondling an exposed breast) in front of an unwilling person, being unknowingly drugged

[link to chapter index]

The familiar scent of pine soothed her worried soul as she stepped through the threshold of her home.

Their little, brown cabin, with its sturdy fireplace of stacked, gray stones, and pine needle covered roof gave off the illusion of a safe haven. She might be back in her guild’s territory but this was her house. Her home. Here, she could find respite.

It was quiet as she stood in her cozy living room. Everything was still. By mid day, her mother would have been in the communal kitchen preparing meals for anyone who might want to stop by for a free lunch. Their guild supported their members and made sure no one would ever go hungry. They functioned as a bunch of tiny parts all moving in unison to form a single, powerful behemoth. They worked on the bartering system and the good will of their neighbors. If something was taken, something else would always need to be given.

Mrs. Harkner, down the road, gave her time to teach the children academics, in return, the children would pick the crops from her garden so her focus could be spent on lesson planning. Mr. Jacobson, at the other end of town, couldn’t aim a gun to save his life, but was an expert in construction and could fix any housing issue that arose. In return, the hunters would make sure he was always provided with fresh game and a well stocked freezer. Eight year old Christopher Lennings would sell freshly made apple juice from the apple tree in his front yard every Saturday morning and all it would cost was the coolest looking rock you could find. Everyone had a job and everyone was taken care of.

As long as they followed the rules.

Aylin had formulated a plan during her five mile hike back home. She knew she would have the house to herself at this time. If she could quickly pack her car full of gear, staying out of sight, then she could head back to Peter for the next few days. During that time, she would get every bit of information she could about Kat’s pack. When she finally returned back to the guild, she could trade that information as an apology for not completing her ritual to become a full time hunter. Trading was how their guild functioned. Information could be traded for a lighter sentencing. Sergei would be more focused on taking action against an entire pack than dealing out punishments for her defiance. She could right all the wrongs before the situation got too out of hand.

It wasn’t a perfect plan but it would have to do.

The old floorboards creaked under foot to alert the only available member of the household to her presence. Her large, sleek black cat lazily rose his head off the sofa to see who dared to disturb his nap. When he caught sight of Aylin, his ears perked up and he gracefully leapt to the floor to greet her by weaving between her legs. He gave a piercing whine, begging for attention.

“Yes, yes. I missed you, too, Kedi.” Aylin bent down to scoop him into her arms where he proceeded to be carried like a baby up the stairs to her bedroom loft. “Has mom been worried about me? Have you been looking after her?”

Kedi purred, his golden eyes squinting up at her. It was a rarity to find him inside their cabin. He preferred to be out hunting for his next meal or clawing his way up the highest tree. Finding him willingly behind walls meant that he knew something was wrong. He had probably spent the night curled up next to Nesrin. Sometimes Aylin swore that he was actually a person trapped inside the body of a cat. She imagined him to be a grumpy, old man who would yell at innocent children to get off his lawn but secretly loved the attention they gave him. He was fearless, tenacious, and a ferocious serial killer of all rodents.

A family of killers. Is that all they were?

Peter’s words from this morning still buzzed around her thoughts like an annoying gnat that refused to leave her personal space.

“We’re not in a cult, right? I’d know if I was in a cult,” she mused down at the cat in her arms.

He responded with a deep, guttural purr that vibrated his entire body.

“Sergei isn’t Jim Jones or Charles Manson. He has a reason behind what we’re doing. There’s a purpose. A meaning. We’re helping people. We’re…” She paused and gave a long sigh. “My father wouldn’t have been best friends with a cult leader. He was smarter than that. He was a good man. Peter’s wrong. He doesn’t know us, does he, Keds? He’s a stupid, low life, pathetic, disgusting werewolf. He’s-”

She stopped to listen to the words falling from her lips. No one was around to hear them and she was still holding deep prejustice for a man who had done nothing but show her kindness and grace despite her attitude.

Lycans. That’s what Peter referred to himself as. Not a werewolf. A lycan. A person with the ability to shift into a wolf.

A person. Not a monster.

Good and bad people. That’s what Peter had said. There were always good and bad people regardless where you stood in the world.

Which one was she?

Aylin carefully dropped Kedi onto her bed so she could pack a bag, trying to pull her thoughts away from Peter’s grasp and focus them back onto the task at hand. Some extra clothes, camping supplies, her crossbow, and more food would be on her list of needed items. She quickly changed out of her dress and into something more practical for forest living. She began tossing clothes out of her drawer and into the waiting duffle bag. As she turned around to pack them more neatly, she stopped to see Kedi curled up under the growing pile.

“You’re not helping, Ked. You’ll suffocate under there if I zip it up,” she smiled softly down at the stubborn cat who merely squinted back at her. He was always able to lift her mood. “Okay fine, you can stay but I’m going to keep packing around you.”

She grabbed an unopened pack of spare toothbrushes and ripped it apart. Carefully, she glanced over the colors, selecting a red and blue striped one for Peter. She felt like he would suit those colors…and he really needed to brush his teeth. It had probably been a while since he had a toothbrush of his own.

With some basic grooming items taken care of and a duffle full of spare clothes, Aylin shooed Kedi out of the way to finish her getaway bag. He followed as she made a handful of trips from the house to her car, filling the trunk with everything her and Peter might need to survive for the next few days. She slammed the full trunk closed, tucking her keys into her pocket, and put her hands on her hips. A sense of determination settled over her.

“There! We have a camping stove, some canned food, extra water…I think we should be all set for a couple days,” she spoke down to the cat waiting patiently at her feet. “If you would like to come with me, Keds, I would be more than happy to bring you. I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.”

Kedi’s fur raised along his back, his ears flattening, and he gave a long hiss before darting to the safety of the darkness under her car.

“Wha- he’s not that bad, jeeze,” she frowned at his sudden change of attitude, wondering what had set him off, when she heard the crunching of footsteps making their way up her dirt driveway.

“Going somewhere, Aylin?” The familiar baritone voice caused her skin to erupt in goosebumps. Her heart leapt into her throat as a wave of nausea overtook her. She suddenly felt faint.

She wasn’t fast enough.

The only other time she had seen Kedi display fear like that was when a black bear broke through their screened in porch one afternoon to try and grab a bite of his cat food. Even then, he had darted back out from under the safety of a chair to claw the bear across the snout before running away again. Today, he stayed hidden.

Aylin straightened her back, attempting to fix a warm smile onto her lips, and turned around to face Sergei standing in the middle of her driveway. He was dawning his signature werewolf pelt draped over his shoulders and giving her a grin that was stretched far too thin to be anything but forced. The sight of the pelt made her sick to her stomach when she thought about the person who it once was ripped from. Barbaric. He might as well be wearing a pelt of human flesh.

Where was she going? She tried to steady her fluttering heart as a million potential answers swirled around her panicked thoughts.

“I’m planning on going to the Catskills to hike along the Devil’s Path like I do every year,” she lied, thinking quickly. With the way her trunk was currently packed, it easily resembled a hiking trip. She could fake this scenario.

“Isn’t it a little early for that?” He raised his scraggly brow at her. He was starting to get flecks of silver among his dark hair. The silver stood out more prominently against the midday sun and made him look closer than usual to his age. It was rare to catch signs of him aging. He seemed to always be in his prime despite how many years have passed. “Don’t you typically do that hike closer to the summer?”

Aylin shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, “Last summer was too hot. Thought I’d go early this year.”

“In the rainy season, I imagine parts of the hike would be really dangerous?”

She held firmly onto her bluff, knowing he was trying to break her, and kept her eyes locked with his to help sell the lie, “Sure, but isn’t that part of our training? To overcome difficult feats despite the challenges that face us? Besides, it’s not called the Devil’s Path for nothing. It’s meant to keep you on your toes. I think I could use a good challenge. ”

Sergei squinted at her with a hard glare, “Yes. About that. I think we need to have a talk about exactly what challenges are facing you. Something seemed to bother you the other night, did it not?”

She could tell from his tone that he was carefully keeping his voice steady. Under the surface, he was boiling. He wanted her to pay for the other night. There had to be consequences. Aylin had not only gone against his direct orders but, in her defiance, belittled his authority in front of the guild. If there’s one thing to never do to Sergei, it would be to embarrass him. She was now caught in an unwanted game of cat and mouse and she was terrified of losing.

She widened her eyes like it was a shock to hear that and not a conversation she had been dreading, “Oh? You mean when I ran from the ceremony? I’m so sorry about that. Really. I must have eaten something weird. Probably undercooked meat. I got really sick. I spent the night on the toilet. I had to run before I had an accident in front of everyone. You know how it is. When you gotta go, you gotta go.”

He took a step closer, a dreadful smile flicked at the corner of his lips, “Really? I stopped by your house to check on you later that night. I wanted to make sure you were okay after that shameful display you pulled in front of everyone. Your mother told me you weren’t home. Poor woman was worried sick about you. She thought you might have run off and done something stupid.” He paused, closing the gap between them. The cold metal of her car door pushed against her back as he towered over her. He propped an arm against the roof of her car to pin her in place. “Well? Did you? Do something stupid, I mean.”

Her stomach flipped with nerves as she shook her head. She was going to lose this game. The cat was ready to pounce and she had nowhere to hide, caught in place, forced to face her demise. Sergei went in for the kill, sensing he was gaining the upper hand in their silent standoff, and threw a heavy arm around her shoulders. He had her locked tightly in place against his side and gave a loud, dark laugh as if that would expel the thick tension between them. She couldn’t run. Couldn’t hide. He had her exactly where he wanted.

“Why don’t you come take a walk with me, Aylin?” He started to drag her down the driveway. “Cal made rabbit stew earlier. We can have some tea and lunch and discuss our futures. I have a proposition for you. What do you say, kid?”

Despite his question, there was no choice to be had. She was going to be coming with him even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her there.

“Uh, yeah, I guess that’s okay. I should go leave a note for my mom so she knows where I’m at when she gets back…” Aylin tried to dig her heels into the dirt but got shuffled along like she weighed nothing. Any resistance would be futile. She had lost the game. The cat had caught the mouse and was now boastfully parading her squirming body down the road as he carried it proudly between his salivating jaws.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll inform her exactly where you are should she come asking. There’s nothin’ to worry about. You’re safe with me. You know that.” The weight of his words hung over her like a rapidly approaching storm. There wasn’t a single ounce of truth behind anything he said.

It was only a matter of time before the cat clamped down, piercing her flesh with his razor sharp teeth.

The Kravinoff residence was the largest house in their town. A two story cabin with breathtaking floor to ceiling windows to let in all the natural light. The eaves of the red gabled roof were decorated with ornate wooden details. They had been handcarved by Sergei Sr. when he rebuilt the Kravinoff home many years ago before his passing; his final gift to his spoiled son.

Their kitchen was larger than the floor plan of her entire house with brightly painted, red cabinets to match the color of their roof. A pot of yellow sunflowers brightened up the room to soften the red and create an inviting atmosphere. Calypso lounged against the double wide, walnut island wearing nothing more than a skimpy, silk robe. Her dark, tight curly hair haloed around her head and she flashed Aylin her infamous, pointy toothed grin.

“Ah, the weakling has returned, I see,” she slinked over to the younger woman, standing tall in front of her. “Such a disappointment you gave the guild last night, was it not? I don’t know why Sergei holds you in such high regards. You don’t look like much to me.”

Sergei placed a possessive hand over Aylin’s shoulder, “Now, now, Cal. Enough teasing. Everyone makes mistakes. She says she wasn’t feeling well. Ate some bad meat. Happens to the best of us. Aylin is our guest and should be treated as such. She’s here for a chat over drinks. Why don’t you make us some of your special tea?” His eyes flashed into his wife, giving her a silent command. “The kind we save for our very important guests. Aylin needs to be reminded how much her community values her.”

Calypso smiled and bowed her head, “Of course, dear.”

Aylin was led into the dining room with the sounds of Calypso rustling through the cabinets following her out the door. A long, black cherry dining table, lined with tall chairs, greeted them. At the head of the table was a throne, carved out of the trunk of a tree and adorned with giant wolf claws at the end of the legs. Kraven sank down onto the pelt covered seat. He looked like a true king of his castle. He waved a large hand for her to sit in one of the normal chairs beside him.

She took a hesitant seat, having stayed quiet this whole time, terrified that speaking the wrong words would get her further into trouble. It was better to play defense with Sergei. Let him take the lead so she could match his energy.

“It’s been a while since you’ve been in our home,” he mused, lazily scratching at his beard. “You used to visit all the time with your father. I believe the last time you stepped foot inside these walls was when you were merely 16 years of age.”

After Samuel and Emir’s funeral.

Sergei had held a repast at his home after the burial service. Everyone in town had attended, each bringing a dish of food or drinks, to show their support for the fallen members. Nesrin was too busy weeping in the bathroom to know her daughter was getting wasted off some stolen liquor. Aylin had snuck away from the guests with her bottle in hand to hide in one of Segei’s guest rooms. The rest of the night was a blur but she distantly remembered him finding her tucked away in the corner behind a bed and holding her while she cried. Everything after that was dark. That entire year had been dark.

She remembered a time when she felt protected in his arms. His presence used to come with a warm safety. Now, it came with a foreboding sense of danger, like stumbling upon a sleeping rattlesnake. If she was careful enough, she might get away without a fight. If she took one wrong step, all it would take was a mere second for the snake to strike.

“Things got bad after-” She stopped. She didn’t need to say anything else.

Sergei gave a solemn nod, “Yes. I can imagine. Sam was my good friend. He was an important, valuable member of our guild. It was hard for everyone.”

He was studying her face, trying to read every micro expression she held, but she kept her features stiff. She should have left sooner. Maybe if she hadn't spent so much time doting on Kedi, she would have escaped before Sergei arrived. She wished she was already back with Peter and wondered how long he would stay in her trailer before he started to wonder if she’d ever return.

“Who’s Peter?” Sergei asked with an air of innocence, as if he had directly read her mind, but kept a close eye on how she responded. He was carefully studying her every move.

Aylin’s eyes widened in shock for only a split second before she softened her face but there was no doubt that Sergei had caught it. Had he read her mind? There was no other way he could possibly know about Peter…was there? Her stomach churned with nerves at the question but she raised her eyebrows in feigned confusion, “What do you mean?”

He shifted on his throne, leaning towards her, and placing his arm on the table, “When I came to pick you up, I heard you say ‘I don’t think Peter would mind the extra company.’ So, who’s Peter?”

That’s what she got for speaking out loud to a cat. She should have kept her mouth shut.

“He’s my friend,” she lied, thinking on her feet. “Works at the gas station a few miles out. He works nights. I’ve met him a few times and we got to talking. He enjoys hiking as much as me. He was planning a trip of his own so I invited him on mine. I thought we could both use the company.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Sergei’s tone was light but his tense shoulders gave off the impression of a possessive, jealous lover. Aylin was beginning to see him as an overgrown child who refused to share his toys with others. She felt like she was nothing more than his property.

She repressed a gulp, refusing to let her eyes wander from his, “No. He’s a friend.”

He ignored her statement. “After Leah Rivera, I thought you might not be not interested in men. It’s good to know you appreciate both sides,” Sergei leaned back to give off the illusion of someone who was casually lounging instead of someone fishing for information. They were both playing a difficult game of chess, each crafting their next move, while simultaneously trying to find their opponents weakness to exploit. “Cal swings both ways, too.”

“He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone who enjoys hiking as much as me,” Aylin’s jaw tightened, giving him a stiff reply. She desperately hoped the heat burning behind her cheeks wasn’t outwardly noticeable. Her racing heart spiked at the mention of Leah. That was a name she hadn’t heard spoken aloud in years. “I don’t swing any way. Leah was nothing more than a friend, too.”

Liar. Leah was more than a friend. She was Aylin’s childhood best friend, her favorite person, her first crush, her first love. Leah used to be her everything.

Until she was nothing.

“Right, right,” he chuckled. “Cal and I were just friends once. I get it. But, Aylin, you know how this guild feels about outsiders. You can not trust them. It’s best you let that friendship drift away before it’s too late. I don’t want you going on a trip with that boy. It’s too dangerous. Cancel it. Stop seeing him. There’s more than enough eligible men here for you to attach yourself to. I can think of at least three off the top of my head who would love a chance. Stay within the guild.”

She had tried to stay within the guild until Sergei caught on about her and Leah’s relationship. She remembered his eyes flaring with hatred when he saw them share a quick kiss behind the school house one afternoon. Neither of the girls could understand why he would care what a couple of sixteen year olds got up to. It wasn’t long after that Leah’s entire family disappeared in the middle of the night. One day they were there, the next they were gone. Banished. No explanations given. No goodbyes said. Their empty house was demolished, as per tradition, whenever someone leaves the guild. Erase everything and build back up from scratch without the tainted memories. They were to never speak about the Rivera’s again. Every ounce of Leah’s existence in Aylin’s life was gone overnight until it was almost as if she never existed at all. If it wasn’t for the pictures hidden in a shoebox in the back of her closet, sometime’s Aylin might wonder if she dreamed up the entire thing. First, her best friend disappeared, then, her father and brother were slaughtered by wolves. Sixteen had not been kind to her.

But that was years ago. Leah was gone and so was the person Aylin used to be. She didn’t want Peter to become another pained memory added to the ever growing pile of forgotten people. She would protect this one. She wouldn’t let him be another soul for Sergei to steal from her.

Even if that made her a traitor.

She fixed a pleasant smile onto her face, “You’re probably right. I don’t know him that well anyway. I was just looking for a hiking buddy. Not a big deal and I’d better be safe than sorry. You never really know what those outsiders are like. Although, I do think I would be able to overtake him if it ever came to that. I’ve taken down werewolves. I think I can manage to get the upper hand on a random gas station employee. You’ve trained us well.” She threw Sergie her best attempt at a cheeky wink despite the anxious tightening of her throat. Her desperation for him to believe her was suffocating.

Outsiders. Traitors. Banishment.

Maybe Peter was right. She might be in a cult.

The truth hit her hard. She forced a smile onto her face despite wanting to slide under the table and crawl away.

Canceling fake plans with an imaginary boyfriend was easier than the truth of her deception. Outsider Peter was better than Werewolf Peter. One was a simple mistake at the hands of a lovestruck young woman. The other was direct treason against everything she ever knew.

He didn’t look impressed with her response.

Earthy, herbal smells wafted out from the kitchen door. She caught notes of lavender and chamomile mixed with some kind of sharp spice she was unfamiliar with. Sergei noticed her analyzing the scent.

“It’s not something we grow here in the mountains,” he remarked, blatantly ignoring her attempts to butter him up. “Calypso has family in Haiti. They send her all sorts of home grown products she can’t get here. She likes to think of herself as a bit of an alchemist when she’s in the kitchen. She makes the most wonderful tea. You’ll love it.”

As if on cue, Calypso burst through the doorway with a tray in hand. A clear teapot was placed on the table in front of them. Bits of loose herbs floated around inside the amber liquid. Skinny, swirling trails of hypnotizing white steam rose from the spout. She lifted the pot to pour out the delicious smelling tea into the delicate china cups. Aylin was handed the first one.

“For our guest,” Calypso smirked. “Made with love.”

Aylin ignored the snarky edge to her words and gave a polite smile. She took a small sip, happy for the distraction. It burned her tongue but slid smoothly down her throat. It was like nothing she’d ever had before. Warm and cozy with a sharp tang of spice as a lingering aftertaste. She took another big gulp as it gave her something to do with her fidgety hands.

Calypso perched on the thick arm of Sergei’s throne as she watched her guest drink, “How is it?”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you,” she feigned a smile. She wasn’t lying. It was delicious. She just struggled to make her voice sound genuine when her and Peter’s lives hung on her every word.

“Pleased to hear it.”

Sergei patted his wife’s thigh, “Aylin was just telling me about her gas station boyfriend. An outsider. They’re already planning a trip together.”

Calypso leaned against him, running her fingers through his hair, “A gas station boyfriend? Even she can do better than that.”

“He’s not my bo-” She was cut off by Sergei.

“I already told her that it would be best to let that relationship fade away. I think we could find her someone better. One of us. I would be doing Sam a disservice if I let his daughter run away with an outsider.”

Aylin bit her tongue and refused to mention that her mother was once an outsider. The longer they stayed on the topic of her lie, the more anxious she became. She didn’t want to have to keep thinking on her feet. It was exhausting her psyche.

“I said I would. It’s not a big deal,” she huffed, taking another sip of her tea. “He means nothing to me. I just thought it might be fun to have someone to hike with but I prefer being on my own anyway.”

Calypso smirked, “That’s what I like to hear. Outsiders are nothing. They don’t deserve your time of day. You have everything you need right here.” She shifted her body to lean forward, her deep brown eyes penetrating into Aylin’s very soul. “We’re all you need.”

She was most definitely in a cult. How could she have ever been so oblivious?

She might be the stupidest person alive.

This would be her downfall. The people she loved and fought to protect were the one’s holding the knife. They would be the ones to fatally stab her. Not the Lycans.

Before the realization could overtake her, Calypso’s loose robe had fallen open when she moved and her right breast had pushed its way out from the silky material. The sight of the woman’s freshly exposed skin caused her spiraling mind to halt. Sergei’s arm wrapped around his wife to grasp onto her breast, absentmindedly flicking her dark nipple with his thumb, as they both stared in her direction. Aylin’s ears heated up with a mixture of disbelief and horrific embarrassment. She quickly averted her gaze to the table. She got uncomfortable watching people kiss in public. Watching someone blatantly fondle his wife in front of her made her want to claw out of her own skin. They had always been overly affectionate with each other but it had never been as in her face as it was now. This was different. New. It was like they were challenging her. Like this was some kind of sick test she’d have to pass. From the moment Sergei showed up behind her, she was being tested. Her every move was stuck under a microscope and picked apart with a watchful eye.

These were not the people she once thought they were.

A new found hatred wrapped around her like a warm blanket. They were toying with her. Teasing her. Playing with her. They were getting off on watching her squirm. They liked this.

This was who they really were.

Aylin focused on her tea to keep herself distracted. She heard Calypso stifle a laugh under her breath. They were getting off on her discomfort. Her head was starting to feel dizzy and her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears. She suddenly felt very sweaty like there was a fire igniting in her stomach and spreading up her chest towards her throat. She hated them. That much was clear to her now. The guild was not a safe place. It never was. It had only felt that way because she was drinking the Kool Aid along with everyone else just like Peter said. Her whole life she had been fed a lie which she happily lapped down. Her world was crumbling down around her. Piece by piece it fell with deafening crashes and she was beginning to suffocate on the smokey rubble filling her lungs.

A headache was rapidly growing and her vision blurred for a millisecond before she blinked it back into focus.

“Ms. Aylin was just about to tell me what happened last night,” Sergei spoke, still massaging Calypso without any hint of embarrassment. His tone had flipped, losing the fake lightheartedness from earlier. He was serious. There was no more time for games. “She was going to explain exactly why she refused to kill a wolf in front of her entire guild.”

She was?

“For someone who claims to have killed two on her own, without any proof, you’d think a malnourished, caged bitch would be easy,” Calypso remarked. “It sounds to me like there might be a little white lie hiding somewhere in your story, dear girl. Don’t worry, darling, you can tell us. We won’t judge. We just want the truth.”

She took another sip of the tea to avoid having to answer them right away. Was she the only one drinking? Neither of them had touched the stuff.

Aylin didn’t want to look in their direction to check. She didn't want to watch what they were doing. They were making her uncomfortable on purpose. A power play. A way to prove that she was nothing but inferior to them. She didn’t want to be here. Her head felt like it was swimming with a million thoughts but none of them were making it to her lips. Her body was refusing to function. She couldn’t make her mouth and brain work as one.

“I, uh,” she stuttered over her words. “I…”

Her mind was starting to feel like it was slowly filling with sand. An hourglass at the verge of tipping. Her mouth felt dry so she downed the rest of her cup.

“That girl- she…she…was just…so…so young…” Aylin gave a slow blink, her chin bobbing down to her chest before quickly steadying her head back upright. “I…feel…”

She was suddenly exhausted. The empty tea cup slipped from her hand to shatter into pieces across the floor. She finally turned her attention to the couple, fearing that she was coming down with an illness. She was seeing double. Their forms wavered like rain in a puddle.

“Something’s not right,” she whispered.

“That would be the tea,” Sergei spoke, his voice steady. “Don’t worry, my dear. You’ll be fine.”

He pushed himself up from his throne to walk over to her. Aylin slumped into his arms, feeling paralyzed, as he easily lifted her to his chest. He cradled her there while he moved through his house, each room flashing slowly before her lagging eyes, until he stopped in front of a large bookcase.

“Wha-” she tried to speak but words were useless to her.

Sergei kicked his foot at something hidden against the side of the bookcase, tucked away from view, where the wall meets the floor.

With a low grumble, the bookcase slid slowly to the right to reveal a set of wooden steps leading underground. They creaked underfoot as he carried deeper into the abyss.

The musty smell of mildew and copper hit her nose.

“No…” Aylin managed to whisper, in a last ditch effort to protect herself before the drugs completely captured her mind.

“Sleep now,” Calypso purred over Sergei’s shoulder. “We have some important business to discuss. You’ll need your strength. Shh, drift off, little one. We’ll keep watch over you. Sleep.”

[CHAPTER FIVE (part two)]

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The Gift (5a of 15) (Witch Steve AU)

previous: Chapter 4 Break the Illusion next: Chapter 5 You're Doing That On Purpose (Part B) Content: steddie fic, 1.4K words

Last chapter, Steve and Eddie came to an understanding and formed a deeper start to their friendship. This chapter, Eddie just wants to convince Steve about which film to watch on movie night and Robin's gonna mock Steve about the two of them flirting.

Chapter 5(a) You're Doing That on Purpose

“So, it’s a kid’s film,” Steve pushes the trolley down the aisle to the comedy section.

Eddie makes a sound like a whistling kettle and Steve bites down on a grin. Behind the counter, Robin ignores the both of them as she tries to plait three Twizzlers into a braid.

Despite school being out, Family Video is as empty on a Tuesday afternoon as it typically is, so no customers to judge her odd candy habits. The promo television silently plays Carey Grant's attempt to seduce Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday while Robin unironically plays the Bangle's Manic Monday on their shared boombox. The tinny sound provides a lively chorus to the boys' bickering.

“It’s a cult classic of epic proportions. It’s not just some animated film, Stevie. It tells of the enduring friendship of Frodo and Sam, it’s the journey from the Shire and the almighty and devastating battle of the Balrog.”

“Right,” Steve snaps his fingers absently, “the Shire is burning.”

Eddie eyes him oddly, “You remember that?”

Steve shrugs, “It sounded cool when you said it. I mean, I didn’t know what you were going on about, like the Bolrag too.”

Eddie squints at him, “You’re doing that on purpose.”

Uh, oh, busted. Robin meets his eye from across the room, laughing silently. They have a running bet on how long he can mix up fantasy names in front of the kids before they call him on it and Eddie had busted him within weeks of knowing him.

Steve feigns innocence while he shelves Weird Science onto the fake walnut shelves, the polished lamination suiting the glossy covers of the VHS cases. “I don’t know what you mean. Tell me about the Shire.”

“No, no, no,” Eddie sways into Steve’s right side, tugging on a lock again. He’s almost used to it now. Regardless, Steve bats his hands away, replacing the shock of Eddie's fingers by smoothing his hair back into place.

“You, my friend, pay attention. You know exactly where the kids are at any moment of the day, you listen to little old ladies at the Indy bookstore—”

“She wasn’t old,” Robin calls out. She was hot, he can hear her add silently. He nods at her to acknowledge how right she is. Her fist pumps in answer, she was hot.

Steve had told Robin that Eddie was safe and since then they'd all had a conversation that essentially amounted to each of them nodding in agreement: they were three queers in backwater Hawkins and, damn, wish that they’d known each other sooner.

They'd had the talk in the evening quiet of the local park, the heat of the day faded to a gentle breeze that carried a hint of the earth underneath them.

While Steve and Robin kicked a ball around, Eddie had sat, nestled within the sturdy and gnarled roots of the massive fig tree at the centre of the grassy area, working at the lyrics of a song. Of which, he refused to share with Steve and Robin, only smiling mysteriously when prodded about it.

Despite the black of his cut-off jean shorts and the grotesque skull on his t-shirt, the soft curls of Eddie's hair and his pensive expression as he looked down at his notebook had given Steve the impression of an earth sprite. Delicate and easily startled, ready to disappear into the trunk of the fig tree, never to be seen again.

Once the two players had tired themselves out a little, Steve had sat them all down and led the conversation under the shade of the broad leaves above them. The green of it stretching like fingers of a reaching hand, cradling them within its protection.

Steve had been amused at how shocked Eddie was, a near replica of Robin's reaction to his same disclosure last year. But, what was the fluidity of Steve's sexuality in comparison to the liminality he lived in as a Witch? He liked boys and girls and all in between. So, what? He could also make Robin hover by a few inches in the air and that was far more fun to play around with.

The conversation may have been had, but Robin wasn’t about to loudly call out something so damning in public when anyone could walk through the store door at any moment in their small, judgemental lives.

“—and I know you’re getting those names wrong on purpose,” Eddie concludes confidently.

Steve crosses his arms, biceps bulging slightly under his sunflower yellow polo. “So what if I get Bolrag wrong? I don’t want to watch a kid’s movie.”

Robin hums. “Always the babysitter.” Steve points to her in appreciation.

“No kiddies, I promise.” Despite being the same height, Eddie looks up at Steve through his bangs while his dimple deepens charismatically, “Just us big kids. You’re in, right Buckley?”

“Oh yeah,” she smirks at Steve, “it’s actually pretty good. And Eddie says it’s that or Ben Hur.” She makes a face.

“Isn’t that a black and white,” asks Steve teasingly, knowing her preoccupation with older films.

“No, it's colour, but I also don’t want to watch a flick about the boiling animosity of half-naked men for over two hours. Come on, Steve, let’s watch the kid’s movie that’s just under two hours,” she finishes sarcastically.

Eddie’s lips quirk crookedly, “The bonds of men and Hobbits alike are the theme of the night.”

Steve blows out a breath, knowing when he’s defeated. By the widening smile on Eddie’s face, the other boy knows it too and Steve can’t help but smile in response.

He’s aware that it’s been hard for Eddie lately. Beating the rap doesn’t mean squat when Jason Carver and his goons still have it out for him. Though Hop had apparently reigned the parents in so hard that their evil little offspring may have actually listened. Steve suspects that Hop had also pulled off one of his patented 'drive arounds' with the teens, calmly explaining the consequences of their future actions and, in turn, scaring the shit out of them.

The kids had shared about Jason and his guys stirring up trouble at school, but it sounded like it was mostly name-calling at this point. Steve had made Dustin promise to tell him if it got worse, but Eddie hadn’t said anything yet.

Steve pauses to consider before cautiously asking, “And the bonds of Hellfire? Is that staying strong post…” Steve waves his hand in the air as if to convey all that happened over Spring Break, including being hunted down and having your friends threatened by Jason’s vigilante mob.

An easy smile spreads over Eddie’s face, his voice rising as if performing to a larger audience and hands spreading wide like he’s inviting them to step onto his stage. “Hellfire? We are as strong as any dogs of war. For while our bloodshed is confined to the realm of the sorcerous, we still are that happy few, we band of brothers.”

Steve’s not one hundred per cent on what Eddie’s referring to, but he does trust that they’re getting along okay. He doesn’t have that tightness around his eyes and lips he sometimes gets when uncomfortable or avoiding a touchy subject. “And Jason? Is he leaving you alone?”

Eddie blinks for a moment, his wide smile dipping before drawing it back firmly onto his face. “No problems there, Stevie. They can’t do anything and I’m not worried.”

Steve is though, thinking about that brief expression hinting at more. But, he wonders what he’s allowed to question. Or maybe, he is allowed to ask Eddie, who may nevertheless still choose not to privilege Steve with an insight into that busy mind of his.

“All right, then. Since your band of dogs are happy, let’s do the hobos.” He feels a flash of triumph as he hears Eddie’s bark of laughter at Steve continuing the bit. “My place, Friday.”

“Fantastic my lovely, dear liege,” Eddie affects a bow. “I’ll shall bring the brews. My Madam Buckley, farewell.” She sticks her middle finger up at his blown kiss. Eddie leaves, chuckling under his breath, the door’s bell ringing after him.

If you liked anything, please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3 :-) It would make my day!

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#witchsteve #steddie #platonic stobin #any unexplained references are detailed in chapter notes on Ao3 #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #paperbackribs writing

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yeahthatwouldbedark · 2 years

Text

Yen per second

tropes: death trope, friends to lovers (if you have won a golden medal in squinting really hard), rivals to lovers, bully romance bestie, college au, friends with benefits, Oikawa and reader have known each other since childhood.

trigger warnings (for the entire series): child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, bullying, depression, child neglect, terminal illness at some point, broken home, mental breakdowns, panic attacks, anxiety, death, injuries (Oikawa’s bad knee for example), substance abuse.

Chapter 5

13.7k words

Age 16

Going to the movies is as much a tradition to their friendship group as Christmas is to… well the Christians. Every break is that time of the year that drains their pockets, squeezes their bank accounts (Kuroo’s parents), and leaves them out to dry by the end of the month. It’s a religion, a cult if you will. All those worthy of respect, says Chiharu with a triumphant smile that says her words rise victorious against all rebuttals, must worship the cinema. In the world of art, what Chiharu says, goes.

The truth is that Y/n enjoys going to the movies. She enjoys it, not because she especially appreciates the world of cinema with its elements of script, cinematography, or music score, but because they provide a respite that she refuses to admit she needs. She can sit back, no eyes on her. She is paper thin, translucent in the dimness of a theatre lit only by the screen; the jagged edges of her displeasing presence are shorn to the point that she’s smooth enough for everyone to become submerged in the atmosphere without finding their senses lacerated. She is neither happy nor sad, not that it mattered.

Though her ears prick up at each and every sound⸺ the sound of spit being swapped two rows down to her right, the muffled moans, the yawns of boredom, the sighs of disappointment⸺ never do her eyes stray from the screen. Not even as her friends urge someone over in hushed tones, someone who was supposed to have been here 30 minutes ago. An older woman, probably middle-aged and wearing small-rimmed glasses, shushes them. The new guy doesn’t seem to care as he just takes his seat and stuffs his face full of popcorn, munching loud enough for the crunch to creep into the woman’s ears. A look of unadulterated vexation has Kuroo and Chiharu snorting like piglets. Kenma does his best to paint himself as unassociated with their kind.

Rin, to his credit, stops being a nuisance to the other people in the theatre and just focuses on the one person who seems dead set on capturing every single fucking moment of the picture. Her eyes aren’t even wide open, but the intent is written in the utter disregard toward his late arrival, the way she sits with her shoulders flat against the back of the seat when the rest are gesturing at the screen or trash-talking the characters they find annoying. His eyes flit over her hands, how she licks her fingers once the popcorn passes her lips, the way she pulls at the end of her yellow shirt now and then as if to convince herself she’s here too, she’s here still. There’s something else too. He can’t pinpoint what it is. All he knows is that it doesn’t make her better or worse, just distinct.

Before he knows it, the credits roll and the spectators trickle out like glass beads out of a pocket with holes in it. As if in a trance, she sits there for like two more minutes. It’s an eerie sort of peace, the liminal space between past and present. The latter was what she had to return to. And she does.

At the bar, Ayame and Kenma pay for their drinks, except for Y/n’s (at her insistence). Kenma hands it to her personally, knowing if he were to leave it up to Kuroo, Chiharu, or Ayame, they would throw their arms around her and have her hang out with them immediately and for the next three hours. What she needs is a few more minutes to herself in order to be with the others again. She thanks him and slinks off to the front steps of the building, where she sits with her elbows planted on her knees.

As fate would have it, Kuroo finds her and plops down next to her. The new guy sits next to him.

“Hey there, hermit.” He says with that stupid grin, an omen of stupidity about to be spilled.

She takes a sip of her strawberry milkshake. “The dawn has yet to come, rooster.”

“Mind if we sit here?” As if he’s actually asking.

“It’s not like I own the stairs.”

“What are you wearing?”

Y/n sighs. “The same thing I’ve been wearing all night.”

Next to her, Kuroo cringes, sobs, internally throws up and rolls on his back. That’s exactly the energy she gets from his reaction to her very much harmless outfit.

“But it’s so ugly, Y/n!” He whines, tugging at her sleeve, “So ugly I can’t even.”

She slaps his hand off and pushes him so his shoulder knocks against the other guy’s, the latter having just pulled out a cigarette from the packet.

“Don’t look at it then.” She says.

“Introductions!” The change in subject would be alarming if she weren’t used to his absurd antics. He gestures to the guy, trapping his chin between his thumb and index. “This is Suna Rintaro. You might have seen him around the neighborhood, transcending planes of existence by means of pot.”

The boy’s confused, green eyes, which until two seconds ago were boring holes on Y/n’s side, now pierce Kuroo through like a sack of flour.

“I’ve only smoked like twice.” He says in a low voice.

Creases of fake concern appear on Kuroo’s brow. “Just trying to ruin your reputation here, why are you mad?”

The new guy shakes his head, flicking on the lighter and placing it at the tip of his cigarette. Did he not realize he was contradicting himself by embodying the stereotype Kuroo had just shoved him into? Or was this just one of the occasions when one would find him having a smoke? Maybe it just so happened that she was there and he needed to destroy himself a little that night. Maybe he just needed a little bit of a courage boost to talk to the one person who had ignored him, not out of malice or repulsion, but because just like him she found it difficult to immerse herself in conversations with strangers. Maybe, just maybe, he could offer her a cigarette too.

“L/n Y/n.” She introduces herself.

His mouth lifts. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh, hey I’m just gonna check on my girl real quick.” Kuroo stands, gesturing at the two of them as if he’s pointing at some slimy creatures. “You two talk. Or send brain waves. Whatever it is you introverts do.”

And that’s it. Kuroo is out of the picture. For the next 30 minutes at least. Or at least until the rest of them bore him to death, Ayame wants to go home, or Chiharu and Kenma call him something mean that makes him come and sulk near Y/n. Rin is curious, if not a tad eager to get the girl to talk to him, to listen to what she has to say. Y/n is reluctant to speak, afraid of botching the whole thing upon uttering a single word.

He exhales the smoke through his lips.

“So, like,” He starts, “Do you like action movies?”

Y/n glances over at him. “Not my favorite to be honest. I prefer historical dramas, romcoms, tragedies.”

“Yeah, thought so.”

He keeps on peering at her through his lashes, waiting for her to keep the conversation going. Luckily for him, she does.

“Kuroo said you play volleyball.”

“Yeah,” He answers. “You like it?”

She shrugs. “Not really. I suck at it. But I suck at most team sports so.”

Rin draws closer, sitting just a bit farther from her than where Kuroo had previously sat.

“Not a team player, are you?” He urges.

This time she does look at him, and I mean really look at him. She must not have noticed him shift, because her eyes widen just the slightest.

“It’s just easier to do things on my own.” She mutters. “Team sports are difficult.”

“What do you find most difficult”

“Basically everything? Sets, serves, receives. Forget about spikes.” She pauses and he makes to speak, but then she adds, “Maybe I’m just dumb.”

“That’s not what the rooster told me.”

She leans forward, her elbows once again planted on her knees. “My grades are good I guess.”

“Couldn’t be me. I’m failing four classes.” The revelation has her head whipping around at a breakneck speed. Rin shrugs just as she did moments before, “Yeah, I don’t study. Or like- I study enough to stay on the team.”

She regards him with eyes that betray reluctance. He’s seen it many a time before, whenever his grandmother would ask his mom whether she was still drinking, if there was enough money for food, or if the electricity bill had been paid. He spies it in the eyes of this girl who doesn’t know him but secretly wishes to. He suspects his eyes are no different.

Gaze straying to the fingers trapping the cigarette, Y/n poses the question at last. “Are you thinking of leaving the team then?”

No one has considered the possibility that volleyball might be something he no longer enjoys. That Suna Rintaro feels alone, isolated among friends that would raze the world to the ground for him. That when he’s burying himself in the crook of someone’s neck, fondling their breasts, or getting drunk in their cologne, he’s just losing himself in the numbness of the moment as he waits for it to transform into ecstasy.

He takes another drag of his cigarette before casting it down and stomping on it.

“Maybe.” He answers, “Or maybe I should pay you to tutor me. That way I can stay.”

She inches away as if to size him up. “Are you sure?”

“Wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t.”

“Should I give you my number or-

He cuts her off by stealing her phone which sits in the pocket of her knee-length olive green shorts. The action surprises her, as does the audacious smirk on his lips when he sees there is no pattern or password necessary to unlock the device. Rin types in his number and asks her if she has credit so he can call himself. Seeing her nod, he does just that. But then sees her gaze gradually shed its apprehension. She stares at him like she’s trying to call him by a name or stamp a label on him.

“You’ve seen me around before.” He affirms, handing her the phone. She slips it back inside the pocket. “I’m spending the summer at my cousin’s. You might have seen him running like literally every evening.”

Her lips part. “The skater boy.”

Rin raises up his hands. “Guilty as charged.”

After that, they talk about volleyball, music, films they’ve watched as of late, and their current obsessions. An hour or so flies by with them sitting side by side, submerged in a world at once dissimilar and mundane. Never once does he tell her to stop talking, but the fear that he might bubbles to the surface from time to time, making her repeat words and phrases as if she’s giving a rushed presentation.

At one point they just sit in silence, watching the vehicles speed by, listening to the laughter and shouts of strangers or the sound of empty plastic cups toppling down the stairs. It’s too good, Y/n realizes with dread settling in her belly. She has to leave before the mood sours and she becomes rancid in his eyes.

“You heading home?” He asks as she stands, looking up at her with eyes like laser beams, “I heard they’re going to the arcade after this.”

There’s not much left for me here, is what she thinks.

“Yeah, I don’t know.” She tells him and finishes what’s left of her drink. The plastic sweats in her grasp. “I mean I’m glad I came but at the same time… I’m kinda-

“Tired.”

Y/n looks down at him, nodding. Then she starts to walk down the stairs, but halfway down she turns to look at him.

“Text me when you want to schedule that study session.”

Her reminder has his lips itching to smile. He hadn’t thought she meant it when she offered to tutor him, had thought it a way to inadvertently ask for his number. So, she hadn’t been playing a part then. She was genuine in wanting to help him stay on the team. High in confidence, Rin stands and makes it a point to look her up and down.

“Yellow looks good on you.” He says, and lets her go.

November the 25th

“Just answer your grandma, bro.”

Atsumu has this uncanny ability to get on Rin’s nerves entirely unprovoked. He’s naturally a bit annoying, with how he gets all up in people’s personal bubble, poking at it until it explodes, and then laughs it off as the offended party is left seething, or at the very least perplexed. But right now, when Rin is trying to watch the goddamn movie and ignore his grandma’s persistent calls, Atsumu pointing it out isn’t helping. It’s evening, and it’s raining cats and dogs outside. He just wants to chill for real.

“Mind your business.” He says under his breath.

But Atsumu, being Atsumu, refuses to drop the subject. Instead, he prods.

“She still feel bad about all the girls you’ve fucked?” He asks with a snort.

This has Rin’s blood reaching an almost boiling point. He stares ahead into the TV, where some poor sucker is shown getting his teeth knocked out of his mouth.

“How’s it going not being able to get the girl you like to like you back?”

Atsumu spins to face him, his face contorted in shock.

“Hah?!” He exclaims. “She likes me! We’re going on a date on Wednesday.”

Rin raises an eyebrow, now facing him too. “Okay but like… why on Wednesday?”

“She has a midterm to study for.” Atsumu sighs in contentment as he pulls the blanket up to his chin, his features shifting into a look of pure smugness. Good thing Rin was sensible enough to bring a blanket for himself. “You should have seen the look on her face when I asked her out. Her glasses make her look so cute I could moan and die. Also, she said Mercury will no longer be in gatorade by then.”

The day has come for Suna Rintaro to admit defeat and yield to the supreme forces in the universe. It is simply impossible for Atsumu to have a chance with a girl as smart as her. Fucking absurd man! She is orderly, great at managing time, and rigid with a capital R. How could she look at this bona fide dumbass and think ‘let’s give this salivating dog a shot’. But maybe that was it. Maybe Miya Atsumu was just that much enamored with this girl that she could sense it in everything he said or did.

Maybe Rin needed to prove to himself he could do it too. That’s how, seconds later, he finds himself typing the first thing that comes to mind while Atsumu continues to pour his heart out.

You: save me (19: 44)

You: atsumu is talking about the girl he likes (19: 44)

He thinks he’ll have to wait a while until he hears that familiar notification sound. He hopes he won’t have to.

Dandelion: wait (19: 47)

His prayers are answered. The timing is godsent. He could even kiss Atsumu right now for prodding the damn subject because he now has an excuse to talk to her. Not that he has to have one. Mouth tilting at the corners, he suppresses the urge to type before she’s finished saying what she has to say.

Dandelion: he actually managed to pull it off? (19: 47)

Dandelion: or just dreaming about her (19: 47)

Her offhand insinuation that Atsumu might just have failed to meet that girl’s standards almost has Rin showing his housemate the text. If only to get him to shut up and sulk in his room for like an hour.

You: believe it or not (19: 47)

You: he did (19: 47)

You: and he wont stfu about it (19: 47)

This time she takes a while to respond. Like 10 minutes, give and take. He begins to suspect she might be studying and is considering leaving her be when he receives another text.

Dandelion: tell him I said congrats (19: 58)

You: you studying rn (19: 59)

The exchange happens in rapid succession. He might or might not congratulate Atsumu on her behalf. He doesn’t care about that at the moment. He has this gnawing feeling that he’s intruding on something.

Dandelion: uh yes (20: 01)

Her response sours his mood not going to lie. But it’s not her fault for being swamped with assignments to the point of not having enough time to sleep, let alone make time for friends. Not that she’d agree to meet up again if the rest were there too.

Dandelion: I’m studying with Oikawa at his place (20: 01)

Dandelion: he has this huge jar of sour candy (20: 01)

His eyes narrow at the second text. Did he read that right? She’s at his apartment? At this time? How is she going to get back home? Is he going to take her? Could it be that she’s staying the night? I mean, it doesn’t matter to Rin seeing as they all know each other a bit by now and they’re just doing that project of theirs but… ye know. Jealousy is a disease. And Rin is bedridden. Not that he’ll ever admit it even to himself.

He makes a mental note to get a huge fucking jar of sour candy. She’s never explicitly said anything about her undying infatuation with the product, but it’s clear as glass from the text and from how her eyes linger a tad longer on the jars at the store.

You: are you free tomorrow (20: 03)

At times like these Rin mentally prepares himself for an excuse, a rejection of some kind on her part. It doesn’t always happen this way but she’s become more self-contained, or rather, isolated these past few weeks. It’s as if she wants to see him but doesn’t know she does until they’re doing something that has her smiling into her cup of warm chocolate. He even lies back, hand on his lap as he runs the other through his hair while staring at the ceiling.

Dandelion: I think so (20: 04)

Dandelion: I can do some reading at night (20: 04)

The moment he takes in these texts he mentally raises a triumphant fist. Convincing Y/n to go out for once is an Olympic sport and Suna Rintaro is winning.

You: lets go somewhere (20: 05)

Dandelion: where? (20: 05)

You: won’t tell you (20: 05)

He enjoys the fluidity of the conversation. He waits a few seconds before seeing her type and sending another text to rile her up.

You: think I’ll keep you on your toes (20: 05)

She stops typing and then starts over.

Dandelion: sigh (20: 05)

Dandelion: aight what time (20: 05)

What would the best time be for a date that is not a date. A date that lasts for hours but feels like seconds? Maybe it’s not so much the hour as the place that matters. Or both. Fuck if he knows!

You: around noon (20: 06)

Rin can almost hear her groaning on the other end. He bites his lower lip to repress a chuckle. It almost hurts.

Dandelion: your vague descriptions make me want to jump (20: 06)

Rin leans forward once more, fingers firing away.

You: into my arms (20: 06)

Dandelion: might as well (20: 06)

Dandelion: its an early death all the same (20: 06)

Blood rushes to his groin. That was an excellent comeback. She could write Hamlet but Shakespeare couldn’t write her response. This is just me, the narrator, putting Suna Rintaro’s thoughts into words, his horniness included. On second thought, horniness is a state of being… but I’ll allow it.

He tries to get comfortable under his forest green blanket and clenches his fist around his cell phone so it doesn’t wrap around his cock. But there’s this headache going by Miya Atsumu that calls out his name, tearing him away from his fantasies.

“You’re not even listening to me, man!” He whines.

Rin groans internally, his face expressionless as he fixes his eyes on the TV. “Yeah, yeah, mercury is in gatorade.”

“Retrograde man!”

December the 7th

That Oikawa Tooru is diligent is no overstatement. It is common knowledge that everyone has come to accept as a virtue of his, one that he has cultivated and used to his advantage in almost every area that has piqued his interest throughout the years. He knows how important it is to be consistent and to give it your all when you feel that you already have. He also knows that she is no different. It’s what makes their teamwork so great, to begin with. At the same time, it is what makes their teamwork pathological.

They don’t know when to call it quits.

Every day for the past week and a half, they have been meeting at the library to revise and edit. When it comes to projects, they are on the same wavelength; if it isn’t perfect, it is rubbish. Which in and of itself is an extremely detrimental mantra to perpetuate. But it becomes far more destructive when the slightest mention of an inadequacy paves the path for a lot of fidgeting, nail-biting, and lip-picking.

Both of them are brimming with anxiety, but she’s the one on the verge of bursting at the seams. The average audience wouldn’t be able to pick up on the details. They haven’t spent most of their lives engraving every mannerism, gesture, or characteristic of her while pretending not to look. They don’t know that her clenching those fists isn’t a display of barely contained rage. She’s trying not to bolt.

Luckily for both of them, Tooru is able to appear calm even in most nerve-wracking situations. Which is what he is doing at the moment. Seamlessly, he takes the lead when it is crystal clear that she is close to stuttering or fidgeting. When she reclaims some degree of self-possession, it is then her turn to help him cool down. This can only be achieved thanks to hours of training, advice shared (more like him telling her how to appeal to an audience), and a mutual understanding that they really fucking need this to work if they want to solidify their status as the best students of their year.

Once they conclude their presentation, he can’t help but look at her instead of the professor and their peers. Her hands are no longer folding in on themselves. The class continues and they sit to listen. Or at least the rest are.

“Excellent work you two,” Their professor remarks while they’re trying to trickle out of the auditorium with the others. They stop in their tracks to face the professor, Tooru with a smile, and she with an indomitable mask of neutrality, “Miss. L/n, your oral delivery of the material has significantly improved since the last time I asked you to explain concepts to the rest of the students. I trust it was Mr. Oikawa who schooled you in the art of public speaking?”

The way her mood sours is like a flash of lightning. It electrifies every fiber of his being, sends his nerves on overdrive. Nothing is shown outwardly, but he’s spent enough time with her to know the particulars.

“Yes, professor.” She confirms, her mouth hardly moving.

Before the professor can process her reaction, Tooru intervenes with a smile, “I just gave her some tips. The rest was all her.”

The professor nods and, just like Tooru thought he would, returns the gesture. People tend to respond to smiles perceived as genuine.

“The cooperative nature of your teamwork is embodied in the reaction that it coaxed out of the rest of your peers.” The man’s comment has Tooru relaxing just a little from within, “Keep up the good work.”

“Thank you, professor.”

Only his voice rings out. She remains silent all the way out of the building. Usually, Tooru doesn’t have to put much effort in order to catch up with her, but it seems that today she is fiercely determined to leave him in the dust. One would go as far as saying that he’s slightly out of breath by the time he’s close enough to clamp his hand on her shoulder. But that might just be the nerves. Or perhaps the drizzle that is getting just a tad more violent as seconds pass.

“What is it?” She doesn’t even look at him while spitting the words out.

What have I done? What do I do to fix it? Can I fix it in the first place? Nothing is more urgent than the events unfolding at this very moment. He releases her elbow.

“Let’s go to my house.” He tries to sound as cheerful as he had anticipated he would be after the project. Her cold stare almost deters him. “I need some help with physiological psychology. There’s this chapter that just won’t cling to my brain cells.”

“Why should I care?”

His brain is so scrambled that Tooru doubts there is a way for him to revert it back to its natural shape. But if he doesn’t present a valid enough reason, his efforts will all have been for naught. He can discern a lack of expectations in her eyes, the dull quality that so often makes him want to pull his hair out. She expects all the worst things of him, and neither of the good, while managing to assume nothing at all. One of his greatest fears is proving her dearth of hope right.

“Because I can pay you and feed you sour candies,” Is what comes out.

All he can think about is tying a noose around his neck and end it all. An agonizing death is precisely what he deserves because that has to be the lamest excuse in the history of pathetic excuses. She won’t agree to that, the voice in his head jeers.

Just when all hope seems lost, she faces him fully and says, “We’ll negotiate the price once we get there.”

Chuckling, Tooru places a gloved hand on her shoulder, ushering her towards his car.

“As you command, my lady.”

The best way to describe the ride back home is a nebula of silence and tension. It’s like they backtracked to two weeks before today, the cassette playing the same screeching yet quiet tune of discord. Try as he might to diffuse it with music blasting from the radio, she seems dead-set on leaving whatever grievances she has to fester. This, in and of itself, is something he cannot abide. That is why, once the door clicks shut behind them, he demands the following.

“Tell me what upset you.” He says, unbuttoning his coat. He can sense her incipient denial, “Don’t deny it. I know it has something to do with what the professor said, but I can’t pinpoint what it was about his words that… frustrated you to this point.”

He watches her place her backpack on the sofa.

“Will you stop acting like you give a damn?” The words shock him, but she cuts him off before he can refute her assumption, “What? Are you going to give me tips on how to open up now? Because you’re an expert on the matter, right?”

It’s not just the words that have him rooted on the spot. It’s the way she glances at his bedroom, full of judgment and derision, that weighs on his stomach. Nausea is a familiar sensation, but Tooru wishes it wasn’t frothing within him at this moment.

If he were a more innocent man, he would call this a low blow. Her allusion to Tooru’s dependency on alcohol and the way she used it to strike a chord in him… is something he would have done. He would have grinned, tipped up their chin to observe the festering humiliation, pat their heads as if they were dogs, and felt regretful the moment he was certain no eyes were on him. She has learned from the very best.

The sound of her unzipping her backpack brings him back.

“Let’s just get on with what we came here to do.” She says, “What is it you don’t und-

“I wouldn’t be so adamant to know,” He begins once again, “Considering everything if I didn’t have a feeling that your frustration somehow has an indirect relation to me.” He pauses as she shoots him a glance while leaving through the pages of her book, “Just tell me what it is so I don’t jump to conclusions.”

Y/n lets out a long sigh, then turns to look him in the eye.

“You’re a volleyball player.” She drawls, “Jumping is part of your job, Mr. Oikawa.”

And then, just like with a glass and a windshield, everything becomes ever so clear. The professor’s comments throughout the weeks in relation to her public speaking skills, the bland look on her face as she hears the same things their high school teachers used to say reiterated time and time again, the way her shoulders slump as soon as she returns to her seat. It isn’t that the professor is unkind. It’s that she believes she is incapable of fulfilling the expectations he has for her, the brightest student in their year. It is frustrating to be told you are great. That your greatness could be perfected still. It is humiliating to be told that the improvement comes from pieces of advice provided by the person who spent his every interaction with you demeaning you.

She is frustrated because she is ashamed to have needed his guidance, to have been told it served her well. But that is exactly the truth.

Tooru hangs his coat on the back of the couch. Planting on hand there for support, he gives her an assertive look.

“As much as it might hurt you to acknowledge, it is true that my social skills are far superior to yours.” Despite his best efforts, his voice comes out tinged with frustration, “The professor was only pointing out that you have improved. It’s his job to provide you with feedback. That often includes criticism.”

Y/n looks down swiftly, pretending to focus on turning the pages. She is about to turn her back on him, but being the mischievous little brat he is, he decides to tease her by stealing her book. He finds the chapter he told her he had difficulty grasping, and hands it back to her with a lopsided grin.

“But my, who would have thought the day would come that you’d feel inferior to me.” He jokes.

Internally, she feels like she could set his house on fire, tear him to shreds and pulverize all hope of him becoming the volleyball star he’s always worked tirelessly to become. She wants to push and punch him until he crouches and falls to the floor in agony. And then she wants to pummel him until his black and blue. She’s unaware of these ugly emotions, these gruesome momentary desires. So, she reacts the only way she knows how.

“And you’ve always felt inferior to Kageyama.”

Tooru’s grin disintegrates. To swallow back tears and scathing remarks, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He proceeds to remove his gloves and turn on the AC. He can feel her eyes on him as he does so, as though she’s waiting for him to snap. As if she’s waiting for him to confirm her fears.

“The professor didn’t mean anything malicious by what he said. Neither did I.” He runs his fingers through his brown locks, “I was just… teasing.”

“You were patronizing me.”

“I wasn’t.”

She rolls her eyes, “And now you’re lying.”

“No. Lying would be to tell you that the way you act doesn’t do you a disservice. Do you want me to lie? Would I earn your trust then?” Tooru takes her hand in his, feeling the cool leather on his warm flesh. He tries to convey his sincerity, “When I said we could learn from each other, I meant exactly this. I teach you how to be more socially aware. More in tune with the values and needs of others. In return, you teach me how not to let myself be carried away by other people’s expectations and opinions.”

At first, she was taken aback by his display of skinship. Now, she holds his gaze seemingly without trepidation.

“That’s going to be a hard one, isn’t it? Mr. Oikawa embarking on a journey to discover some semblance of authenticity.” She pulls her hands free of his, “And selfish, cruel, cold Y/n learning to be human.”

“No, I didn’t- will you just listen? I really don’t-

Lowering her eyes to the page, Y/n sits down and says, “Which part don’t you understand?”

The conversation is over, he realizes. She’s put an end to it. All he can do now is sit down, tell her what she doesn’t understand, and set bring his jar of sour candy to the table. So, that’s exactly what he does. He changes into his sweats and hoodie, sets the jar on the table, and smiles gently as she reaches inside it.

His throat tightens and his eyes burn with unshed tears. Tooru wishes he could just sob to his heart’s content like the night he learned she had left, and the many nights after that. He wishes he could just let rivers of alcohol carry them out to sea so he could drain them both. His body would crumble in on itself. His mind would be but a blank slate. He would be at a hellish sort of peace.

December the 8th

There is something about the final days of March that has a person looking out the window. The object on which they spent minutes and hours gazing could be a pile of leaves carefully swept to a moldy corner by the janitor, the lilac buds straining within the boundaries of youth, the laughter carried in the moist breeze, the dew clinging to the fragrant petals of a blooming rose, or the paper planes spearing through the yard to land on some drooping branch. There is something altogether peculiar about these days that has everyone’s spirits soaring almost too carelessly. Perhaps it's the beginning of a new semester. Maybe it’s all that I have mentioned, none, or more.

The point still stands. The world is high on expectations, and Tooru is no exception. His muscles are a bit more defined than before Spring break and he has also grown 2 centimeters. The results must be apparent because one of the prettiest girls in school, an underclassman, kept touching his arm while speaking to him upon arrival. It was an ego boost, to say the least.

It would have been perfect if Y/n weren’t in his class. Tooru has always hated it when she was only a few feet away from him. In middle school, he made it his business to either pretend she didn’t exist or to pick on her until the rest did too. It was one or the other. But every time, he has to have every classmate on his side.

Then again, he always hated it when she wasn’t in his vicinity. He would find himself flirting with the girls in her class (making them believe he cared about them), or chatting with one of his teammates. All so he could sneak glimpses of her going about her day. The pattern was identical; whenever the two of them were in the same room, admiration gravitated toward him while she remained a one-woman island. The only exception was when Iwaizumi, Maki, or Mattsun were her classmates. They would always speak to him where he couldn’t reach her. It infuriated him. After all, he didn’t always ‘visit’ for the sole purpose of picking on her.

This semester, however, there is just them. No outside interference. He can stare, glare, mock, jeer, all at her expense. He can pull on her shoulder-length hair and pinch her arm. All so he can get a reaction out of her. It is cruel, and it inspires others to be the same. But because he is the charismatic, intelligent, attractive, diligent, ambitious Oikawa Tooru, every unkind gesture of his is the bastion of goodness. It’s what keeps him going. It makes him sick.

It is 10:30 in the morning, and he’s been sitting at his desk, his hands clenched, for the past 8 minutes looking without truly seeing what goes on around him. Yesterday’s practice has left him sore, exhausted, and overall cranky. He could barely swallow his breakfast and now he’s hungry.

“Hey, do you know how to solve this?”

The voice in and of itself isn’t one that piques his interest. No, it’s the sight of what is unfolding 2 desks away from his. Sato Kaoru, a member of the handball team, places a hand on the desk at the very front, looking down expectantly at the girl sitting there. In turn, she looks up at him with zero emotion on her face.

“Cuz I’ve been trying and I still can’t.”

After staring for a couple of extremely uncomfortable seconds, during which the boy slowly starts to lose his patience, she says, “I can explain it to you. So that you do it well on the test.”

There she goes, misinterpreting other people’s desires and expectations. Making more trouble for herself seems to be her specialty.

“Yeah, fine.” The boy says after swallowing an insult.

She does explain it alright, thoroughly and clearly. It’s obvious she practiced a lot to be able to say it in front of someone else. Sato nods along with every new concept she expounds upon. In the end, he’s able to solve a similar exercise on his own. Before he departs for his desk, he mutters a reluctant ‘thank you’ to which she responds with an ‘it’s nothing’. Tooru watches everything unfold like a story the events of which revolve around a ghostly girl, the fabric of her existence almost see-through. It makes him want to reach out just to make sure she’s tangible, real, not a figment of other people’s ephemeral imagination or necessities. As if it heard him, the softest breeze sweeps her hair to the side, exposing her neck. Tooru gulps. His fingers loosen.

What would she say if he were to run his fingers through her hair? Would she let him trace shapes on the back of her neck? After all, he just wants to make sure she’s not a mirage.

The bell ringing makes him jolt. Rubbing his neck, Tooru looks around to see if anyone caught him in the act of staring. No one is looking at him funny. All he has to do is be normal. Yes, that’s it. It’s the hunger and exhaustion that has him pondering the silliest things. Once he has lunch, all will return to normal.

By the time PE rolls around, he’s a new man. During lunch, he ignored her. Throughout their classes, he did the same. With some luck, they won’t have to interact during this joint lesson either. He silently prays they’re not partnered together, letting out a sigh of relief when his prayers are heard. His partner is Ikeda Yua, a girl of average height and ample bosom. That’s enough to get teenage Oikawa Tooru’s juices flowing.

“Okay, so for today you boys and girls are going to warm up and play against each other in mixed teams.” Professor Masuda says, her eyebrows furrowed as always, “But first, you’re going to warm up in teams of two.”

“No way,” Says the boy next to Tooru. “Do we really have to?”

It’s the guy from before, now donning an expression of exasperation. There is no need for Tooru to wonder who his partner is, as there is only one person who is hopeless when it comes to team sports. It’s the person standing at the very edge, a tad farther from the other girls. Looking on impassively, Y/n appears as though she couldn’t give a quarter of shit even if she tried. Occasionally, her hand will drift to her forehead, tucking the strands ruffled by the breeze behind her ear, likely because she forgot her hair tie.

“Yes, it is decided.” Asserts professor Ueda.

Pointing in her direction, Sato groans obnoxiously, “But she’s so bad at this.”

Some of the students try to suppress their snickers. Others, not at all bashful, laugh at the boy’s display of displeasure. Tooru considers joining the circus. Before he can let out a chuckle, he takes in her face. The way she looks around as if she doesn’t understand they’re laughing at her, the palms rubbing at her gym shorts in a way most wouldn’t be able to tell. She probably just wants this to be over.

“Pack that displeasure up and send it straight to hell, Mr. Sato.” Professor Masuda’s frown deepens. Y/n might not be one of her favorites, but there’s too much to do and so little time, meaning the childish complaints of a teenager are at the very bottom of her list of things to give a fuck about. “Come on, everyone! Girls and boys in rows facing each other! Make sure it’s your partner that’s standing before you!”

And so, it begins. Tooru and the Ikeda girl pick up one of the balls in the basket and begin to do some passes. Now and then, he throws in a flirtatious remark, and they both laugh. It’s all going smoothly. Everything goes smoothly when he’s not thinking of her. That is until the time comes for the boys and girls to stand in their respective lines and demonstrate how much their passes have improved.

“I knew it.” Sato next to him bites out, “You suck at this.”

Y/n is tired. She truly is both physically and mentally tired. All she wants is for this class to finish so she can go home and lock herself inside her bedroom. Nobody will be able to see her. She won’t be the butt of anyone’s jokes or insults, things she has difficulty picking up on let alone reacting to. She will be so safe, so tranquil. But first, she has to do her part.

Instead of passing the ball to Sato, she holds it.

“I’d do better if you showed me how to do it.” She means it, even though she hates the idea of being lectured by someone who has been dumping expletives on her from the moment they were partnered. When she looks straight at him, however, she is met with a look of contempt. That’s why she passes the ball to him, “I’ll call the professor over so she can-

It’s too fast for Tooru to understand what’s happening. One second Sato’s arm stretches and the next Y/n is face down on the floor. For a couple of seconds, complete silence engulfs the gymnasium. Everyone looks on like an animated scarecrow. There comes the sound of balls dropping from hands, gasps from open mouths, and a snort or two. Someone sets out looking for the professors, who are at the moment absurdly nowhere to be seen. On his end, Tooru keeps waiting for her to stand back up. When ten seconds have passed, he takes a step forward, and then another. Just then, she whimpers and rises to her knees. Hair conceals her face from view, so he can’t get a good look.

“Sorry,” Tooru hears Sato say, the amusement in his voice laced with what can only be a concern for the consequences of his actions, “I’m used to playing handball.”

“Shut up for a second.” Whispers another, a girl this time, “Nobody believes that.”

Tooru watches her plant both of her palms on the floor, but that’s not what grabs his attention. It’s the crimson trail her hands leave behind when they almost give in. It’s the dripping sound origination from where she remains hunched over. The echo of it almost has him dashing for the exit.

“Oh, god, she’s bleeding.” Squeaks a girl, “What do we do?”

“The professors are coming!” Announces the one who went looking. Footsteps come to a halt. “Fuck, is that blood?”

The following is the cruelest, albeit true, “Her nose is fucked, isn’t it?”

Besides himself with shock, Tooru places a hand on her upper back. Her shoulders tense.

“Are you alright?” The question in and of itself is idiotic, but he can’t think of anything else to say. It’s the fucking blood, he’s sure of it, “The professors are almost here.”

Slowly, she rises to her feet. Exactly as he thought, there’s a small puddle of blood on the floor. He attempts to get a good look at her face, to check the damage done to her face, but she swats his hand away as if it were a pest. If he were his normal self⸺ dramatic and full of energy⸺ he would be responding to her attitude with a jab at some aspect of her being. Yet, he is none of those things today. That is why, when she walks out the door⸺ swaying and righting herself⸺ he does no more than watch her leave.

The class goes on, but now there are two fewer people among them.

At practice, Iwaizumi bombards him with questions. Maki just sits there with a poker face of otherworldly boredom, conversing with Mattsun about the current developments in the field of Oikawa’s douchebaggery. Tooru’s protests that he’d been minding his own business ring loud and clear across the court yet still they go unheard. No one believes him, which… fair I guess. But all their justified lack of faith does is incensing him to the point that he all but rushes back home with the firm purpose of bringing her mood down to a brand new low.

He even waits for her to join them for the dinner his mom has invited the L/ns to. Her absence only serves to send his heart racing in frustration. First, she treated him like a bothersome insect when he was unwittingly trying to inquire about her state. Then, she became the reason his friends were pissed at him for the entire practice. As if this wasn’t enough, his mom won’t stop pestering him about her. Is Y/n doing well at school? Are you still friends? She looks up to you, so lend her a hand, okay?

Tears of frustration prickle at the edges, but if he smiles wide enough his eyes crinkle and they just make his eyes shine. But there’s no need for such tricks once he’s out on the balcony of his bedroom, where he catches sight of her sitting with her knees to her chest.

“You’re such an eyesore.” He mutters.

Y/n doesn’t jolt or scour her surroundings for the source of the insult. She’s in so much pain, that his words feel like petals in comparison.

Tooru’s grip on the railing tightens until his flesh turns white.

“Just like in middle school.” He spits out, “Ignoring people when they talk to you. Either staring like a creep or looking away. Doing the most to set yourself apart from the rest when you’re heads and shoulders below them.”

His words are ignored once more. Biting into his lower lip, he racks his brain for something that might make her tick.

“Even now, while your family is dining with mine, you choose to remain alone.” He sees her glance out the corner of her eye, arms tightening around her knees, so he presses on, “A recluse.”

“They didn’t want me to come.”

Whatever he might have had to say dies in his throat then and there. His lips slightly part and his hands loosen around the metal.

“I already know I’m not good. And I’m not mad or anything.” Her voice is slightly nasal. She stands, finally giving him a full view of her face. Her left eye, cheek, and upper lip are harrowingly bruised. Her nose, undoubtedly broken, is covered in a white dressing. “I just don’t want to be hit anymore.”

With that, she leaves him for the safety of her bedroom. The wind blows, making him shiver and seek the warmth of his house as she did. Once he finds himself out of everyone’s sight, he darts to his bathroom to vomit the contents of his stomach, his three meals flushed down the toiled in the span of a minute. Even then, he continues to dry heave while hunched over the toilet seat.

It’s too much. His academics, practice, his need for perfection, his influence on others, the craving for it, and the consequences of exercising such power. He might not have done anything today, but all his actions have led to this point. This, he only realizes years down the line. For now, he soothes himself with rationalizations of his deeds.

If you’re wondering how he sleeps at night, I can tell you. Sometimes he sleeps in a shirt and boxers, other nights topless. He looks up at the ceiling, thinking of spaceships and UFOs. His thoughts drift off to volleyball techniques and strategies. He sleeps hyperconscious of any sounds from the other side of the wall. And when the sounds do come, he pays close attention, anticipating with bated breath the music that would float from her phone.

They both have similar descriptions of it, and each time they find a new way to define it.

It was like breathing while your chest weighed at once too little and too much as if the pressure couldn’t decide whether to exist or scatter across oblivion. It was like facing a great expanse of sea or land, simply sitting with your knees folded against your chest as if to shrink the vastness of your deserted landscape to the size of a walnut. And in this petite universe, of which they were eternal residents, they were separated merely by the thin divide of fear. Fear of being cared for. Fear of touching and being touched. Fear of everything that shouldn’t have to be feared. It was the hardest barrier to breach.

Eventually, meaning the following day, she returned to school. In his most sober moments, Tooru thinks that perhaps she shouldn’t have. Perhaps she should have left since then. That way, she would have been happier sooner, and he wouldn’t have had the chance to say the things he’d said. She would have known spring.

Tooru jolts up. Air rushes in and out of his lungs as if pumped by an external force. In his chest, his lungs feel heavy, almost stone-like. He doesn’t know what else to do other than frown and clutch his damp shirt while his lips part only to gravitate towards each other like magnets of opposite poles.

To think that a recollection can have a far more harrowing effect on a person than a nightmare. But there’s more to it than a few memories of a spring day. It’s the weeks gone by without a drop of alcohol. His pathetic attempt to put the cork back on the bottle seems to have caught up to him. His mood swings have worsened. The healthier he becomes, the weaker he feels. His bones anchor him to the ground and won’t let him make his way to the bathroom without significant effort. The pigmentation under his eyes has darkened a few shades. In short, Oikawa Tooru is at his worst acting like he couldn’t be better.

For all his fidgeting and overly artificial charm on this sunny yet chilly morning, his act is convincing. Although, his success would be better attributed to Y/n’s overall disregard for her surroundings as well as her resolve not to look at him for longer than three consecutive seconds.

Tooru’s shivers, the scratching behind his ears, and the tapping of his foot go unnoticed as he asks her if she slept alright in the guest room, if she still enjoyed her eggs well done, and if the temperature in the room was ideal. Every question is met head-on with a ‘yes’. Whenever she speaks, the cadence of her voice makes his head hurt a little less. Yet it never lasts. She’s not exactly enthused to make conversation with him (especially after the argument). And as frail as this might make him seem, it makes him wish he were invisible. A see-through, wingless bird.

As they cut through their eggs, her phone rings. She wipes her hands and picks up the call at once.

“Hello? Who’s calling?” Her tone might even be called ‘hopeful’. She nods along as the person on the other end of the call gets to talking. “Ah, yeah. Of course, I’ll be there tomorrow at 5:30 PM. Thank you.”

Breakfast is all but forgotten as she takes one look at the time on her screen and starts packing. Slowly, Tooru raises the fork to his lips, watching her wrap her frayed scarf around her neck. Isn’t it too soon? Is it perhaps too late? Has he already run out of time?

Whatever the case may be, he’s lost his appetite.

“Is it a date?” He asks instead, injecting some of that teasing attitude into his voice.

Looking at Tooru wrapping the dishes in foil, she scoffs, “I’d rather date a rat than a landlord.”

Laughter breaks free from his chest. He almost drops a plate while he’s trying to open the fridge.

“Careful, cutie,” He cautions her jokingly, “You might trample on the feelings of the elderly.”

“Not that it matters but the landlord is middle-aged.”

Tooru leans against the fridge. “So, you’re saying that if weren’t a middle-aged landlord, you’d give them a chance?”

“You’re insufferable and not making any sense.” She rolls her eyes when he shrugs at her words. “She called to let me know that she’s still looking for someone to rent out her apartment to. Other than me, there’s another person who’s interested. She decided to ring me first.”

Many people claim to have experienced, at some point in their lives, the sensation of time coming to a halt. Many of them are lying, or maybe it just feels different for them. In Tooru’s case, it’s less about time and more about his mind and body’s relation to it. He can count his heartbeats, sense the thrumming of the fridge, and lose himself in the scant sunlight spilling from the windows of the living room, but the seconds ticking by lose their acoustic quality. By shedding their nature, they become heavy, sticking to his extremities like anchors welded into his bones. He cannot bring himself to speak his mind.

What would happen if he did? She might think him condescending, patronizing, another obstacle in her quest for peace. For all he knows, she could leave for good and he’s not so sure he can follow this time.

“Are you leaving because of me?” His tongue loosens without him noticing. Her hands halt where they’re slinging her backpack over her shoulder, “I know I shouldn’t presume to be at the center of your decision but I can’t help thinking that maybe I’m not far off the truth.”

She doesn’t avert her eyes. “You’re part of the reason.”

How uncomfortable must he make her for her to go as far as to choose isolation in place of the company of those she cares about? Does she not know they are grateful and enjoy being around her? Does she not care that her abrupt departure would only drill a hole into their wounded friendship? But who is he to speak of healthy friendships and the preservation of such bonds? Did he not, some time ago, all but eviscerate his friendship with Iwaizumi? Oikawa Tooru should know his place.

Still, he can’t help but approach her. Somewhat trembling, he secures a strand of hair behind her ear. His hand cradles the side of her head, the heat from her skin seeping into his.

“You don’t have to leave your friends behind.” It’s almost a plea.

“Everyone leaves everyone behind at some point. It’s just a matter of time, seconds you have to spend dreading the very moment it happens. The only difference is that I have no such fear.” She pulls away and frowns. “That look of shock on your face. It’s hypocritical.”

Tooru can just stand there, hand burning as if electrocuted, and watch as she scans the surfaces of his place for any items she might have forgotten. He is no more than a bystander in his apartment.

“Now that we’re finished with the project… after you leave,” He can tell she’s stopped looking from the way her head isn’t moving from side to side as usual, “Are you never going to speak to me again?”

Taking one last look around the kitchen, she says, “Improbable. Kenma and Suna still want me to join you guys. Ayame too.”

“But there will always be an excuse to use.”

And then she sighs. Knowing she’s about to abandon her already defective filter, Tooru preps himself for all the truths he’s about to have hurled at him.

“I don’t know why you want me around all of a sudden. Why you’re being decent to me? What I’m feeling right as I’m telling you this? I don’t know that either. I’m not saying this to be edgy or anything.” Her shoulders drop. It’s almost like she’s frustrated with herself, with him, with just about everything that has led to her having to explain something that in her head doesn’t need to be out in the world. “It’s been a long time since I’ve cared to examine what happens to me, with me. The reasons why they happen, elude me. Sometimes I wonder why I run away, but I always seem to forget.”

Speechless, Tooru stands with his hands planted on the counter for support.

“Or something like that.” She says, and when he doesn’t make a sound, “You’ll see me, Oikawa.”

It’s in the early hours of the morning that Tooru, after hours spent with fingers hovering over the number, decides to rip off the bandage and make the much-dreaded call. If he hadn’t lashed out at his closest friend, the only thing he would have to fear is a fit of rage on the other end, to which he would respond with teasing, wheezing laughter, or an immediate thought born of pure 3 AM mind-fuckery. Now, he’s not so certain.

“Who is it?”

Tooru’s blood freezes. How he wishes he had pondered this call a little longer.

“Iwa-chan,” He tries the usual teasing tone, but it comes out dejected, “Do you really want to help me?”

Iwaizumi groans into the phone, “It’s 3 AM, you bastard. The fuck I wa-

“Y/n,” Tooru cuts the case, “Do you still see her as a little sister?”

There is a moment of silence, not enough to have Tooru ask if the man is still there, but it has sweat gathering at the creases of his palm.

“How is she?”

Tooru sighs, throws off the blanket, and sits at the edge of the bed. “She’s hurt.”

“What’s wrong with her?” This time he can hear the notes of urgency in his friend’s voice come to life. “Did-

Before he can accuse Tooru of a crime, the latter states the purpose of the call. “I was just thinking maybe you could reach out to her first, reconnect and-

“Are you fucking serious?”

This time, Tooru gets a little pissed, glaring ahead and out the window, where the city is in full view.

“Yes, actually,” He enunciates, “I am.”

“Well, you’re a fucking idiot too, then.” Comes Iwaizumi’s bite, “You want me to call her or something? And remind her of how we always roped her in humiliating shit that you orchestrated?”

She doesn’t hate you, is what Tooru wants to say. But if he were to, he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold back the sobs clogging his throat. Iwaizumi, to his credit, doesn’t bark out a second reminder. Not immediately, anyway.

“I’m not calling her. It’s a good thing she left. I hope she never sees the likes of us again.” Then, venomously, “I guess it’s too late to hope for that.”

Yeah, you’re right.

Suna Rintaro is late to many things. In high school, he would take his sweet time walking there, his surroundings so sharp he just couldn’t be bothered to give up the blaring of car honks, the giggles of toddlers who couldn’t wait to meet their kindergarten buddies, the wind stealing touches at the leaves, the water rushing down the drain, the smell of freshly baked jam-filled buns, or the sound of his shoes chafing against the pavement, for the dullness of morning classes. As an adult, he is no different. Lectures come second, and sometimes sex does too. He is late to countless things. But he is never late for her.

He remembers that one time he was over a half hour late to some restaurant their group was set to dine at, and the look of relief on her face when he ran towards the table, taking a seat beside her, was enough to make his lips tip at the corners. Though he hasn’t been late since the temptation is real.

Even now, as they sit opposite each other at KFC, far enough from the main road not to be distinguished or overheard (not that the fogged-up glass would allow that), savoring the amplification of silence in the night, he is tempted by something he can’t put his finger on. It’s been like this ever since he picked her up. At first, he thought she would perk up once they plundered the pastry shelves and kitchen at KFC. Yet she remains resolute in her quietude.

Rin takes a bite out of his jam-filled bun, and says, “So, what’s up?”

Hands buried in the pockets of her coat, Y/n leans back on the couch.

“Just assignments. Keep piling up like haystacks.” She says, clearing a path on the fogged-up window. “This weather sucks.”

Her pitiful attempt at evading his question is almost endearing. She’s so bad at it that Rin can’t bring himself to be sarcastic.

“Look, if you don’t wanna tell me… that’s fine.” He reassures her and before he can scarf down the remainder of the bun, he says, “No reason to lie.”

His words lift the burden of having to open up and leave her feeling just a little more at ease around him. This doesn’t mean she fails to realize the importance of asking him the same question he had aimed at her. It’s normal to inquire about the lives of those close to you. It isn’t a crime. So why does it seem like theft, like some kind of extortion? Whenever she’s the one asking the questions, it is as though she is stripping people bare, removing every last piece of their dignity before flaying them down the final strip of skin. It is grotesque, disconcerting. Rin calls her his favorite girl, his best friend. It doesn’t make her less of a thief.

“What about you?” She asks, hand falling to her lap.

Rin licks the jam at the corner of his mouth.

“There must be things I want to talk about. But I can scarcely recall them. I’d much rather be present.” His gaze pierces her through. “Look forward to the next moment and move on.”

At this moment, Y/n is the one being disrobed. It may look like harmless staring, just a friend conversing with another, but the truth of it is that Suna Rintaro wishes he had sat by her side, trapped her between his body and the wall in a way she wouldn’t notice. He wishes he were fiddling with the edge of her almond brown corduroy skirt that she he beneath that thick umber coat he’d gifted her three years ago against her expressed wishes. That their feet were knocking against one another now and again.

She gives no indication of having picked up on his ‘lecherous’ behavior. All she knows is that her body burns yet feels like ice. Perhaps she’s coming down with a cold?

In a trice, she’s leaning forward and dipping a fry in the sweet and sour sauce.

“You know how Hans and Gretel left behind breadcrumbs to find their way back home?” She asks, and Rin leans forward as he nods. “Yeah, I did my best to make sure this wasn’t the case.”

He squints. “You seem disappointed.”

“It seems I’ve left enough for my home to find me.” Y/n sighs. “Or for my sleep to find its way back.”

She shivers all over when fingers come to rest on her face, inching away in just a matter of seconds.

“Just this.” Rin clarifies, showing her the fallen eyelash. She rubs at her cheek, barely meeting his expectant look, “Aren’t you going to wish?”

Not thinking twice, she blows on it. He does the same. This back and forth only last for a few seconds, after which they pick a finger. The victorious digit is the forefinger, which soon presses on her jugular. It catches her off guard nonetheless. She feels utterly idiotic for freezing up at the barest touch of Suna Rintaro. He’s the same boy who walked directly behind her to prevent others from seeing her blood-soaked shorts. Every now and then, when they’d go to some sad high-school-runt summer party, he would joke that he’d be her boyfriend just to fend off the vultures that threatened to steal her. He even knew her bra size. His touch shouldn’t be prompting an increase in blood pressure. Yet here she is, hands accumulating sweat like there’s a drought, blood rushing to her cheeks and neck, and the itch at her fingertips to scrape them raw.

You may be thinking it affects Rin less than it does her. Or you might be a person of culture and instantly envision his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with each gulp, the air leaving his lungs slowly because that’s how hard he’s trying to act nonchalant, and the shivers marching up and down his body like an army of rogue neurons, shivers only the heat of her skin can provoke.

“So,” He begins again, bringing his hand to his plate like it’s nothing, “Is it home?”

Y/n places her hand on the glass, looking beyond the condensation. “Who knows?”

For a few moments, during which she does nothing but occasionally munch on fries and sip on her warm cocoa drink, she thinks this is how it’s going to go. They’re going to sit in silence until Rin gets restless and asks to call it a day (now nearing night). This way, she’s going to brand herself in Rin’s memory as a boring bitch. She probably is. Probably not. Definition varies.

When the thoughts get too much, she decides to glance his way only to choke on a snort.

“What?” The food in his mouth distorts his words. “What? Why are you snorting?”

She bites back another snort, and fails, “It’s just you have this way of munching on food. Like your cheeks puff out like round little globes. It’s comical. Like a cartoon.”

“Not the girl who licks her fingers talking.” He shoots, his oral cavity about to burst at the seams.

Y/n’s eyes widen as the words leave his mouth.

“Are you ever going to let it go?”

“Never.”

“Oh, my fucking-

Rin pretends to suck on his fingertips one by one. “The way you licked them back when we first-

“I thought nobody could see me.” She slaps her hands on her face to bury the embarrassment. “Fucking hell.”

“Well, I’m glad I did.”

Behind her palms, her eyes widen. Rin can pin down the moment her breath gets glued to the inside of her mouth. He waits for her hands to flop back to her lap. Better yet, why not on the table where he can admire them, reach for them?

“It had been a bad day.” He goes on, the edge of his mouth tilting when he sees her index and middle fingers part. “You made it less so.”

The statement puzzles her. Their first time having a conversation had been a tomfoolery of awkwardness. Her convo skills have always been cloddish and nothing short of embarrassing. True, it had worked out but it doesn’t make the idea of her improving his mood any more plausible.

Not wanting to disrupt the flow of the dialog, Y/n allows her face to breathe, flushed as it is, and grabs a fry which she then dips in garlic sauce.

“Did granny scold you?” She asks half-jokingly.

“Something along those lines.” He mirrors her movements without noticing, eyes stalking her hand as it curls around the cup. “I was just… happy to finally meet you. The girl who never said hi. The best thing Kuroo has ever done is bringing you into my life.”

Y/n chugs down the rest of her drink. “I remember avoiding you like the plague at first.”

He’s cautious enough to set down the cup before acknowledging the ‘shameful’ truth.

“Understandable. With my fuckboy reputation and all.”

“Not that.” She wipes the back of her hand across her mouth. “I knew you wouldn’t be attracted to me. Or want to have sex with me.”

When Rin invited her to go out, he didn’t do it with the anticipation of such a revelation. From the night they’d first spoken up until this very moment, he had been suspicious about the authenticity of her nonchalance regarding the subject of how attractive she believed herself to be in the eyes of others. He knows people can be mean to others, even if they don’t know them. Especially if they don’t know them. Maybe it affects her more than he realized. That pissed him off.

It's senior year, and he’s just finished hooking with Hanae, a girl in his year who already had a boyfriend. Rin knows that, of course. He doesn’t care. They were fuckbuddies weeks before she found herself a very hot boy to keep around just enough to satiate her desire for romance, something Rin can’t give a fuck about. She came over, they fucked, and now he lay on top of the ruffled sheets damp with sweat, scrolling through his album. In truth, he’s just going through all the pics and funny videos Y/n has sent him.

She loves everything aesthetic. She’s capable of putting together different pictures to convey an emotion. Sometimes what he feels is drastically unlike hers, but there are also days when it seems as though he can tap on the picture on his screen and leap through time and space. Just to find himself still in bed, shirtless and sporting only a pair of midnight blue jogging shorts.

Out of nowhere, Hanae snatches his phone away. It shocks him, but he does no more than glare and demands that she stop fucking around. It’s evening and he has no time for her theatrics.

“No way,” She snickers, thumb scrolling down. He lunges for her, but she literally twirls away before he can yank her by the arm. “I have to know what has you so distracted that you can’t even listen to what I’m saying.” Her face falls, a sneer replacing her smirk, “What’s this?”

Rin grabs her by the wrist with such strength that she drops her phone. It lands on his right hand.

“None of your business.” He says, releasing her.

He sits at the edge of his bed, almost flopping back on his bed. Practice and sex have worn him out, especially since he partakes in both more or less every day. Apparently, his words did not suffice since she feels entitled to try to repeat the same mistake.

“Who is that,” She asks, making grabby hands at his phone. “It’s not a model so who is that? Tell me.”

Rin doesn’t even bother to look up at her. “My tutor.”

“You don’t have a tutor.”

“Is that so?” He drawls.

Hanae is red in the face. He’s impressed by the fact that she hasn’t broken out in boils yet.

“Yes, I know you don’t. So, who is that? Are you fucking her, too?” At the end of the last sentence, she stomps her food like a child. Rin decides not to entertain her, but that only serves to spur her further into her monologue of accusations, “You wouldn’t touch someone who looks like they’ve been run over by a truck right? Maybe you can’t tell but her nose is crooked and she-

“Your boyfriend wasn’t nearly as noisy or nosy after I railed him for two hours.”

That brings her rambling to an end. Rin’s hands are planted firmly on the mattress. He tilts his head just for her to be able to see how disinterested he is in anything she has to say.

“Get the fuck out.” He drawls.

The girl leaves as if in a daze. Rin waits for the dramatic door slam before he can sigh and fall back on the bed.

As if to make the memory dissolve, Rin shakes his head. Desperate to do something other than overthinking the ‘whats’ and ‘whys’, he begins to roll up his napkin.

“Then, why were you afraid?”

Y/n considers lying to him, to pass it off as a tasteless, self-deprecating joke. But he would just tell her not to lie to him. He’s intelligent like that.

“You reminded me of someone.” She breathes out a last. “You looked like someone everyone liked. You were charming, talented, and attractive. I guess I was scared of you finding me… unpleasant. Because then the rest of them would too.” Her chuckle redirects his focus back to her face, the napkin now long forgotten beside the red tray. “Also, you just have these really piercing eyes. Like those of a lynx. And well it was a movie night I guess but I felt you looking at me-

“Yeah, and you kept looking away.”

Y/n supports her cheek on her right hand.

“And I kept looking away.” She repeats. “I thought you were appraising me, judging how much I was worth. If I deserved to be there.”

Rin thinks carefully about what his next words should be. It doesn’t take him long though, because less than 3 seconds pass before he mimics her position, his right forearm serving as a pillar of balance for his head.

“I’d seen you before you know.” This is no news to her, but what follows is quite different, “From my balcony. You were alone but you didn’t look lonely.”

“Classic me. Making the best first impressions. Or second ones I guess.” She almost tears a muscle rolling her eyes. Tapping her fingers against her cheekbone, she divulges another unexpected truth, “You also were like completely out of my league. I mean, Chiharu and the rest befriended me. I never would’ve had the gall to reach out to them. They’re the quintessential popular kids, you know. Same with you.”

Rin can’t believe his ears.

“I was high as a kite. Had a hoe phase that has since only slightly gotten milder. And I was failing four classes.” He balls up the napkin and throws it for her to catch, “The only league I was part of was the ligmaballs.”

Y/n dodges the ‘cannonball’ as laughter bubbles out of her chest. When she’s done, and Rin can just barely hold back from pinching her cheeks, she brings her shrimp burger up to her mouth.

“Sometimes I hate that you’re funny.” She says before taking a huge bite out of it.

Juice runs down the side of her mouth, which she licks off at once. Rin can only smile at the turn this day took.

“Yeah? I’m funny, am I?” He says, trapping her puffed-up cheeks between his fingers and pulling until she groans. “Say that again. C’mon.”

Grumbling, she leans backward and her cheek stretches like a mochi. “Stop, it hurts you slut.”

The downpour drowns out her protests. One last pull and he releases her, an action that would have her falling if she were standing. Instead, she brings her cold knuckles to her reddened cheek, all the while scowling at him in a way that makes it obvious that she is putting tremendous effort into the displeased look. Rin is entertained, relishing the theme of this afternoon.

The whole aesthetic was made for those who wished days would turn to nights while the hour merely struck 3 in the afternoon. Trickling down slanted rooftops, trekking in rivulets up windows of cars leaving the storm behind, sliding down the glasses of new customers seeking a warm meal and shelter from the thunderous weather, the rain imparted an aquatic feel to all that it fell upon to bear it. They catch glimpses of people riding home on bikes, the hoods of their vibrant raincoats on the verge of bending the knee to the wind, and of two couples making out in their respective cars. The latter they peer at through the peepholes on the fogged-up window. It seems as if the world is swimming in some undefined emotion. Or perhaps the storm has concentered every emotion felt into a singular, never-seen-before phenomenon that human brains can’t decipher. They are far too busy swimming in it.

It's much like when you’re a kid and you go to the beach and no matter how much time passes, you never want to stop lying afloat. Letting the saltwater carry your body to the mermaids you spend the night listening to from within your shell. That is why they don’t notice how late it’s gotten until the clientele thins for the day and she points it out to him. Rin sighs, regretful that he has to say goodnight, fearful about the number of days that will pass until they next meet.

After 4 hours of relentless violence, the storm has grown as feeble as a wet twig. They step out and begin their walk out of the parking lot.

“I hate that you thought I would find you unattractive.”

He means for her to hear it, and is glad to have her attention on him as she processes what he’s just said. Her eyebrows dive to the point that they meet, such is her befuddlement at the statement. But then the corner of her mouth tilts, as though he’s just said something mildly moronic and amusing.

“What? You’re gonna say you thought I was gorgeous now?” She rolls her eyes, “Please, Rin, you wouldn’t stop looking m-

“And that meant I thought you were ugly?” He shakes his head. “So, you’re telling me if you saw me staring at a girl all night long, you’d think I didn’t want to talk to her?”

To flee the feeling of being put under the microscope, her eyes shift from one object to the next. Cars, bicycles, payphones, shopping carts from the supermarket just next to KFC that edgy teens have abandoned near dumpsters⸺ all so she can avoid having the truth pierced by his eyes. Just like a blood bag, it would spill and the stain would be difficult to wash out.

“No.” She drawls out, “But those girls are-

“That girl,” He holds onto her elbow gently, catching her by surprise nonetheless, “Was you.”

And she looks up at him, eyes sparkling with emotions the decryption of which Rin had yet to master. Perplexity, wonder, astonishment, nervousness, gloom… a bit of everything as he will later learn. The corners of her mouth seem undecided whether to tilt upwards or swoop down. So, to mask the state she’s in, Y/n glances from his fingers wrapped around her arm to his green eyes. It’s a game of back and forth.

“Can I be honest?” He asks.

Y/n almost recoils when his other hand reaches for her jaw. His words come out in a whisper, like the brisk wind from this morning, before the storm took over. What she doesn’t know is that the truth is fighting tooth and nail to come into the moonlight, to envelop them both in the uncertainty of what awaits. Perhaps then she would see into his head, every thought he’s had about her since he set his eyes on her. Every impulse he’s had to fight⸺ stopping himself from planting his mouth on hers during their many tutoring sessions, fingers curling around his phone before he could rub his knuckles against the vein on her neck, holding his breath as she asked him embarrassing questions. Every time he’s succeeded, the only diversion has been to seek attention from people he didn’t like talking with. Because nothing can be ruined that wasn’t desired. And while most desired things could be ruined by lies, they could persevere in secrecy.

“No more inside looking out.” Says Rin.

“Huh?”

He always looks so bored. Everyone says that he’s been cursed with a face to be kissed and feared, that he smells of cigarettes and weed. But his hold on her, the proximity, and the look of urgency paired up with the smile that’s about to bloom tell a vastly different story.

“Tonight, we don’t think of home. Everything around us? Just pure energy without boundaries. I know how it scares you. But,” His breath is warm, coming out in puffs of steam as the night grows cold, “No inside looking out. All of this, the here and now, is where we need to be.”

As if a thread has snapped within her, she faces him, “The entirety of the cosmos.”

“The multiverse.” He follows.

Y/n is a novice to the art of desiring. She doesn’t know what it means to want the moment, to reach for it in this cosmos, and to never attain it. She has never coveted the ability to live. She has never imagined daring the ambition for expansion through the senses. Tonight, she feels compelled to try.

“A peek into the ‘everything’.”

#oikawa tooru #oikawa fic #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa tooru angst #oikawa tooru x y/n #Suna Rintarou #suna x reader #suna rintaro angst #suna x y/n #yen per second #haikyuu #bully!oikawa x reader

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royallyjoon · 3 years

Text

nephilim (quatre)

you know where the cred goes 💙

cult au, supernatural creature au

yandere! ot7 x f! reader

warnings: yandere themes, violence, manipulation

undoubtedly, the boys have opened their arms and hearts to you. but have you done the same? life has only gotten more stressful for you, and the closer you find yourself getting to them, the more you feel as though you are changing, and the more you push yourself away. you refuse to break. never forget: one’s hubris could be their hamartia. forge your lonely path with conviction. after all, it may not be yours for much longer. the victor or the fallen--exactly who is it that stands to lose the most?

——————————————————————

For a long time now, you had feared that your relatively peaceful days in Ichabod were coming to an end, and recent events only further proved your point.

Mana’s forewarning carried its weight well, as Aemilia seemed dead set on making an enemy of you. She went from hardly acknowledging your existence to cursing it.

She would never lift a finger to do her dirty work, oh no, for how could the delicate Augustus princess stoop so low as to take the garbage out herself?

No, she used her puppets Brooklyn, Constance, and whoever else she managed to sink her claws into in the student body to torment you.

They tripped you in the halls, stole your belongings, and essentially made it difficult for you to bleed into the background like you used to.

Luckily for you, you happened to gain some formidable allies.

Mana was there to tell Aemilia’s lackeys to back down, and they wouldn’t dare approach you with Jimin around. And he happened to be around more often than not, strangely enough.

The three of you managed to form a strange alliance during this time. Your best friend was still extremely cautious around Jimin and his siblings, as were you, but they had gotten somewhat closer, which made you glad. You didn’t want to be the bridge between them, as you thought that would be tiring and more than you could already handle.

Still, the two were only human. They wouldn’t always be there to defend you. Nevertheless, you were quite capable of defending yourself.

You didn’t give Aemilia the satisfaction of breaking under her pressure. You held your head up high despite the amounts of rumors flying around the school about you, even if they made you want to split your own skull open.

The student body, in part, was divided. Half of them wanted nothing to do with you, considering how you were associated with both the Augustuses and the Kims. They were wary of your actions, claiming you were steps away from meeting Wylynne herself.

The other half whispered about how tired they were of Aemilia’s antics and tantrums, given that this was not the first time she had behaved like this toward another student.

Two weeks passed by, and neither you nor Aemilia was giving in. The strawberry blonde was beside herself, and so were her poor friends. Every day that she failed to teach you a lesson was another day she went raving mad in private.

Soon enough, her patience would snap. She would find herself going over the tipping point, but the question remains: Who would stand to lose the most when she got there?

It was another stressful day for you at Ichabod Academy as you sat in your lively homeroom.

Mana rested on your desk, laying their head on their arms. You figured they would be uncomfortable, considering the way their body was twisted around in their seat, but your friend was drifting off without a care in the world.

You slumped in your chair, looking every bit as done with life as you had recently felt. There was so much you had to be on the lookout for, and today was no different.

You blinked tiredly and looked at your best friend. You then decided to lay your head on top of Mana’s, who did nothing more than let out a grunt, and closed your eyes in an attempt to get some rest as well.

When Jimin returned from the restroom, he internally cooed at the sight.

Your head started rocking back and forth as it tilted dangerously on top of Mana’s. Ensuring he wouldn’t wake you, the boy sat you up and leaned your body on him so that your head was resting on his shoulder.

He smiled down at you in relief. Your classmates took note of his treatment and started to whisper about the two of you, but one look from him and the room quieted.

Unfortunately for you, the peace was short lived. There was a loud crackling over the intercom that shook both you and Mana awake.

They sat up and glared at their surroundings in annoyance. You opened your eyes in a flash, desperately hoping it wasn’t your first period teacher.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Diivi isn’t here yet.” Jimin reassured you. “It was just the intercom.”

You nodded in thanks and covered your yawn with the back of your hand.

There was some more crackling and finally, your principal began to speak.

“Good afternoon, students. I apologize for the interruption, but this is urgent. Constance Pierre is to report to the principal’s office immediately. I repeat, Constance Pierre to the principal’s office. Thank you for your attention, and please continue about your day.”

You squinted in confusion.

Constance has never been called to the principal’s office before in her entire life. Even when she was causing trouble for you and other students, the teachers paid no mind and others were too afraid to report her. What could have happened?

The sound of feet pounding against the floor got closer and closer until you could hear it outside your classroom door. A blonde blur passed the room, disappearing as fast as it had come.

“Pierre...why does that name sound familiar?” You murmured to yourself.

“It’s the name of the freshman that went missing.” Mana said as they stretched. “Chance Pierre, I think.”

Your eyes widened in understanding.

“He was-is Constance’s little brother.” They corrected their statement.

Jimin glanced at your shocked expression and suppressed a dry laugh.

Quite frankly, he could care less about the Pierre family. Constance has been nothing but a nuisance to him and his brother.

He’d been willing to overlook the rumors of how annoyingly outstanding and clever the freshman was because he knew his little brother would always be better.

But after the blonde went so far as to start pestering you, he used the information he’d gathered against Chance in its opportune moment. And he had no regrets.

You snuck a peek at Jimin and saw a familiar, cold decisiveness plastered on his face. It was the only expression you’d been seeing from him for a while now. Any time someone brought up the missing student, Jimin would go frostily silent.

It reminded you of the difference between the two of you, just like his reaction--or lack thereof--the morning of Chance’s disappearance had.

You figured he was just uncomfortable talking about the situation and was carefully avoiding it, just as he had with you and Mana that first day you spent lunch together.

At least it wasn’t Mom or Mana, you thought to yourself.

“They must’ve finally found him.” You commented, distracted by your incoming thoughts.

Aemilia’s family is specifically in charge of hunting down anyone who can be perceived as a “threat” to the Kim family. Brooklyn Hayes and Constance Pierre, however, acquired social immunity for themselves and their families as the girls are so close.

Or so you thought.

Constance’s disheveled appearance the morning Chance went missing made much more sense, then. She was worried sick about her little brother, and one of her closest friends didn’t even bother warning her or her family.

You shuddered. Just how many people would Aemilia sacrifice? How far would she go, just for her sick sense of what was right?

You had no intention of finding out.

By lunch time, the rest of the school had heard exactly what happened to poor Chance Pierre.

The fourteen year old boy was deposited in the family’s living room, returned out of the blue just like all of those who came before him.

His mother had stepped out for a short moment to go grocery shopping and returned to find her bloody mess of a son, who she then quickly rushed to the hospital.

He was covered in bruises, had a broken arm and leg, several broken ribs, and permanent blindness in his left eye. All things considered, he is one of the lucky ones.

His family was just grateful that he was returned to them still breathing.

Whatever the message was, the Pierre family had received it loud and clear. And so had the rest of the town.

No one is allowed to leave Ichabod. Not without being stopped by Death herself.

Another school day had come to an end, and you walked out the building with Mana and Jimin at your side.

Seeing how the end of the month was coming up, you and Jimin decided that it would be best if you went over to his house to work on the project again. The beginning of the presentations were not far off and it was about time you completed your research.

It didn’t take long to convince your mother. The both of you found it easier for you to go over to the Kim residence than to ask Jimin if he could come to your home.

You sat on a granite bench outside of the entrance. Mana stood on your left, leaning up against the wall and Jimin sat to your right, perched on the bench.

You were waiting for Driver Bin and Mr. Waye to show up when you heard a familiar voice call out.

“(Y/N)! Jimin hyung!” You watched as Taehyung came running out the school doors, Jungkook trailing calmly behind him.

You waved at the two and gave them a tired smile. Taehyung made himself comfortable on Jimin’s lap as Jungkook stood along the wall near Mana.

“Did you have a good day, (Y/N)?” Taehyung hummed, eyes teeming with concern.

“Yeah, it was fine.” You said, struggling to actually mean that statement.

Mana gave you a knowing look and huffed out a laugh under their breath.

It’s not as though you almost had your things stolen twice in one day.

This morning, Hoseok saw you chasing a junior who was running away with some of your notebooks and folders in hand.

His charming smile dropped and he gave her a grim look. All he had to do was extend his hand and she placed the items in his palm, which he then promptly returned to you.

Then one of your classmates stole your laptop while you were at lunch in an effort to wipe the thing. Had it not been for Namjoon walking into the library and catching them in the act, you surely would have lost all of your information.

Thankfully, he safely retrieved your laptop from your classmate. You made a new password for all of your devices and resolved to never let your bag out of your sight again.

“I’m glad you’re coming over again, though! Maybe we’ll get to watch a movie or play some games together.” He flashed you a boxy grin and you sent him a small smile in return.

“Jungkookie’s got loads of games,” Jimin added, peeking his head out from behind Taehyung. “He’s such a hoarder, he rarely lets us play with him. I’m sure he’d let you, though.”

Jungkook punched Jimin in the shoulder, looking at the ground in embarrassment. “Hyung, what are you saying...”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.” You sighed absentmindedly. “I could do with a break from school and homework for like, the next month.”

The youngest brother flushed, peeking up at you through his bangs. “If you wanted to, I’d be happy to play with you.” He mumbled as he smiled.

“Oh, there’s Driver Bin!” Taehyung called, hopping up and pulling you and Jimin to your feet.

You hugged Mana goodbye as the black van pulled up to the curb. Just as you turned to follow Jimin, however, someone knocked their shoulder into yours.

“Oh, sweetie. You should really watch where you’re going.”

Brooklyn stood in your path with her arms crossed. Over her shoulder, you saw Aemilia and Constance standing a short distance away. They looked as though they were about to make their way towards Aemilia’s family’s car.

Of course, she could have just walked around you, but why would she ever let you off easy?

The strawberry blonde wore a satisfied smile and she leaned over to whisper something in the ear of a haggard Constance. Constance merely blinked and nodded in response.

You smiled at the girl in front of you. “Of course. It was all my mistake. I’m so sorry, Brooklyn.”

You stepped closer as though you were going to confront her and grabbed her arm, pulling her toward you before she could step back.

She fought against you but that only made you grip her arm tighter. You could feel your nails start to dig into her skin.

“I’m sorry that you’re nothing more than a means to an end.” You murmured in her ear.

The brunette stilled.

“I’m sorry Aemilia couldn’t care less about you or your family.” You continued, speaking in a low voice. “I’m sorry that your so called friend sees you as mere disposable goods, or should I say...a useful little puppet?”

You released your grip on her arm, bringing your hand up to her shoulder instead and giving it a few consoling pats. “Didn’t your little sister just get the lead role in the school play? I would hate for you to be the next Constance...”

You looked toward the blonde just to emphasize your point and Brooklyn’s eyes followed your gaze.

Constance was staring, unseeing, at the ground, nervously clinging to Aemilia like a lifeline. She was strangely quiet and obedient...like a dog in fear of disobeying its master.

Brooklyn looked back and forth between you, Aemilia, and Constance in utter shock. You sent her one more sympathetic look before moving around her to follow the Kims into their car.

The remaining students whispered, wondering about what you said and in the corner of your eye, you saw Mana tilt their head inquisitively. You knew they had questions, questions you would have to answer later.

You bowed in greeting to Mr. Bin and entered the car behind Jimin like last time, Namjoon going in after you.

Mr. Bin closed the door and walked around to the other side of the vehicle in preparation to leave.

“I’ve never seen Brooklyn look so shocked,” Taehyung said from the backseat. He put his hands on the headrest behind you and poked his head around it. “What did you tell her?”

You shrugged. “Something that could hopefully put her life in a different perspective.”

“I don’t know how you deal with those girls, (Y/N).” Jimin said. “Aren’t you tired of the tricks Aemilia’s playing?”

“Don’t you just want to get rid of them, once and for all?” Taehyung asked, tone darkening.

You shrugged. “For whatever reason, she’s currently obsessed with me-”

The reason being all of you-

“-and of course I want her to stop, but I would never give her the satisfaction of letting her think she won. She’s petty, and a bully.”

You texted your mother an update on your location and locked your phone, looking up at your classmates. “She just needs a reality check. I’d be happy to give it to her every now and then.”

Part of you felt like trying to care for Brooklyn was pointless, especially after the way she treated you. The other part of you felt you were killing two birds with one stone--you were opening her eyes and isolating Aemilia in one go.

While Namjoon and Hoseok nodded in understanding, the rest of the boys couldn’t help but worry.

They all followed Namjoon’s advice religiously in fear of scaring you away. But what if your independence only made it harder for them to be able to be there for you? What if you never came to them on your own for assistance?

...They would simply have to make it so that you had no other choice, would they not?

But the circumstances were not yet that dire, so for now, you had nothing to fear.

——————————————————————

The ride into the woods was pleasantly silent, and this time you made sure you didn’t fall asleep.

All too soon, Mr. Bin drove the van past the wrought-iron gate and up the impressive driveway. You weren’t as nervous as you were your first time visiting their residence, but you still had your guard up.

The boys bound up the wooden steps and opened the front door, piling into their home. You entered last, quietly closing the door behind you.

As you were taking off your shoes, you spied a pair of nude slides next to all of the black ones.

Jungkook noticed you looking at them and smiled. “Mother prepared them for you. She saw you wearing hyung’s pair the last time you came over and ordered them after you left with your mom.”

“That’s so kind of her,” you said, slightly in awe. “I’ll be sure to express my thanks.”

You never thought you’d reach the day where Mrs. Kim would welcome you so readily into her home, but here you stood corrected.

“(Y/N), let’s go!” Jimin called to you from the stairway.

“Coming!” You lay your shoes at the door, slid your feet into the slippers, and went to catch up with him, climbing upstairs.

The library had hardly changed since you were gone. The shelves were just as dusty and dilapidated as before, and the couch was just as comfortable.

You maintained a safe distance away from Jimin this time as well so he wouldn’t get the opportunity to pull any tricks.

You spent the majority of the afternoon on writing the paper together, as you both had agreed. A few hours later, you finished and decided to get a head start on the presentation.

“‘The strength of a Nephilim depends on which angelic order their parent hails from,’” You read out to Jimin as he added to your shared document from his laptop.

“‘The sheer majority, however, were parented by those in the third sphere. This was the lowest order consisting of the angels most concerned with the affairs of humans: Principalities, Archangels, and Angels.’”

“Got it.” He claimed, typing out a couple more sentences. “I think we have enough for the background information, but Mrs. Hargrove also wants us to discuss the religions they come from, their abilities and their weaknesses.”

You hummed. “Angels are mentioned in a multitude of religions, but Nephilim are really only mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, according to sources.”

“So that question shouldn’t be so difficult to answer,” He smiled, marking it.

“Nephilim are really strong,” you said from behind the book cover, fascinated by the information it held. “They appear as ordinary humans on the outside but possess celestial powers bestowed upon them by their angelic parent. They’re faster and stronger than ordinary humans, and are excellent at reading people.”

Jimin took the book from you and glanced further down in the book to see if he could find more specific powers for your project.

“Oh, I found something here.”

You opened your laptop and prepared to type as he read.

“It says Nephilim possess super strength, longevity, the power of flight, healing abilities, teleportation, telepathy, angelic wrath, illusions, the ability to drain someone’s life force, and telekinesis.” He raised his eyebrow in awe.

You chuckled as your hands raced to keep up with his words. “Illusions, the ability to drain someone’s life force, and what?”

“Telekinesis, the ability to move things with your mind.” He said.

“I could use that all the time--like, the other day, I was waiting in front of the student council room to return the uniform I borrowed.”

You recounted the story for Jimin as he peeked up at you. You were too engrossed in typing, however, to notice his gaze. “I could have sworn the door was locked, but then Namjoon appeared and it unlocked without him pulling out a key or anything. He just flicked his wrist and open sesame.”

Jimin unabashedly stared at you, a small smile on his face. You always noticed the littlest things about them and it made his heart pound for you a little harder.

“Namjoon hyung always comes in at the coolest moments,” he replied, looking down at what you’d managed to gather so far. “So, we have the powers and where they come from. I think we found a section on their weaknesses the other day.”

“Yeah, it sounds like their main weakness is original sin, or the innate tendency to sin, all humans receive once they’re born.” You thought back to the section you and Jimin read before. “Because they’re part human and part angel, they are constantly at war with themselves and the human side typically wins.”

“Do you think that’s a bad thing?” Jimin asked.

You closed your laptop. “...What do you mean?”

Jimin shifted, tucking his legs underneath him. “I mean, they’re celestial beings. They have cosmic powers at their disposal, access to the heavens, and everything they could have wanted. But they have a choice to throw it away, to sin, for...whatever the reason may be.” He muttered, glancing aside at the carpet. “If they gave it up, do you think they would have made the right decision?”

You paused for a moment, eyeing the shadows nearby branches cast on the library windows. “It think it depends on the person and what they’re sinning for. Whether they were doing it for their own self interest, or to protect a loved one-”

“What if they were doing it because they loved someone?” Jimin interrupted, eyes widened in curiosity.

Your eyes left the window as you turned to face him. “I would admire their dedication. And it’s not as though they lose their abilities when they fall from grace. I only wish that person would be worth it, and that they’re happy.”

You smiled wistfully. “An angel losing their wings to love someone for the rest of their life. What a sad, beautiful thing. ’Tis the plight of being human, I suppose. They’re really not that different from us--besides the celestial gifts, of course.”

Jimin grinned and hummed in agreement.

As always, only you could understand them perfectly.

You stood up from the couch and brushed off the back of your skirt. “Uh, Jimin, could you please tell me where the bathroom is?”

He smiled. “Yeah! You just make a left at the corner, then a right, then another right, and there should be a guest room with a bathroom in it.”

You zoned into and out of your thoughts momentarily and blinked, smiling and nodding at him. “Thanks.”

——————————————————————

Perhaps Jimin told you the directions incorrectly, or you made a left when you should have made a right, but there was no doubt about it. You were lost. There was no bathroom where he stated there was, and you’d been wandering around the third floor for several minutes now with no clue as to where it was.

“Damn this house.” You muttered under your breath. “Only seven people live here, why is it so big?”

You finally came upon what looked like a guest room, one that hopefully had a bathroom inside, when you heard two voices speaking from the behind the partially open door.

“Seriously. You need to be more careful with these sorts of things.” The first voice said, deep and mature.

You stopped in your tracks immediately.

“It’s not like I wanted this to happen.” the second one spoke. Their voice was much lower and raspier than the first.

“Of course you didn’t. That’s why you should pay more attention when doing your work.” The first voice nagged and you heard someone hiss.

“Ah, it’s fine. It was worth it. Still, thanks for patching me up, hyung.”

You were stuck near the crack in the door, too afraid to move in fear of being heard.

“Whatever. You’re too reckless. Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson.”

“Oh, come on. How was I supposed to know that the kid would make such a-”

“Stop talking.” The first voice stated, sounding much lower than it had before.

Your eyes shook at the sudden silence and you whipped around to look at the hallway, quickly searching for a place to hide.

About two steps behind you, there was a five foot long indent in the wall, courtesy of the prominent display of a large painting.

You risked it and threw yourself backward, stepping as quietly onto the wood as you could before throwing your back up against the indent, facing away from the room.

And not a moment too soon, as you heard the door fly open the second you were hidden from view. You sunk to the floor in a crouch.

“What’s wrong, hyung?” You could hear the younger’s voice sound from the room much clearer now.

You sucked yourself as tightly into the corner as you could.

There was no response from the older and you strained your ears for a sign, a hint, anything.

Breathing felt too loud, swallowing felt too loud, the brush of your clothes against your neck as you turned your head felt too loud. Everything was deafening.

Please don’t find me, please don’t find me, please don’t find me-

There was the slow, soft padding of feet on the wooden floor. You trembled as it got closer and closer to where you sat.

In the corner of your eye, you could see a socked foot, inches away from where you hid.

“Jin hyung!”

Your savior, none other than Jimin, appeared at the end of the hallway, yelling in excitement.

You know he saw you, of course he saw you. It was impossible not to coming from his direction. You cast your eyes down, praying he wouldn’t reveal your presence.

He grinned as he ran towards the man.

“You came back early!” The younger boy tackled him in a hug, wrapping his legs around him.

The force drove the man back several steps and he grunted, his foot disappearing from your sight. “Jimin, you’re getting a bit too old for this, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I know you’ll always carry me, hyung.” You heard him giggle.

“What are you doing up here?” The other voice asked, joining the other two in the hallway. You remained where you sat, not moving an inch.

“Yoongi hyung! You came back too!”

He scoffed. “Of course I did.”

“Answer his question first, Jimin ah.” You heard the elder comment in a much warmer voice than the threatening tone you heard behind the door.

“I was in the library working on a project with my classmate. She had to use the bathroom but she never came back, so I came looking for her.”

You blinked rapidly, staring at the wooden floor in front of you.

There was a pause.

“Have either of you seen her?” Jimin asked.

“...No, we haven’t.” The deep and mature voice, which you now matched to the eldest brother, replied.

“I’ll just keep looking, then. But you should head downstairs. Father will be home soon, he’ll be pleased to know you’re here!”

Due to the series of complaints you then heard, it sounded as though Jimin took both of his brothers by the wrist and led them to the stairway down the other side of the hallway.

You waited in that spot for several moments, until you couldn’t hear anything but the wind blowing up against the walls. Once you ensured that they were gone, you ran back down the hallway you came, bladder be damned.

Of course. How could you have possibly forgotten Mr. and Mrs. Kim’s two eldest children?

Kim Yoongi and Kim Seokjin.

Had you not moved when you did, and had Jimin not interfered when he had, you might have...no, you surely would have lost your life in that instant.

——————————————————————

You made it back to the library, quickly and quietly opening the door before rushing in.

Jimin still hadn’t returned, so no one was there to see you fly over to the couch and plop down to sit. You tried to catch your breath to slow the pounding of your heart.

Kim Yoongi and Kim Seokjin. You were almost caught eavesdropping on their conversation.

You had never wanted to purge your memory more than in that exact moment.

What if they suspect I heard everything? What if they have the Augustuses’ people capture me for it? It couldn’t have been that important--it sounded like they were just patching up wounds. Maybe one of them got into a fight? Surely this wouldn’t be enough to warrant such violence. Even they have limits, yes? Then again, when did they ever need a reason to-

The library doors flew open and you flinched, looking up at them only to sigh in relief.

“(Y/N), there you are! Did you find the bathroom alright?”

Jimin’s eyes twinkled playfully as he smiled at you. You restrained yourself from cursing at or hitting him in anger and relief, choosing instead to let out a deep sigh.

“Yeah,” you stated quietly. “It was fine.”

At that moment you received a text from your mother stating that she was downstairs.

"My mom says she’s here. I guess it’s time for me to go.” You stated, beginning to pack your laptop and notebooks away.

“Sure! I’ll come downstairs with you.” He smiled and turned away from you to return The Word of the Lost to its proper shelf.

“Thanks,” you whispered, then zipped your bag up.

Jimin was already gliding away toward the back of the library, the leather bound book in hand, but he still managed to hear you. He didn’t respond, but he smirked triumphantly.

You accepted his silence as a “You’re welcome” and took the moment to fix your composure. When you were both ready, he led the way downstairs.

“My eldest sons have finally returned home!” You heard Kim Moonsik cheer from the living room.

His tone, usually melancholic and oily, was much lighter today. You surmised that even his mood could be improved by the sight of his family.

He sat on one of the two settees while his two oldest sons perched on the long, gray couch in front of him.

They both had black hair and dark eyes, like their brothers and parents. One was casually dressed in a large black hoodie and black sweatpants, while the other looked comfortable in a neutral toned sweater and slacks.

The one sitting on the left rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why you had hyung drag me here a week earlier than necessary, Father. It isn’t that big of a deal.”

Kim Yoongi was notorious for his rebellious attitude. You had heard that since his days at Ichabod Academy, he never listened to authority figures--his classmates were afraid of him and his teachers let him do as he please. The only time he would adhere to rules and tradition was at the required monthly meetings, for obvious reasons.

“On the contrary,” The older man chuckled. “Every time you come home is cause for occasion, my prodigal son.”

“Have some sympathy for me here.” The eldest drawled with his arms crossed. “I get a headache every time I’m forced to drag you home with me.”

Kim Seokjin, on the other hand, was an entertainer. He would lower people’s defenses with a friendly expression and a joke. The citizens of Ichabod found him much more agreeable and respectable as Mayor Kim’s eldest son. They thought him harmless. They fawned over him and Namjoon, praising the mayor for how well he’d raised them in terms of respect and diplomacy.

They were fools. For even now, you could see it as he lounged back relaxedly in his seat: Kim Seokjin may be considered kind and polite, but he was by no means harmless.

“Do you want me to bring you some medicine?” Jimin piped up from beside you on the stairs, drawing the three’s attention.

You could feel the college students’ gaze burning into the side of your face.

You kept your facial expression neutral and descended the stairs behind Jimin, who skipped down the rest of them.

“Who’s this?” You heard Yoongi question.

“This is my classmate, (Y/N). She’s the person I was looking for earlier,” Jimin said, seating himself in between his older brothers.

You bowed toward them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Seokjin smiled and reached out his hand. You extended yours, expecting a handshake.

He held it, turned it over, and pressed his lips to the back of it. “The pleasure is all ours.”

Yoongi smirked as you took your hand back, fighting a blush. “How lovely it is to make your acquaintance.”

“Thank you, you too. It’s nice to see you again as well, Mr. Kim.” You addressed the older man.

“You also, (Y/N) dear. I’m simply ecstatic you took up our invitation.” Mayor Kim said, the usual, passionate fire in his eyes blazing.

You fought back a shudder.

“You know the entire town needs to be present, Yoongi ah.” Mr. Kim continued the conversation from before. “You’re no exception.”

“I never said I was,” the second oldest retorted. “I just prefer to spend less of my break here.”

“How’s everything at school, Jiminie?” Seokjin asked as Jimin wrapped his arms around his midsection, skillfully redirecting the subject matter.

“Strange, as usual.” He mumbled, hesitantly looking up at you.

“I heard the police finally found the Pierre boy,” Mr. Kim added, and you suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in the presence of this conversation.

Where’s my mother? Weren’t we supposed to be leaving?

“Yes, we heard about it at lunch.” Jimin said. His tone when speaking to his father wasn’t as clipped or standoffish as it was when he was speaking to his mother; rather, it was more lackadaisical. “Right, (Y/N)?”

All four heads spun to you, still standing in the middle of the living room.

“Why are you standing there looking so stiff?” Seokjin sent you a sinister smile. “Come join us.”

This was the last place you wanted to be, but you had no choice in the matter. You smiled awkwardly and shuffled to the empty settee.

Before you could sit down, however, Jimin jumped up and pulled you to the couch, seating you in his old spot between his brothers. He then claimed the spot on the other side of Seokjin.

You stiffened and relaxed in a second, praying to everything that you didn’t look as uncomfortable as you felt.

The atmosphere was stifling. You couldn’t breathe.

“It’s a shame what happened to him, truly.” Mr. Kim continued, humming in sympathy. “I sincerely hope something like that doesn’t have to happen again.”

How dare he sit here and act as though he had nothing to do with it? What happened to Chance Pierre was his fault! You unconsciously balled your fist in your lap.

“I’m sure everyone will take this lesson to heart, Father.” Seokjin consoled him. “May they never underestimate the power of Wylynne’s grace again.”

“She is holy and forgiving, but some actions need to be punished, yes.” Yoongi added from your right with a cruel smirk. “Praise Wylynne.”

“Praise Wylynne.” Jimin nodded, eyes twinkling with amusement.

It suddenly occurred to you that you were the only one left who had not spoken. When you raised your eyes to meet with the others’, indeed, they were waiting for your response.

“...Praise Wylynne.” You smiled. False religion or not, there was no way you would be testing your luck in front of the divine priest and his sons.

Mr. Kim nodded in approval, then broke out into a laugh. “Wise, hardworking, and devoted; like mother, like daughter. Wylynne surely smiles upon the women of the (L/N) family.”

You laughed awkwardly. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

“Will your mother be arriving to get you soon?” Mr. Kim asked you.

“It was to my knowledge that she was already here-”

“(Y/N)!”

Your head spun toward the sound of your mother’s voice and found her standing in the entryway next to Kim Eunbyul. She wore navy blue scrubs today and her hair was pulled back into a bun with a few loose strands in the front.

You had thought right. The two were a vision next to each other.

Mrs. Kim walked over, bringing your mother with her. “I apologize for the wait--(M/N) and I were having the most delightful conversation. (Y/N) my dear, how are you?”

She sat next to her husband on one settee and your mother took a seat on the other, empty one.

This was your second time seeing Mrs. Kim, yet you still could not get over her beauty. She wore another silk housedress, a muslin scarf draped behind her back and over her inner arms.

Her elegance was neither ostentatious nor arrogant. She demanded respect but gave it in return.

She had what Aemilia desperately sought after but could never possess.

You nodded with a smile, bowing slightly. “Good evening, Mrs. Kim. I’m fine, thanks for worrying. And thank you so much for the sandals, I really appreciate you going out of your way for me.”

The former actress waved her hand lightly as she laughed. “It was no trouble at all!”

She took your hands in hers and looked down at her feet. “Besides, we match!” Following her gaze, your eyes widened. Indeed, you both had the same style and brand of slippers on.

“Thank you so much for the welcoming her so warmly, Mrs. Kim.” Your mother smiled.

“Of course.” She assured. “Think nothing of it. I already think of you both as family.”

Your heart warmed a bit and you smiled in response to her words, for you already greatly admired Mrs. Kim. To think that she had taken a liking to both you and your mother...

It was then that the rest of the brothers trekked downstairs in curiosity, then heartily grinned once they realized their oldest brothers had arrived.

“How about we let the kids step aside so us adults can talk properly, hmm?” Mrs. Kim suggested, taking her husband’s hand.

Mr. Kim grinned and squeezed her hand in response. “A wonderful idea, love.”

The boys then quickly pulled you away from the main couches, moving your discussion toward the glass windows.

You looked back at your mom a couple of times while the brothers greeted each other before focusing on the conversation at hand.

The eight of you stood in a circle near the windows, and you were currently stuck between Jungkook and Seokjin.

“The other day, (Y/N) said she really liked your interior designing, Jin hyung.” Hoseok piped up. “She said she thought the living room was lovely.”

“Did she? She must have impeccable taste.” He playfully winked at you.

You smiled weakly. “Thank you. I really admire what you’ve done with the space.”

Yoongi, across from you, leaned against the glass. “How is everything at the academy these days?” He asked.

You hesitated to answer then directed your gaze to the floor thinking the question was not meant for you. When you didn’t hear any of the other boys speak, you looked up and found six sets of eyes on you.

Their gazes were so focused and intense, as if you would break or disappear the moment they looked away. You shifted your eyes.

“It’s not the easiest, but isn’t that what high school is like for everyone?” You grimace-smiled.

“(Y/N)’s being bullied.” Taehyung revealed, draping himself over Jimin’s shoulder. “Aemilia Augustus and her lackeys won’t leave her alone.”

This little-

You whipped your head around to see if your mother had heard anything. Thankfully, Taehyung’s voice was lowered at the time. She seemed engrossed in her discussion with Mrs. Kim.

“The Augustus princess?” Yoongi asked, interrupting your thoughts.

“She’s what?” Jin started in surprise, his polite smile turning into a displeased frown. He glanced at Namjoon. The student council president simply nodded in response.

“She has the other kids pester or steal from (Y/N).” Hoseok added, glaring out the window. “The students can hardly stop talking about it.”

Jungkook gently tugged on your shirt sleeve to get your attention. “If she’ s bothering you--”

“It’s alright.” You assured them before they could really give Aemilia and her people a reason to go after you. “I’m working it out.”

“And how well is that going?” Namjoon snorted, giving you a knowing look.

You grimaced, locking and unlocking your phone. “...I’m working it out.” You repeated, suddenly fascinated by the wooden floor.

“If she ever gives you a hard time, you let me know.” Yoongi said, holding up his fists. One hand was wrapped in bandages and the other hand was bare, knuckles covered in torn skin and still-healing scabs. “I don’t get these from just lying around, if you catch my drift.”

You gaped at his hands and at the offer. Kim Yoongi? Offering to beat someone up for you? Where had his famous apathetic attitude gone?

“Violence is never the answer, Yoongi ah.” Seokjin replied before you could. He gently took your phone from you while it was unlocked and swiped around until he found your contacts. “If you ever need help, just give us a call. Don’t be afraid to reach out. We’ll always be there.”

You opened and closed your mouth in distress.

Seokjin pointedly ignored the glare Namjoon was sending his way.

He was jealous of his younger brothers, who got to see and speak with you every day. Earlier, he’d been in the middle of healing and wrapping Yoongi’s injury when he saw your shadow outside the door.

He’d barely been able to hold himself back from ripping you out your hiding spot and pulling you into his arms. But then all of their progress would have been for naught.

So he allowed Jimin to drag him away.

But not anymore.

He understood that you needed your time and space but, really, their angel shouldn’t be so stubborn around them.

He held the device out to you and you took it back, observing the six newest additions to your contacts list. He’d taken the time to add not just his number, but the rest of the brothers’ numbers as well.

“Thank you,” You confided with a rare, genuine, and small smile, “really. But I can handle it myself.”

On the outside, some of them nodded while the others frowned at the floor.

On the inside, however, they collectively sighed inside their head, tired of your age old response.

They just wanted you to be able to lean on them, to see them as another option that was always available to you, and only you.

How long was it going to take for you to trust them? How far would they have to go to capture the object of their desire?

Whatever the obstacle, they would surely overcome it.

Your mother called your name once more and you shouldered your bag, replacing the nude slippers with your school shoes.

“I hope you have a pleasant night,” You said to the brothers, fumbling with your shoes. “I’ll see you in school tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow!” Jimin waved you off with a smile and his brothers and parents chorused farewells behind him.

You both bowed once more to the Kim family and descended the stairs, making as hasty but collected an exit as possible.

“I swear, (Y/N), I lose years off my life every time I come to this house,” your mother murmured once you both sat in the car.

“You know what, Mom? So do I.” You exhaled, slumping down in the front seat. “Drive slowly, won’t you? I might be the one throwing up once we reach the edge of the woods.”

Your mother barked out a laugh and nodded in thanks to Mr. Bin as he opened the gate.

As you drove away from the Kim family home, you opened your messages and texted Mana, updating them on how you’d nearly lost your life this time.

That night, you ate dinner, cleaned up, finished other assignments, and had an hours long conversation with Mana about Brooklyn and your latest visit to the Kim residence.

The way their eyes bugged out of their head when you told them about how you’d nearly gotten caught made you laugh. Of course, it hadn’t been funny in the moment. Even thinking about it now made you slightly nauseous.

But you went to sleep that night all the same, dreaming once again of haunting, magnificent black wings.

——————————————————————

Once the front door of the Kim household closed, Jimin’s cheerful face dropped into a scowl.

And he was not the only one upset. All seven of them glowered around the room in the aftermath of (Y/N)’s departure.

Kim Eunbyul and Kim Moonsik sat deathly still on the couch, unprepared for whatever was coming.

When someone is explosive with anger, they are destructive. One might break things, they may say harmful words, but for the most part, one takes their anger out in that single moment.

The seven men behind them were different.

When they were angry, they plotted. The harder it was for them to get what they wanted, the harder they fought. They made sure there would be nothing that could possibly be in their way.

“We told you to be patient, hyung.” Namjoon broke the angry silence. “Don’t ruin all of our plans with your ineptitude.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Seokjin scoffed. “I put your number in her phone, too. Try being a little grateful.”

“Don’t disrespect your elders, Namjoon.” Hoseok chided, shoving his hands in his pockets. “We told you to put your dog on her leash.”

“You weren’t complaining when Aemilia’s antics gave you opportunities to help (Y/N),” Namjoon sneered. “I loathe her very existence as well, don’t misunderstand me.”

“You should hear the rumors going around at school, Namjoon hyung.” Jungkook frowned. “People are placing bets on how soon Aemilia’s going to destroy her.”

“I know you’re the brains of this operation but if (Y/N) gets hurt, this is not going to end prettily.” Yoongi stated solemnly.

“I won’t let it get to that point.” Namjoon assured.

“Get it together. And keep that girl in line.” Seokjin nodded.

There was a significant reason Eunbyul was so receptive of the (h/c) haired girl and her mother.

Despite the fact that she really did enjoy your company and was happy to welcome you into their home, she knew what would await her if she ever dared to mistreat you.

You precious thing. You precious, hardheaded, stubborn thing. Why did you not give in to what they wanted? Could you truly not see how much they how much they longed to protect possess be with you?

Perhaps you’ve already started picking up on it, and this was why you wanted to distance yourself from them before it was too late.

You beautiful, foolish thing. It was already far too late.

Eunbyul quivered, squeezing her husband’s hand. Moonsik wore a stony expression on his face, but he squeezed his wife’s hand back with surprising strength.

When she looked up from her lap, she gasped, for Jungkook was squatting directly in front of her. She felt as though his dark gaze was piercing her soul.

The probability of that very thing happening in this instant was high.

She exhaled and carefully avoided his gaze.

“Mother, Father,” he hummed, “is everything alright? You’re shaking like leaves in the wind.”

“Oh dear.” Taehyung replied, resting his arms on the back of the settee behind them. He tilted his head and frowned down at the two as if they were insects, scurrying around in an attempt to escape their deaths. “That doesn’t sound very good.”

“I’m sure it was just a result of them working so hard.” Seokjin smiled at Moonsik. “I must say, I was impressed.” The elder simply nodded and avoided his gaze.

Namjoon strolled over to Eunbyul’s side of the settee and gently pat the woman on her back. “Your performance today was especially moving, Mother.”

“At least she wasn’t trembling in front of (Y/N) like she did last time,” Jimin kissed his teeth. “Useless woman.”

Hoseok bent over in laughter, the outburst shortening into a light giggle as he joined them by the couches.

“They work diligently, why not praise them once in a while?” He suggested, suppressing another laugh.

“Like I’ll ever.” Jimin rolled his eyes. “I really hope you know what you’re talking about, Namjoon hyung. I’m going to bed before I feel the need to hit something--or someone.” Jimin glared and bounded back up the stairs.

“It’s alright. We’re fine.” Eunbyul forced out. “Thank you.”

“Yes, you should be. If you weren’t, it would imply you did something wrong.” Yoongi smiled.

“And if you did something wrong,” Jin continued, “...well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

She stiffly nodded.

“Of course not.” Taehyung grinned and pat her head condescendingly.

“Of course.” Moonshik repeated, willing his hands to stop trembling.

He had never expected this to happen. He never thought he would be living the life that he did.

He had called for power, and he had surely received it, but not in the way he thought he would.

Was the insurmountable power worth the treatment he received in his own home?

Yes. And if he had to repeat it, he would have made the exact same decision. It would surely be worth it. That was what he told himself day in and day out, the prayer he spoke to his god in an attempt to convince himself of the lie.

It would surely be worth it.

“We’re trusting you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim.”

——————————————————————

The Augustus residence was a fairly old building, a beautiful family manor transformed into a modern, affluent home. It stood in the center of the city, as their family used to be the epicenter of society.

Aemilia found both her home and its location extremely fitting.

As unfortunate as it would be that she would have to move from this stately home to one in the middle-of-nowhere woods, she was willing to deal with it. She would follow her future husband anywhere, everywhere, if need be.

Usually, the esteemed Augustus home was silent.

“How could you?” Brooklyn shouted in anger.

But today, those grand old walls whispered in the wind through quite the ruckus.

“The people that work for your family dragged Constance’s little brother out of his home in the middle of the day! They tortured him for two weeks! You knew where he was the whole time, and you didn’t say a thing!” Brooklyn gestured toward their friend. “She came to you for help, and you slammed the door in her face!”

The blonde had stopped talking long ago. She curled herself into a ball and tucked her head into her chest, looking well on the verge of a panic attack.

The three girls had arrived at Aemilia’s house earlier, prepared to do the usual: finish some homework, study, and binge watch some shows.

But (Y/N) (L/N)’s words had been ringing inside of Brooklyn’s head all afternoon.

A means to an end.

Disposable goods.

A useful little puppet.

She couldn’t take thinking it anymore, so she finally voiced the dreaded question. Brooklyn asked Aemilia what she and Constance meant to her.

The strawberry blonde tilted her head, staying quiet for several minutes. She then grinned and replied,“My ladies in waiting?”

For Wylynne’s sake. She could have at least been less direct than to compare them to literal servants.

Brooklyn erupted at Aemilia, asking her if that’s what she thought years of friendship had amounted to, thus leading them to their current argument.

For whatever reason, it had never occurred to the brunette that Aemilia may be using her. She thought she had broken the barriers the callous girl held for her long ago, but after Constance showed up at Brooklyn’s house in tears, combined with Aemilia’s response to Chance’s disappearance...

Perhaps it was time she seriously reevaluated their “friendship”.

“Don’t you think you could have reassured her that he was alive? Even police officers tell family members when people have been arrested.” Brooklyn glared at the other girl.

“Get real, Brooklyn. This isn’t a stupid police station. This is Ichabod. It’s because we live in Ichabod that Chance broke the law, and received his due punishment.” Aemilia justified coldly.

“A fourteen year old boy in laying in his bed, covered in bruises and permanently blind in one eye. But I need to get real because this is Ichabod, and that somehow makes it okay?” Brooklyn raised her volume, disturbed by how convicted Aemilia was in her reasoning. “How could you possibly think that makes it okay?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Aemilia sneered, “I wasn’t aware that I needed your opinion or approval for my thoughts and actions.”

“That’s exactly the problem! This is about you playing us, using us through your actions! I honestly thought we meant more than that to you!” She snarled in response.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Aemilia shrugged. “You and Constance used me for popularity and safety, and now you come crying to me, claiming that I can’t use you in return?” She barked out a laugh. “That hardly seems fair. How ungrateful.”

The brunette couldn’t deny the benefits that came along with being close to the strawberry blonde, but for her to twist their entire history and friendship into one of utility? She was beside herself with anger.

“Used you? You think we used you? For what?” She roared. “Your money? Your status? Don’t you think we have those exact same things?”

Brooklyn Hayes and Constance Pierre were not one’s normal, run of the mill best friends. In fact, they were in extremely similar situations to Aemilia, for their families were also members of the old city elite.

The Hayes and Pierres had lived in Ichabod for nearly as long as the Augustuses. They may not have had the same amount of prestige that Aemilia lay claim to, but they certainly were not far off.

“You grew up with us and thought we were nothing more than what? Walking labels that strengthened your social status? People you could use to do your bidding?” Brooklyn deadpanned. “We were nothing more than pawns in your game, weren’t we?”

“We didn’t befriend you because of your title or your family, Aemilia. We befriended you because we admired you and your personality. We weren’t the ones that twisted your perception of us into toys, or puppets, or ladies in waiting.” She gave a mirthless smile. “That was all you.”

Aemilia paused, reminiscing on her younger days. In every interaction she ever experienced, she was treated like royalty. At some point, she simply assumed it was natural for everyone to bend to her every whim.

Everyone...except for those two.

They had approached her for some childish reason like playing dolls or tag or other, but it was all genuine.

“I honestly can’t believe you.” Brooklyn shook her head at her silence and stormed around the room, collecting her and Constance’s materials and shoving them into their respective bags.

“All these years. All these years, and I was that clueless, that hopeful.” Brooklyn muttered as she gave her a cruel smile. “I can’t believe (Y/N) (L/N) knew you better than I did.”

Aemilia’s face flushed bright red.

“Your ladies in waiting are going to relieve themselves of their position now.” Brooklyn carefully dragged the non responsive blonde to her feet, holding both of their bags and contacting her personal driver. She curled her lip. “Please feel free to march your way to the throne by yourself, your highness.”

The door slammed shut behind them, and for a moment, the residence was silent once more.

Then, with an anguished cry, Aemilia picked up whatever textbooks were nearby and vaulted them at her walls.

First, her future husband. Next, her friends. What would that (h/c) haired bitch steal next? Her life?

“No. No. I won’t let it get that far. I would never let you get away with it!” She screamed, hurling another book.

Her bedroom door swung open and her father ducked the incoming textbook. “Aemilia! What on earth is going on? Brooklyn and Constance just left looking extremely upset, did you three have an argument?”

She dropped the rest of the textbooks, raced to her father and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Daddy, I need you to call up the special squadron.”

Aloysius Augustus held his daughter’s hands and warily pried them off of him. “Whatever for?”

Aemilia flashed him a maniacal grin. “Namjoon just texted me. He says his father believes he’s found in another soul in dire need of discipline.”

——————————————————————

Ever since engaging in this battle of wills with Aemilia, you tell yourself that there isn’t anything that could surprise you anymore.

Yet the actions of your classmates the next morning were strange. Stranger than you could possibly anticipate.

You entered the classroom and found a group of girls standing in a huddle around a desk, whispering to one another.

The room was strangely empty. Neither Mana nor Jimin had arrived yet, nor had some of your other classmates known for coming to school relatively early.

The girls noticed your entrance and quieted immediately. You found this suspicious, so you decided you wanted nothing to do with them. You shifted your gaze away from them and kept on walking to your seat.

That is, until you heard one of them scoff loudly in your direction.

“I mean, just look at her. She walks around the school as if she’s better than us, just because Ms. Diivi had Jimin sit next to her.”

You froze but their tittering only got louder.

The girl that scoffed before, a classmate of yours named Seph, left the group and stood in front of you with crossed arms.

“You’re not anything special, (Y/N). You shouldn’t mistake yourself.”

The others seemed to agree with her as, soon enough, they left the desk one by one to surround you.

“It’s really pathetic how you practically beg for Jimin’s attention.”

“The other day, when you made him give you his sweater? It was really embarrassing.”

“Yeah, I could hardly stand to watch.”

They imitated your shivering as they laughed, making it look as though you were having a seizure.

“You used to be tolerable at the least, but Jimin transferred to our class and you finally decided to take the opportunity to climb the ranks, huh?” Another sneered.

You could hardly move. You were stuck in place, the words swimming around in your head.

Externally, you stared down at the ground in confusion, but internally, you were shocked. You couldn’t believe the accusations the girls were coming up with.

Even after everything this town had been through, the Kim brothers still had some sort of deluded fan club...and now they were coming after you.

“What the hell?” You finally said, lifting your head to look each of them in the eye. “Why would I go begging for his attention?”

“Don’t try to deny it, bitch.” Seph snarled. “You used to keep your head down and mind your business like the rest of us, but now, all of a sudden, you’re relishing in the spotlight.”

“We’ll see just how much Jimin likes you soon enough.” One of her lackeys snickered.

They left you where you stood, turning their attention to the doorway.

You could see Jimin from the glass window in the door, waving goodbye to Taehyung as he headed off to his respective classroom. He reached down to twist the knob and pulled the door open.

Had you blinked, you would have missed the entire thing.

Seph pulled a bucket out from under the desk they were all crowded around and threw its contents all over Jimin.

He closed his eyes and opened his mouth in shock as he was doused in water from head to toe. His uniform was soaked and his hair lost its floofy nature, flattening down over his eyes.

One of the girls ripped the bucket away from her and shoved it into your hands. They moved back in tandem, shocked gasps hiding their deeds as Jimin wiped water out of his eyes, which landed on you holding the bucket.

“(Y/N)...?”

You were just as shocked as he was, mouth agape. The evidence was completely against you.

He looked up at you with teary eyes. He looked hurt, so angry, you figured there was no way you were going to get out of this.

“I didn’t do it, why would I?” You protested.

“Jimin, are you alright?” The ringleader picked back up, skillfully concealing a triumphant smirk with an open look of concern. “(Y/N), how could you do such an awful thing? Especially after he’s been nothing but kind to you...”

Wow, does she get lessons from Mrs. Kim or something?

You dropped the bucket in surprise. “No! Jimin, it wasn’t me, I promise, they just grabbed the bucket out of nowhere-”

This is it. My mother is going to have to bury her daughter young. I failed to provide for her, or thank her for everything she’s done for me. Your thoughts couldn’t stop racing.

“Even for a prank, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?” They continued behind you.

“She’s been acting all this time. I’m not surprised.”

“He treated her so well and it all just blew up in his face.”

“That’s just like her.”

“She’s lying directly to his face, how fake.”

“Disgusting.”

They continued spouting lies in front of Jimin, telling him about how you were only using him, how you would curse his very existence behind his back.

Jimin approached you, his wet shoes squeaking on the tile floors.

You backed up, intimidated, bumping the back of your leg against another desk and falling to the floor.

...Would begging help?

When you finally looked up at him, begging felt like an appealing option.

Jimin’s eyes glistened, chocolate colored irises now hardened and flashing gold.

They were even colder than the ones you’d seen in your dreams, and you felt the temperature around you drop considerably.

You must have been going crazy with terror, something that wasn’t completely amiss in your town. The girls behind you were feasting on the fearful expression in your eyes.

Then, right as you were about to stand, Jimin gently put his hands on your elbows and guided you up.

To their surprise, he tugged you to your feet, wrapped his arms around your shoulders, and pulled you in for a hug.

“You must have been so scared, weren’t you, (Y/N)?” Jimin whispered in your ear. “Those rats dared to mess with you. They tried to come between us with petty rumors and tricks. It’s okay, I’m here now. I believe you.”

He rubbed his hand up and down your back, the water from his uniform seeping into the front of yours. “I’ll make sure you have nothing to fear.”

Jimin pulled away from the hug, smiling at you. He then turned to face the girls, and with that same chilling smile, spoke.

“You all enjoy playing pranks, yes?”

The girls’ expressions changed in a matter of seconds, from snickers and taunts to tearful pleads.

Seph could hardly pick her jaw up off the floor. “Jimin! It was (Y/N), we all saw her-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” You heard a low chuckle sound from the doorway and whipped your head towards the sound.

“I saw everything with my own eyes.” Hoseok stood in the entrance, his arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame.

When had he gotten there?

“And quite frankly, I don’t take too kindly to you lying about what happened to my darling little brother.” His famed smile slipped from his face as he stared down the girls with more hatred than you’d ever seen him possess.

“Jimin...” you reached out to get his attention, but he couldn’t pry his gaze away from the detestable scum that stood before him.

How quickly the tables had turned, you thought as you watched them cower.

Jimin calmly walked toward her and tucked his hand underneath her chin, yanking her ear to his mouth.

He directly whispered into Seph’s ear, but everyone in the room besides (Y/N) heard the same thing, the message pulsing loud and clear inside their heads.

“I’ll make you wish you had never done that.”

He left the group huddling against one another in fright.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.” Hoseok smirked and kicked off the door, walking off with his hands in his pocket.

You stood, incredulous at what had just happened.

“Jimin.” You lay your hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his, turning to meet your gaze. His eyes were wide with expectation.

“Let’s go see your brother, we can get you some new clothes.” You said softly. He smiled serenely and nodded, dragging you to the door by the hand.

Before you could step out, however, he turned around to face them and glowered. “Clean this mess up.”

Seph whimpered and knelt down to pick up the bucket. The other girls scrambled to collect paper towels to dry the floor.

You watched them, trying to conjure up some form of sympathy. That could have been you, cowering beneath him. Moments ago, that was you.

Frighteningly enough, that familiar, heart-strengthening feeling made no appearance. There was no hatred, no remorse. You felt nothing as you were dragged away to the third floor.

Jimin knocked on the door to the student council room, smiling as he spotted his brother. Namjoon, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“Hyung! I need a new uniform.”

He stepped back to let the two of you enter. Jimin released your hand and beelined for the atrium, grabbing a new shirt and a pair of pants. He then stepped into the bathroom and loudly shut the door.

“Do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Namjoon looked down at you for a moment before his eyes flew up and he stared at the wall with newfound interest. “Feel free to grab a change of clothes as well.”

You followed his gaze and jumped at just how wet the front of your shirt had gotten. “Thanks,” you muttered, desperately hiding your blush.

I’m seriously finding myself back here too often.

You got another polo from the closet and left the door open as you changed, praying that Jimin wouldn’t leave the bathroom and that Namjoon wouldn’t walk around the corner. To keep him busy, you filled him in on what had happened moments before.

When you were finished, you stepped out into the main room with your wet shirt folded over your arm. Namjoon leaned against the wooden table with his arms crossed. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked as though he didn’t know whether to laugh or punch someone.

You glanced at Namjoon and thought back to the way he looked at the people around him.

It quickly dawned on you how bothered you were by Namjoon’s view of everyone around him as some sort of game.

He always wore an amused smile on his face: when he was looking at his mother in his family home, when he heard what Constance did to you, when he saw all of the students worrying over Chance, and whenever Aemilia and her antics were brought up.

He probably thought he was so clever at hiding it, at being the misfortunate yet accomplished gentleman that everyone perceived him to be, but you saw right through his act.

“The audacity they have to dare make such a ruckus on school property,” He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry. They will surely receive proper punishment.”

You nodded, eyes glazing over with indifference.

You were too grateful that it was not you or Mana and too exhausted to be concerned with the affairs of other students.

They should have been prepared for this, at the very least. You were only worried about the well being of you and your loved ones.

Did that make you incredibly selfish? Did that make you just like...them?

A hot flash of anger rose in you and died as quickly as it had appeared.

Perhaps Namjoon’s act angered you because it was so similar to, no, better, than your own.

Your face twisted in response to your thoughts. “Thanks for the help. I’ll be sure to pay you back. Tell Jimin I’ll see him in class,” you muttered and bowed then left, needing to separate yourself from them as soon as possible.

Namjoon watched you leave, intrigued by the sudden look of displeasure you wore. “...She noticed,” he chuckled to himself.

"She must not have liked it,” Jimin said as he walked out, fully changed. His hair was still a little wet, but it was nothing he couldn’t take care of later.

Namjoon scoffed.

His little brother subsequently seized opportunity of your absence to explain to Namjoon just how delightful you looked in front of him.

“She looked as though she were about to beg, hyung. As gorgeous a sight as it was, those lower beings had the nerve to send her to her knees.” Jimin growled. “They terrified her, made her think I was going to hurt her.”

“What would you like to do with them?” Namjoon asked him as he leaned against the wooden table, a familiar smirk on his face.

By the end of homeroom, those girls were removed from your section. By the end of lunch, they had left your class and the school completely.

——————————————————————

The final bell rang and you lifted your head off your desk. You’d been trapped in your thoughts since earlier today, but your class schedule had given you no time to focus on your inner monologue.

Someone’s finger tapped your shoulder and you snapped out of your thoughts, directing your attention to them.

A freshman stood before you nervously and passed you a folded piece of paper.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

The kid nodded and scurried out of the classroom.

You unfolded the paper, reading the slightly disorganized handwriting.

You and me, (L/N). Show up alone. Rooftop. 4 pm.

You didn’t even need to ask the kid who it was from.

“This is the game you’re going to play?” You mumbled to yourself. “You still can’t even confront me face to face.”

Unfortunately for you, you already were alone. Mana never came to school today, as they had gone with their father to visit their grandmother at her nursing home, and Jimin was going to be in robotics club for the next forty-five minutes or so.

Then again, Brooklyn and Constance didn’t look like they were attached to Aemilia’s hip today either. The brunette spent all of lunch sending her a bunch of particularly nasty glares from across the cafeteria.

You eyed the clock. fiddling with your phone. After several minutes of deliberation, you opened it to text your mother that you would take yourself home today.

Let’s get this over with.

Approximately thirty minutes later, you shouldered your back pack on and made your way to the school staircase.

You texted Mana an update on where you were going and what you were going to do, just in case. After a second thought, you also texted Jimin.

They must not have had their phones on them because they didn’t text back immediately, so you locked yours and put it in your pocket.

When you finally arrived to the rooftop, you saw Aemilia standing near the edge, strawberry blonde ponytail swinging in the autumn breeze.

You already weren’t feeling well and wanted to go home several hours ago. Alas, you were here.

Your school rooftop was moderately large; appropriate, considering the size of the building. There was nothing up there but a few stacked, forlorn chairs, scattered materials, and blocks of concrete that functioned as storage spaces.

“What do you want, Aemilia?” You asked tiredly.

She didn’t say anything, nor did she turn around. You walked a couple steps closer to her and stopped. “Hello?”

“Did you enjoy yourself, (Y/N)?” She asked, her back still facing you.

You squinted in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you enjoy taking everything away from me? Everything that I deemed mine?” Aemilia finally turned to face you.

On the outside, she looked no different than she had a couple of days ago, but her eyes seemed...hollow.

“I didn’t take anything from you.” You pointed out. “Though, it sounds like you finally realized how skilled you are at pushing people away from you. That has nothing to do with me.”

“Don’t lie to my face.” She croaked out a laugh. “Don’t you dare claim that you haven’t stolen anything of mine.”

Her gaze turned malicious. “I thought you’d be a bug. Small, easy to crush. I wanted to make you even more insignificant than you already were. Unidentifiable.”

“But the harder I tried, the more I failed to crush you. I wanted to rub you into the dirt, but you kept on escaping unblemished.” She gazed in bored ire at her own two hands as though there was something on them that only she could see.

“So I realized, if I can’t crush you, then I’ll just have to destroy you. Completely.”

Foreign hands grabbed your arms with a vice and you started, immediately fighting to pry them off.

“Are you fucking serious? What are you doing?” You voice was a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Had your greatest fear finally come true? Were the Kims actually going to make an example of you?

“I’m simply executing my right as an Augustus. I am removing anyone who is a threat to the Kim’s empire. My future empire.” She calmly remarked, nodding tonce o whoever was behind you.

No. She was doing this for her own purpose. Her sense of order, of what was right in the world.

“Aemilia! You can’t do this!” Your voice raised in pitch and your breathing increased, your blood pumping faster and faster by the second. The hands on your arms were growing tighter and tighter.

“Oh, (Y/N). I tried to warn you several times. You didn’t listen.” She chided with false disappointment. “You did this to yourself.”

“Are you scared? Have you now realized your wrong doing? What a shame.” You watched in horror as a deranged smile crept its way onto her face and Aemilia threw her head back in laughter. “It’s already too late!”

There was no time for her descent into madness.

You stilled for just a second, then rocked your head back and successfully slammed it into your captor’s. There was a low grunt from behind you and the person let you go. You took off without a second thought.

You didn’t even bother trying the school door, as you knew it would be blocked.

Instead, you ran past Aemilia, shoving her aside as hard as you could, in the direction of the roof’s edge.

The strawberry blonde fell, but her laughter didn’t pause--if anything, it only rose in volume.

You realized the person had regained control of themself, as they came barreling after you.

Yet you also knew that one floor below you, there was a balcony informally used by all the students as a multipurpose space. To your knowledge, it consisted of old blankets and furniture.

I’d rather take my chances with an old table or couch than these bastards, you thought as you ran towards the eaves.

The closer you got, the harder your heart beat in your chest. You were terrified. But somehow, under all the fear, you were able to rationally think and suppress your fears.

You willed yourself to keep running and, before you could think about it, threw yourself over the edge.

You were in the air for about three seconds before your captor grabbed you by the jacket and stopped your descent. With surprising strength, they yanked you up and backward, tackling you to the floor.

Your body met the concrete with a harsh slam and you yelled out in pain. Hopefully, you had received nothing other than a few nasty bruises.

Aemilia’s laughter had quieted by now and she stood on her feet. She brushed her clothes off with a pleased grin.

“Nice try, sweetie. Mr. Byun, why don’t you give dear (Y/N) here a reminder on what happens should she mess with the Augustus family?” She crooned.

Your captor pinned your hands behind your back and shifted so that they were kneeling on your arms, bones digging into your back. He grabbed you by the hair and slammed your head repeatedly into the concrete.

It hurt.

It hurt more than when you sprained your ankle that one time walking to a monthly meeting and had to continue walking on it for the rest of the evening.

It hurt more than when your mother healed a particularly deep cut of yours by stitching it up herself because she couldn’t afford to take you to the hospital.

It hurt more than seeing your mother’s face whenever you asked about your father.

Everything hurt.

You couldn’t even cry out in pain as it would take up too much of your effort, effort that you didn’t have to spare.

“Thus, I declare myself the victor of our little battle of wills.” Aemilia chirped, not at all disturbed by the violence occurring in front of her.

There was something hot running down your forehead. After a couple of blinks, red crept into your eyes, falling down your face with your tears.

“Your pride’s going to be the death of you.” You choked out, then winced as the Mr. Byun kicked you harshly in the stomach.

“Should my time arrive, at least I will go out in a blaze of glory.” She said brazenly, beaming with triumph. As she bathed in the light of the afternoon sun, her strawberry blonde hair turned a shocking red.

You blinked blood out of your eyes and squinted up at Aemilia, not that it helped as your blurry vision kept her form shifting in and out of focus.

“Yet I can’t say the same for you.”

Then the grip in your hair tightened and your face met concrete for the last time, your entire world going dark.

Halfway across the campus, Kim Jimin turned his phone on and felt his heart drop to his stomach as his eyes landed on your text message.

——————————————————————

hey y’all! whew this is a long one--i’m sorry for taking longer than normal to update! thank you all so much for your enthusiasm and love! i adore reading your theories and comments :D i hope you all enjoy this chapter! feel free to let me know what you think will happen next~

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blossom-hwa · 3 years

Text

Bloom, Bloom, Pow! |2| - CHANGMIN

Again. The pining. I know I was okay with pining in Sunflowers, but BBP is just levels of stupidity that are incomprehensible and you will see what I mean here. Anyway, once more, thanks to @wingkkun for dealing with me screaming and helping me come up with plot points I LOVE YOU <3

(Suggested playlist for reading: Bloom Bloom, Just U, and DDD by The Boyz!!)

Pairing: Changmin x gender neutral!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint, university!au

Triggers: cursing, alcohol

Word Count: 7.5k

Dancing with you, Changmin feels flowers blooming in his heart.

Part 1 | Part 2

TBZ Masterlist | Interwoven

~ you

It’s with narrowed eyes and a smile threatening to burst through your faked scowl that you confront Kevin the next day about him shoving you into a circle of random partygoers to dance with Changmin (“Y/N, that wasn’t even a dance, that was a mating dance or cult ritual or some shit – hey – don’t slap me, I’m right!”). He doesn’t even blink an eye when you hit him, just smiles that stupid shit-eating grin that he always wears when he knows he’s succeeded at something.

And God, even though it legitimately blows your entire mind, he actually managed to do something right. He somehow got you and Changmin to speak, no matter how unconventional the method, and as much as it pains you to say it, he did you a favor.

Look, normally a meddling Kevin just makes more messes (literal and metaphorical) and makes another when trying to clean them up afterward. This time, though, you have to give him a little credit for utilizing his singular brain cell to come up with this plan.

Because after several games of drunk mafia, wherein Jaehyun is accused of being the mafia three times despite being the narrator (“I thought Chanhee was smart?” “He only uses his brain for math, nothing else.”) and you and Changmin are paired up as the killers twice in a row, you get Changmin’s number, and he gets yours.

If you spend the entirety of the next day texting a certain doe-eyed boy with dimples deep enough to make you swoon, what of it?

He meets up with you for coffee the next week. Untouched by alcohol, your mind only registers his image in the real-life equivalent of HD when he stops moonwalking in place outside the café to fix you with the sweetest smile. It’s strange, the way just a single quirk of his lips or a slight squint of his eyes sends your heart fluttering to the next dimension, and his voice only makes the vision better. Changmin speaks in soft tones that wash across your skin like starshine, soothing with a slight bite of mischief that complements the sparkle in his eyes.

His soft sweater and large glasses only complete the lovely image you’re painting in your mind. Sitting down across the small table, you think your heart is either going to melt into your bloodstream or burst its way out of your chest.

He introduces himself again, as though you could’ve forgotten his name within the twenty minutes you stopped texting him on the way to the café. It’s impossible to resist saying a teasing “I know” and watching him shyly cover his face with a sweater-covered hand.

Even though it might be evil, you cheekily introduce yourself too, unable to contain a laugh when Changmin groans, putting his head in his hands. But when he lifts his face once more, it’s your turn to grow shy at the sight of his pink cheeks and the embarrassed upturn of his lips.

Once, for biology, you watched a video of a flower blooming overnight. It glowed in the dark as its petals stretched out, slowly, over the course of minutes that felt at once like seconds and eternities. Changmin’s smile is that blooming flower, petals blossoming into the widest grin that smacks of a beauty that sinks far deeper than the skin, that spreads through the blood and brushes the heart and mind with the gentlest, sparkling touch.

It stays with you, that blooming smile, on the bus ride back to campus (Changmin doesn’t come with you – he has to go to work, volunteering at a nearby dance center for kids). The memory presses warmth in your body for the rest of the day, horribly visible in the permanent (lovestruck) twinkle in your eye.

“Had a good date?” Eric asks you later, mischievous smirk on his face. He just laughs at your scowl and dodges your swat, mocking the “It wasn’t a date!” that bursts from your lips.

After all, it wasn’t a date, as much as your heart pounded throughout the entire two hours of conversation. It wasn’t a date, no matter how much you really wanted it to be. It was just two possible friends getting to know each other over a cup of coffee, right?

And even though it stings a little in your heart, you can be content with that. Seeing Changmin’s grin, that wide grin that shows all his teeth and scrunches his eyes into the cutest slits and makes flowers bloom in your heart, is all you could ever ask for.

. . .

~ changmin

Changmin just wants to know when getting punched in the chest repeatedly started feeling so good.

No, he isn’t actually getting punched in the chest every other day. It’s just that it feels that way, every time his phone vibrates with a text from you or he sees your sparkling eyes across the hall coming his way to do the dance you two have become so known for (what happened at the party went viral on the university Snapchat, sadly. Jaehyun denies taking the video, but it might just as well have been Jangjun). Your presence makes his heart thump once, twice, a thousand times in the space of mere seconds, and the force with which the thumps sound make it feel like someone is punching him in the chest over and over, but in a good way.

God, when did he get like this? Younger Changmin would cringe at these feelings, at the million metaphors he can come up with for your smile. But Older Changmin takes the feelings, stores them quietly in his heart, and lets your sparkling warmth illuminate his presence every day.

“You’re shining,” Chanhee remarks at one point after you pass by, leaving Changmin inevitably awestruck. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant. You’ve got that glow.”

He runs, of course, when Changmin leaps at him with teeth bared. Chanhee’s never really known when to shut his mouth (resulting in his entire friend group clowning him to high heaven), but, well, he’s kind of right, Changmin supposes. His lips have never spread as widely as they do when you’re trying to step all over his toes. He’s not pregnant and he’s pretty sure he isn’t glowing, but you make him feel like he might be. Glowing, that is. Not pregnant.

That’s definitely not it.

“Maybe suggest a date?” Younghoon says one day, face still half scrunched into a cringe from your biweekly dance in the literature building. “I’m so sick of seeing you two literally dance around your fucking feelings.”

“Don’t curse,” Changmin says, evading the question. “It doesn’t suit your puppy persona.”

“Like your obsession with horror movies suits your doe eyes,” Younghoon snorts, tossing his bread wrapper into a nearby trash can. “Don’t avoid the question. Why won’t you ask them out?”

That’s a good question, one that spins around Changmin’s mind every second of the day. It whirls even faster when something reminds him of you, like a pretty flower that might look nice tucked behind your ear, a notebook that’s the same design as the one you use for biology, or the special ringtone he’s set for your text messages so he can respond as fast as possible.

An awful lot of things remind him of you.

But as much as he’d like to form the words in his mouth, let those six simple words burst from his throat – “Will you go out with me?” – they die the moment they reach his lips. He’s analyzed this phenomenon from so many angles, worked through it after every time he’s met your lovely eyes, and there’s only one conclusion he’s come up with.

He, Ji Changmin, lover of horror movies and dolls and clowns and possession, is scared. Scared of asking you out, only to be rejected because you have your eye on someone else. Scared of asking you out, only to be faced with the fact that you don’t love his smiles the same way he loves yours. Scared of asking you out, only to have his heart crushed under your gentle, well-meaning hands.

The thumping in his chest turns painful and bitter when he thinks of this, unpleasantly cold and sharp, nothing like the sparkling warmth you evoke in his heart. It makes his mouth thin into a line, lips tight with the fear of splitting from your smile, never to see it again after your rejection.

“Y/N might not like me back,” is all Changmin says, though, keeping all of the metaphors and analysis hidden deep in the crevices of his brain. “I want to at least keep what we already have.”

Younghoon probably wants to start ranting about Changmin’s idiocy like Kevin always does, yelling about how there’s no way you’re not in love with him as much as he’s head over heels for you. He probably would, but Younghoon’s known Changmin for over a decade and a half so he knows there’s real fear in Changmin’s voice when he speaks of your possible rejection. His eyes soften as he pats Changmin’s head, and though he’ll complain about Younghoon messing up his hair, he’s grateful for his friend’s understanding. He’s grateful that he won’t push it further (at least for now).

So Changmin contents himself with looking forward to your texts, going on coffee dates that aren’t dates, seeing your smiles and hearing your laughs. He resists the urge to push back strands of hair that fall into your eyes, hugs you for only an appropriate amount of time, and does his best not to stare at your lips for too long, imagining what it would feel like to kiss them. Pillowy soft, sweet, gentle –

Hey. No. Changmin shakes his head. None of that pining nonsense. Your smile is everything he’s wanted to see in his life, and he’ll be content with that.

Just knowing you’re well and happy is enough.

. . . . .

~ you

It’s late afternoon, almost evening when Changmin calls. He sounds slightly breathless on the other end – he must have just finished dance practice – as he chirps your name, sending butterflies flitting into your heart. “Wanna get coffee?”

“It’s nearly six, Changmin.” You snort. “You want to get coffee now? You won’t be able to sleep later.”

“But coffee,” he whines. “I want coffee.”

“No coffee,” you decide firmly. “But I’ll buy you dinner. What do you want?”

Changmin squawks. “I can buy my own dinner!”

“You bought the coffee last time,” you argue. “It’s my turn to pay.” You can almost hear him getting ready to argue, even if he hasn’t said anything, so you head him off. “Don’t argue with me, I’ll fight you over this.”

“With what, your mediocre dance skills?” Changmin snarks.

“Excuse me?” you snap in mock indignation, secretly smiling as his laughs fill your ear. “Mediocre?”

“I’ll call you a good dancer when you actually succeed in tripping me,” he says, still giggling. “We can go to the ramen place just off campus?”

So instead of spending the evening at your dorm, working on a paper that’s due in a few days, you spend it in the dimly lit, cheap ramen restaurant across the street from the university entrance, laughing and talking with Changmin all the while trying desperately not to show how deeply your heart beats for him.

It’s so hard, you think, walking out of the restaurant a couple of hours later (after fighting over the bill – you’re pretty sure the waiter was going to have an aneurysm by the time you finally managed to toss your card to him). It’s so hard to pretend Changmin doesn’t mean something more to you, when everything about the doe-eyed boy just makes you feel like melting into the ground.

“You never stop dancing, do you?” you ask idly, watching his feet slide along the rough sidewalk. “How do your shoes hold up? They’ve got to be rubbed smooth by now.”

Changmin shrugs. “I manage,” he says, dimple visible as he twirls under a streetlamp, spinning neatly onto campus. “Dancing’s in my blood, I can’t just stop.”

“I can see that,” you say, amused. “Want some music?”

It doesn’t matter what song comes up on your phone, you’ve come to learn. You used to be a bit self-conscious of your music taste and would try to pick songs you thought he’d enjoy, but Changmin, you know now, will find a beat or a melody that he likes in anything that ends up playing. Sure enough, as soon as the first few bars sound from your phone, Changmin’s already grinning, arms floating, feet sliding in a slightly silly but nonetheless lovely dance.

For a few moments, you two stay where you are, Changmin dancing with the grace of a butterfly under the darkening sky, you watching from the side. His grin is bright, so bright, brighter than the streetlights and the moon beginning to glow behind the clouds. You can’t do anything but watch, rooted in place by his grace and beauty.

It’s a bit like touching stars, seeing Changmin’s smile. It should seem impossible to be within reach of something so bright that it can shine across unfathomable distances to light up the night sky, just as it feels impossible to be in the presence of Changmin’s blooming grin. His eyes crinkle like small beacons of light sparkling across the rippling blanket of night, his mouth curving into the brightest crescent moon.

And as you watch, mesmerized, with that lovely crescent smile comes a twitch of the fingers, a slight glint in the eye that’s all too familiar by now.

It’s more of a smirk than a smile, you muse, as the corners of your lips begin to turn upward as well. It’s endlessly alluring, pulling you into his space as Changmin’s elegant steps evade your awkward feet. Your laughs fill the empty university paths, smiles lighting the sidewalk as music blasts from the phone you’re still clutching in your hand, flooding the air, mixing with your yelps and giggles into one singular melody.

“Still mediocre,” Changmin sings as he steps around you once more, effortlessly avoiding your flailing arms. “When will I ever be able to call you a good dancer?”

Once again, like it often does in Changmin’s presence, your body makes a decision without waiting on input from your brain. All you know is that your mouth is suddenly yelling, “Today!” and then you leap.

His eyes widen in surprise, but even his graceful legs aren’t enough to keep him upright this time. You crash into his chest with an audible thump. For a split second, you feel yourself suspended in air as your feet leave the ground, and then the two of you topple over onto the soft grass lining the edges of the path.

Silence. Dead silence.

Then breathless, uncontrollable laughter erupts from Changmin’s lips.

It feels like seconds and it feels like hours that you spend there, embarrassed giggles turning to snorts as you realize how stupid this whole situation is. Changmin’s chest is warm beneath your body, heaving with laughs that burst from his throat and mix with the music still blaring from your hand. You can only follow his example, wheezing breaths from the pit of your stomach.

“Am I a good dancer?” you finally gasp, the last strains of the song fading in the air. “Am I, Changmin?”

His eyes stare into yours, crinkled with joy, twinkling under the rising moon. “Yes,” he says, lips stretched wide. “You are.”

The last vestiges of laughter have died by now. Slowly, silence takes over the moment as you stare into Changmin’s soft eyes, losing yourself in his gaze.

And only then do you realize the position you’ve put yourself in.

He’s right under you, chest pressed flush against yours. You swear you can hear his heartbeat – he has to be able to hear or at least feel yours, it’s hammering at a pace that’s definitely unhealthy – and oh God, your faces are barely inches apart.

You should move. This is a horrible, awkward position, and it must be even worse for Changmin, who’s being buried underneath you. But you can’t shift. You can’t. Something’s rooting you in place.

Changmin doesn’t move either, despite how uncomfortable he must be. If anything, he looks peaceful as he gazes into your eyes, his smile growing smaller but infinitely gentler, lips slightly parted and –

Oh.

His lips.

Your throat goes dry as you realize just how close you are to kissing him.

It isn’t just you, you swear. Changmin’s eyes move, too, shifting slightly from staring into yours to gaze upon your own lips.

Your heart races.

For a second, one blissful, agonizing second, you think you’re going to close the inch gap and press your lips to his, or maybe he’ll brave the chasm and press his lips to yours. For one single warm second, you really think that Changmin might return your feelings, that he might even feel as deeply for you as you feel about him.

Then the next song starts playing on your phone, and with that song, something snaps. The moment breaks. You become painfully aware of the cool night air brushing against your arms and making you shiver. The blissful moment disappears as Changmin moves, presumably to roll out from under you, and you quickly shift yourself off of his chest, freeing him. With fingers still trembling with adrenaline, you turn off your music.

He stands up quickly, brushing off his pants, smiling like nothing happened. Under the glare of the streetlamp, you can’t tell if you’re just imagining the pink dusting his cheeks, the red tinting his ears. “You’re a good dancer,” is all he says. His words betray nothing about his thoughts on what just happened.

Hot, shameful embarrassment rushes through your blood as you take his proffered hand, pulling you up. “I’m glad you think so,” you say, trying to sound as light and teasing as you always do while inwardly beating yourself over getting your hopes up.

How could you ever think a boy as lovely as Changmin would love you, after all? How could such perfection ever fall for you, someone with barely a hint of Changmin’s grace and fire? How could you be so foolish as to even think that way?

Changmin drops you off at the front of your dorm like he always does, smiles like he always does, hugs you like he always does. He’s as close as he always is, never more than a few feet away, yet even wrapped in his embrace, you feel further apart from him than ever.

You watch him walk away from just outside your dorm, waiting for the last possible moment to slip inside. Something’s different about him, something strange. Lost in your own disappointment and embarrassment, though, you can’t put your finger on it.

It isn’t until hours later that you realize he wasn’t dancing as he disappeared into the night.

. . .

~ younghoon

When Changmin walks into the room and immediately collapses on the wooden floorboards, the door swinging shut behind him with a bang, Younghoon knows something is wrong even before his friend’s head thumps against the ground with a loud noise that probably won’t mean good things for his few remaining brain cells. Judging by Changmin’s prone position, though, he doesn’t seem to care. And anyway, his brain cells have been malfunctioning ever since he met you. Younghoon doesn’t think losing a few of them will be too big of an issue.

Younghoon shuts the lid of his laptop with a brief sigh, resigning himself to a night of consoling an angsty Changmin and not catching up on all of the episodes of the dramas he’s missed. “So what happened with Y/N?” he asks, making sure to infuse his voice with as much exasperation as it can hold.

“How do you know it was with Y/N?” Changmin asks, voice muffled against the floor.

Younghoon snorts. Even after all this time, Changmin is still as dumb as ever. “Any time you get like this, it’s because of Y/N,” he says. “So tell me what happened.”

“I hate that you’re right,” Changmin mumbles, picking his head up off the ground just enough to look at Younghoon. He opens his mouth to talk, then shuts it. His lips press together and he raises his head further, grinding the heels of his palms into his eyes with a groan.

“I’m waiting,” Younghoon sings, barely able to disguise his eager impatience.

Changmin scowls, which sends chills down Younghoon’s back, but he thankfully starts talking. “We went to dinner,” he begins, “at that ramen place. You know, the one right across campus?”

“Is this important?” Younghoon interrupts, then puts his hands up when Changmin gives him a death glare. Better not to anger the squirrel further. “Uh, never mind. Continue.”

“Okay, well, we went to dinner. And Y/N paid by throwing their card at the waiter.” Changmin’s lips jut out. “Then we left and were walking back and… I was dancing? Y/N was playing music? And, uh, we were kind of dancing together at some point when we got on campus and like, before, I told them I’d only say they were a good dancer if they could trip me up so Y/N actually just leapt at me and then we fell over and they were on top of me and, uh, we started laughing until…”

Oh, God. This is just a K-drama in real life. Younghoon leans forward, bunching blankets into his hand with a vice grip, waiting for the climax that he knows is going to come. “Until?” he prompts when Changmin stays silent.

Changmin takes a deep breath. “Until we realized what position we were in,” he squeaks. His head thumps back to the floor.

Younghoon shifts on the bed, now clutching his pillow as he tries desperately not to scream. “Tell me you kissed,” he says, voice strangled. “Tell me you fucking kissed. You better have.”

He better have, or Younghoon is going to pull a Changmin and start biting things.

Changmin rolls over and stares at the ceiling for a solid second in silence. For that one blissful moment, Younghoon really thinks that a stupid smile is going to break across his dumb best friend’s face, that he’s going to start waxing poetic about how your lips felt against his, soft and pillowy and so much better than he imagined (because there’s no way Changmin hasn’t imagined kissing you with how deep he’s fallen, absolutely no fucking way).

Then Changmin screams.

Years of growing up together have taught Younghoon which Changmin screams mean excitement or sadness or every emotion in between. This scream is nothing good. There is no happiness in Changmin’s raw vocal cords, no hidden joy in his tightly shut eyes, only pure angst and disappointment and frustration palpable in the screech that’s echoing between the dorm walls.

Younghoon heaves the pillow in his hand and throws it at his best friend. He picks up a nearby stuffed animal and throws it too. Then he throws another. And another. And another.

Changmin just takes it, soft things bouncing off his body into random corners of the room. His eyes are still squinched shut as though seeing nothing will erase the angst undoubtedly coursing through his blood. But Younghoon knows better.

“You fucking idiot,” he snaps when he’s run out of things to throw (hell, he even went so far as to throw Changmin’s Annabelle doll too). “You, Ji Changmin, are a fucking idiot.”

A muffled “I know” sounds under the pillow, which Changmin has taken and put on top of his face. He says something else that Younghoon can’t hear.

“Take that pillow off your face,” he says, feeling more like a long-suffering parent than a best friend (is this how his mom felt every time he did something stupid? If so, he’s now gained a whole new level of appreciation for her). “I can’t hear you.”

“I wanted to kiss them!” Changmin wails, sitting up. The pillow drops off his face, landing on the ground with a sad flop that Younghoon thinks very much represents Changmin’s current state of being. “I wanted to, but then their phone started playing the next song and it just broke the moment and I actually started thinking, what if Y/N doesn’t like me, what if I’m reading everything wrong, what if –”

“Ji Changmin.” Younghoon cuts in before Changmin goes completely off his head. “You are undoubtedly the dumbest human being I have ever had the displeasure of knowing for over a decade.”

“I –”

“I thought I was the dumb one in this friendship,” Younghoon continues, refusing to let Changmin even get a word in. “I thought I was the stupid one – I get worse grades than you, I have made questionable choices, the only things that run through my mind are anime and bread, but you – I have no words for you.” It’s Younghoon’s turn to flop facedown, though on his bed and not the floor. “You idiot.”

Silence. Then – “What if Y/N doesn’t like me, though?”

Younghoon very nearly groans as he picks his head out of his blankets, but the quivering note in Changmin’s voice keeps him from voicing as much of his frustration as he would like. “Ji Changmin,” he says carefully. “I’m dumb, unobservant, and I know I didn’t realize I liked my own partner before we had that confrontation, but even I’m smart enough to tell how head over heels Y/N is for you.”

More silence. Then Changmin speaks again. “I moved first,” he confesses softly. “I kind of twitched and I think Y/N took that as me not liking it, and then I just made things worse by pretending nothing happened.”

“You need to clear that up,” Younghoon says. “Talk. Admit that you really have feelings. Suggest a date. I don’t know what exactly you need to do, but I do know that if you let this go because you’re scared of rejection, you’re going to regret it for a long, long time.”

There’s still a pout on Changmin’s lips, his eyes wide and soft and sad, but there’s a slight steel to his gaze now, a sliver of determination glinting on his face as he nods the slightest bit. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Okay.”

Younghoon breathes a sigh of relief. “Please get this done within the next week,” he says, opening his laptop again. “I can’t stand the two of you pining any longer than that. And also, you’re picking up all the stuffed animals on the ground. I don’t care if I threw them, you caused me to throw them and you can’t deny that you deserved it.”

Changmin grumbles but he does as he’s told, tossing the soft things littering the ground back onto their respective beds. Younghoon just sighs, turning his attention back to his abandoned drama. If his best friend doesn’t get his shit together, he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands. In fact, some preventative measures might be needed. And he knows who’s ready to provide.

He opens the schemers group chat.

. . .

~ eric

Eric has done his absolute best to avoid acting like Kevin his whole life – look, he might be a nice person, but he’s a complete and utter mess – but when he reads Younghoon’s account of what apparently happened between you and Changmin earlier tonight, he feels the sudden urge to start screeching as loudly as Kevin does when things fail.

He looks at the texts one more time. Maybe he read something wrong. Maybe the ‘he didn’t kiss y/n’ actually says ‘he kissed y/n’ instead. Maybe his brain is just malfunctioning at a scale it has never attained before (which is insane, considering the heights of stupidity he’s already reached in his less than twenty years of life).

bread boy: so I ask him if he kissed y/n bc why wouldn’t he. why the fuck wouldn’t he

bread boy: and he just screams

bread boy: DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?

bread boy: H E D I D N T K I S S Y / N

There’s more after that, stuff that Eric doesn’t want to read a second time for fear of losing more brain cells than he can afford. Anyway, the little read by one message at the bottom of the screen has just turned to read by two, and Eric has a sinking feeling he knows what’s coming next. He counts one, two, three seconds of silence.

Then an ear-splitting scream sounds from the floor beneath him.

Yep. That’s Kevin, expressing all the emotions Eric can’t because Sunwoo is passed out on his bed not three feet away.

In lieu of a scream, a pained groan bursts from Eric’s throat and muffles itself into the pillow he’s pressed against his face. He’s always done his best to be understanding of people who can’t as readily admit they’re in love as he can – he knows he’s somewhat of a special case, really – but this level of dancing (literally) around each other is reaching levels of idiocy that even he can’t process.

moon boy: my ra just yelled at me and threatened to write me up

moon boy: but in my defense

moon boy: I cannot handle this

skater boy: neither can i

skater boy: I’m going to talk to y/n

This last text is the reason why the next day, at precisely one in the afternoon, Eric is waiting on the quad just outside the literature building, sitting on soft green grass that looks a little too bright for his current frustrated brain to be happy about.

After a few minutes of waiting, you show up, looking very tired, slightly unhinged, and in general like you spent the whole night thinking about a certain doe-eyed dancer. Eric raises an eyebrow at your disheveled appearance when you flop down on the grass. “Thought too hard about Changmin last night?”

Your head whips around so fast Eric’s surprised your neck didn’t snap. “How did you know?”

“It’s so obvious,” Eric replies. “You only get this worked up when Changmin does or doesn’t do something. So what happened this time?”

You narrow your eyes. “You already know,” you state. Not a question. A statement.

Embarrassment floods Eric’s face, but he just raises his arms and shrugs. “Guilty,” he says, mind racing for a way not to tell you about the schemer group chat. “Changmin spilled everything to Younghoon and he texted me to rant. So.” He leans forward, fixing you with a stare that won’t allow you to question his story. “That was a moment worthy of an entire fucking K-drama. So why didn’t you kiss?”

With a groan, you lie flat down on the quad. “Wouldn’t K-dramas drag it on, just for the sake of angst and extra views?” you mumble.

“Y/N.”

You groan. “I just… I wanted to,” you defend. “But my fucking phone was a cockblocker and it started playing a new song that ruined the god damn moment and, well…”

“Well?” Eric prompts.

Your eyes turn from staring up at the sky to looking at him. Something that reeks suspiciously of fear dances in your gaze. “I don’t know. For a moment, when we were just looking at each other, I really thought he might like me the same way. But, just… how could anyone like me that much? Especially him?”

For a second, Eric debates whether or not to say the words sitting on the tip of his tongue. They’ll reveal a part of himself that he doesn’t necessarily want you to know about. What he wants to say could sour your relationship, maybe even ruin it completely.

But his mind chooses this moment to throw caution to the wind, and the words slip out of Eric’s mouth before he can stop them.

“I liked you.”

Eric can pinpoint the exact moment his three-word sentence registers in your brain. Your eyes display a myriad of emotions – blank, then confused, then surprised, then something that looks like sadness and disappointment and terror rolled into one messy ball. You sit up. “Run that by me one more time,” you say slowly. “Tell me I heard you wrong.”

“I didn’t lie,” Eric says, trying to soothe the tiny pinprick of hurt in his heart. It’s much less painful than he expected, which is nice, but it’s still there. “I liked you the moment I helped you up after I hit you with my skateboard, but it was so easy to tell you were in love with Changmin that I wasn’t going to say anything about it.”

You put your face in your hands. “Eric,” you say, voice muffled behind your fingers, “just… why? How? We didn’t even know each other back then.”

Eric sighs. “I’ve always fallen in love too easily and with the smallest things,” he says. Years of working through this phenomenon have produced a coherent explanation that rolls off his tongue with ease. “Small stuff. A smile, or, like, a laugh. One time, I fell in love with this guy because of the way he tapped his pencil against his lips when he was thinking. I don’t know, you might just call it a crush, but… I don’t think crushes are supposed to be as deep as they feel for me.” He shrugs. “I fell in love with you because of your voice.”

Your eyes peek out just between your fingers. “My voice?”

“Yeah.” He plucks at the grass around him, nervously trying to give his hands something to do. “It’s… your voice is really soothing. Gentle. When you talked to me for the first time, it felt like… it felt like I could drown in it.” The words make him want to cringe, but they’re real. They’re truly how he felt, how he still feels, a little bit. “Really. I swear I’m not lying.”

This time, you fully put your hands down when you speak. “Are you… are you still in love with me?” you ask in measured tones, though he can still hear the slight shake in your words.

Eric debates whether or not to lie, then settles on the truth. You’d probably see through him, anyway. “A little,” he answers honestly. “But this isn’t about me. I fall in and out of love easily, that’s just part of who I am. You’re in love with Changmin, and this is about you and him. You just asked how anyone could fall in love with you, and I just wanted to tell you that it’s entirely possible for someone to fall in love with someone as amazing as you are. If I felt this way about your voice, imagine how Changmin must feel about your everything.”

Now you’re back to hiding your face in your hands, though it looks a bit like you’re holding back tears this time around. Eric waits in silence for you to gather yourself.

“Why are you helping me, if you liked me like… like that?” you finally ask, looking up once more. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

Eric shrugs. “You’re worthy of love,” he says. “I knew I was going to get over this… crush sort of love at some point. You, on the other hand, are definitely going to regret letting Changmin go, if you do. You’re so obvious.” He snorts. “But yeah. You’re worthy of love. And I think Changmin can give you that sort of love that you deserve.”

Soft steel enters your eyes as your spine straightens slightly, exhibiting a determination that wasn’t there before. “Eric,” you say carefully, “anyone who ends up falling in love with you will be the lucky one. Not the other way around.”

It’s Eric’s turn to get shy. “Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles, uselessly trying to swallow his smile and hide the pink rising in his cheeks.

The hug that you give him afterward feels sweet, soft, gentle in the grip of your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Eric,” you say when you pull away. “Remember what I said, yeah? You’ll find someone who falls as deeply for you as you do for them.”

“Only if you remember what I said,” Eric bargains, smiling. “Talk to Changmin.”

A tiny sigh leaves your lips, but you nod. “I will.” Your smile turns slightly scared, but the soft steel is still in your eyes, brightening your gaze. “See you later?”

Eric prays that the light in your eyes never fades. “See you,” he says softly.

You turn, just about to stand and walk away. Eric’s about to walk off himself when you spin back around. “Hey, Eric. For the record, you’re a great friend.” The smile on your lips is genuine, lovely, brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. “I’m glad to know you.”

Something blooms in Eric’s chest, erasing the pinprick of pain that came with your initial rejection. With those words, his heart grows warm, full, happy.

There’s no hurt left.

Eric smiles back, this time with full sincerity. “I’m glad to know you too.”

. . . . .

~ changmin

Changmin can’t believe that he isn’t even dating you, but he’s already gotten the heart-stopping text that consists of four deceptively simple and terrifying words: we need to talk.

He knows what you’re referring to. After all, the mere thought of your lips so close to his, breath puffing slightly against his skin and eyes sparkling under the starlight, brings butterflies to his stomach and makes his brain turn to mush.So he agrees, mostly because Younghoon knocked some sense into him, but also because he needs some closure or he thinks he’s going to explode.

A quick ok! when are you free? (hopefully) doesn’t hint at any of the fear squeezing his heart into the next dimension, and as a result, he’s standing on the empty green quad just outside the literature building, feet tapping uncontrollably against the ground. A few students glance at him as they pass by, but he can’t register their stares. There’s only one person on his mind.

You appear just a few minutes after he’s arrived. Somehow, his heart speeds up even more when you lock eyes with him – it feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “Hi,” he says, barely able to keep the squeak out of his voice.

“Hi,” you reply, carefully coming to a stop just in front of him. “I, uh…”

Silence falls as the two of you look anywhere but at each other. Changmin can already feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. “Um,” he says, trying to breach the insurmountable gap building between you two, “I…”

A voice that sounds a little too much like Younghoon’s screams in his head just confess! as you look up hesitantly. “I didn’t want to move,” he begins lamely. “Last time. When, um, you know.”

The slightest dip of your head indicates comprehension. Nothing else in your face changes, save for a slight sparkle beginning to grow in your eye that gives Changmin a little bit of hope. “I got startled by the music from your phone,” he continues, voice still small but growing in strength. “And, um. It made me start thinking again. Because I like you, I like you so much, but, well, I just didn’t think you could ever like me that way. So I moved.”

Your gaze has dipped down once more, focused intently on your hands tightly clasped together. Then, just as Changmin’s beginning to fear the worst, you snap your head up. Your eyes glimmer with something that feels dangerously like the hope beginning to bubble in Changmin’s heart. “You like me?” you ask, gentle tones strained, desperate for something it seems you can barely even dream of.

Changmin swallows. “So much that it hurts,” he admits, voice softer than ever.

One terrifying second passes in silence after his admission, then a smile breaks across your face that’s so blinding, so bright it could rival the golden afternoon sunlight streaming from the sky. “Come here, Changmin,” you say. Your fingers twitch in a gesture he’s shown you so many times, and, like a magnet, he steps forward, following your words as though there’s nothing he’d rather do in his life.

And like a wave, like water crashing against the rocks at the bottom of a cliff, you surge forward, gripping the front of his shirt and pressing your lips to his with a gentle strength that physically knocks the breath out of Changmin’s chest.

Kissing you is everything he imagined and more, Changmin thinks once his brain catches up to the present. Your lips are still locked with his, eyes open just enough to gaze up at him through your eyelashes. Changmin can feel his own eyes beginning to flutter shut with heady bliss, but he forces them to stay just slightly open, just enough that he can see how you’re sparkling in the sunshine.

You taste of blooming flowers, of roses scenting the air, springtime, clear skies with not a single cloud marring the expanse of blue. His eyes finally close as he gains the courage to raise a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing your skin. Warmth blossoms in his heart as he deepens the kiss and you respond with gentle fervor, fingers still clutching the front of his shirt.

Air forces you to break away, shy eyes unable to gaze at each other for longer than a few seconds at a time. Heat has risen fully up Changmin’s cheeks – he’s sure his ears are bright red – and you can’t stop the smile that’s spread across your face, embarrassed and lovely all at once.

“I like you too,” you confess suddenly, as though the fact that you just kissed him didn’t give that completely away. “So much. I never thought that you’d feel the same.”

“Your smile is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever seen,” Changmin protests, ears burning even more as you cover your face, flustered. “I don’t think there’s any way I couldn’t feel the same.”

“Glad to hear that.” You uncover your mouth, letting Changmin bear the full force of your grin. “Because I’ve said the same thing about your smile to Kevin a million times.”

Changmin giggles, this time hiding behind his own hand. “Our friends must hate us,” he says.

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. Changmin thinks he’s in heaven. “They must,” you agree. “I mean, we started interacting with a… Kevin’s calls it a fucking mating dance, but, uh…”

“Younghoon calls it a cult ritual,” Changmin supplies, giggling as you snort with laughter. “But yeah. We must have put them through a lot, huh?”

“True.” Eyes sparkling like rose petals in the sunshine gaze into his with a softness that makes him want to melt. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?” You smile even more widely, if that’s possible. “I’m glad that we met. That we’re here now, no matter how strange the beginning.”

Changmin’s smile turns smaller, lips no longer stretching as widely, but holding even more warmth than before as he raises a hand. This time, though, his fingers don’t twitch. He simply holds out his palm. “Dance with me, Y/N?” he asks.

When you tangle your fingers with his, Changmin feels flowers burst into bloom in his chest. Sunlight sparkles like glittering rain around your grinning figure as he twirls you on the grass, eyes crinkled and smiling with laughter, so much pure laughter that echoes in the air and mixes with the sunshine to create a golden warm aura of bliss.

(“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks you two reach the front of your dorm. You’ve stopped dancing in favor of holding each other’s hands softly, tightly, gently, and Changmin thinks he’s going to melt in your gaze when you nod with the most brilliant smile on your face.

If the exchange ends in a kiss that feels like a dream, a dream of flower petals tinted with gold raining around him as warm as your fingers interlaced with his, well, Changmin doesn’t mind if Younghoon teases him about it later. He doesn’t mind the smirks, the nudges, the one too many pokes in his side.

His heart is too busy blooming, after all, blooming with thoughts of your love and your smile.)

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 punch in the face for this couple for giving me so much pain while writing them)

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yellowocaballero · 3 years

Text

Human Relations Snippet: Tim teaches Jon the internet and odious goats are sacrificed to the cult of Bezos

There’s no reason for this to exist. I was rereading a bit of HR and I saw a throwaway joke about Jon wanting to buy Martin a Portal Gun. I started wondering about how that would even work. The answer is, obviously, a 200 year old man squinting at a computer screen wondering why there’s so many horny singles in his area. I get possessed by demons easily, so I took three hours out of writing my daemon au and wrote this instead. Bon Appetit.

(Edit, quick clarification: I think that Jon would refuse to use the name for the Beholding that Smirke made up, and although all of this exists in my head and you guys don’t know this, there was a lot of tension between Jon and Jonah’s ‘circle’. So Jon hated Smirke and thought he was a hack. He uses Smirke’s terms to others sometimes for ease of understanding or in deference to Jonah (:/) but I think that mentally he mainly calls the Beholding his own name, The Witness. It rings of that personal and intimate connection Jon and the Beholding has. Anyway, onto the story.)

After one hour in anguished uncertainty, fifty popups that advised Jon of very many ‘hot singles in his area’, six separate sites that Jon’s God had to inform him were covers for thieves that stole money from you, and a very confusing retreat to Jon’s favorite internet page ‘Wikipedia’ as to what an Amazon was, Jon had given up.

Normally this was where he asked one of his personal assistants for help. Normally, he wouldn’t even be trying, and he would have just told one of them to do it. This was how Jon had cunningly mostly avoided using computers for the past twenty years. Some endeavors were unavoidable, and Jon was proud to say that he mastered email in 2010. Or was it 2008? He liked to think it was 2006, but it was possible...never mind. If it was important, the Witness would tell him.

Peter Lukas was right on almost nothing, Jon thought disgruntledly as he slammed his laptop shut - including in his taste of men, company, philosophies, men, patron deities, professions, and men - but he was right in his proclamation that the internet was the degradation of society. Not that he hadn’t sacrificed his morality and sold out, feeding his patron through something called “incel forums” and “Reddit”. Between him, Jonah’s “Excel spreadsheets” and “TurboTax”, and Annabelle Cane’s ridiculous “MMO guilds”, the Society was filling with computer geeks. Jon could always read the wind: he had to keep up, and quickly.

Besides, Martin had kindly educated him on how it was almost unheard of for a young man like Jon to not understand how to work that Goggle thing. Giggle? Martin was very streetwise and was one of the most insightful people Jon had ever known, he was definitely right.

Which is why he had to buy him this “Portal Gun” that he wanted. He had even shown Jon the website! And if Jon was in desperate times trying to navigate these confusing webpages entirely with URLs he memorized, then he would take desperate measures!

“I’m going down to the Archives,” Jon said, slithering off the couch and clutching his laptop to chest. Jonah had bought it for him. He appeared surprised that Jon was using it. “I may not be back for a while. I need...a book.”

Jonah didn’t look away from his own infernal machine. It seemed he was on that ‘Excel’ program again. Was it one of those ‘video games’ he kept hearing about? “Do I want to know what you were doing on that laptop.”

“Reading Wikipedia,” Jon said immediately, and somewhat defensively. Jon had discovered Wikipedia in 2001 before promptly funding it and throwing his weight behind its development. He had spent a solid five years convinced a computer was a kind of electronic screen that let you read digital Encyclopedia pages, like in Star Trek. He’d seen Star Trek. Georgie made him. “Did you know that -”

“Yes, yes, have fun. Haven’t you read that entire site already?”

“Not even,” Jon said defensively. “I can’t just sit and read through entire Encyclopedias anymore, Jonah. We know more things now.”

“What a way to describe the last two hundred years,” Jonah said, not even looking away from his computer. “We know more things. Never change, Jon.”

“You’re the one who never changes,” Jon grumbled. But it was a weak comeback, and considering his brand new delightfully short stature somewhat untrue, so Jon breezed out of Jonah’s office with full knowledge that he’d think of a better comeback halfway down the steps to the Archives.

In fact, it wasn’t until he was at the door, and by then he felt stupid for losing a point against Jonah anyway. He easily opened the door, stepping inside and quickly bee-lining for Sasha’s office. Her burgeoning powers were wonderfully flowing in the shape of access to and understanding of technology. He had never seen such gratuitous breeches of privacy as she casually committed. Every day Jon was validated in his decision to save her from the Stranger. A balance, an equal yet opposite Archivist from Jon, would be invaluable. Not that Jonah and Jon weren’t their own yin and yang, but Jonah’s powers were paltry and out-of-date. Mind reading and spying through iconography was so 1960. They needed fresh blood.

Sasha had been a wonderful choice, and Jon didn’t regret choosing her to act as saviour. Most of the time. Some of the time she -

“She’s not in.”

Jon’s fist halted in front of the door, about to sharply rap on her office door. He turned around to actually look through the bullpen, only to see that Timothy was sitting in his chair chewing a sandwich. Somehow angrily. Definitely suspiciously.

“Are you sure?” Jon asked dubiously. “Because you’ve lied about this before.”

“Because you should stop coming down here and bothering her.” Timothy balled the saran wrap in his hand and dunked it in the trash can, somehow undoubtedly giving the impression that he wished it was Jon’s head. “Just bugger off.”

Someone was in a snit. Normally Timothy wasn’t this hostile. Jon had thought that learning his name might make him less mean, but it did little to help. But when Jon looked around he didn’t see Martin, and a quick check assured him that both Sasha and Martin were having lunch at their favorite deli and engaging in that plotting hobby they both enjoyed. Timothy had elected to stay behind, stewing in his own angry and paranoid juices.

He would have to do this with Martin out of the Archives...and he really wanted to take care of this now so Martin would get it before the weekend...and it wasn’t as if Jon was scared of this boy he was one hundred and seventy years older than…

“Uh,” Jon said intelligently, “can you help me with...something…”

Timothy’s face twisted in a novel combination of surprise and disgust. “What,” he sneered, “your evil fear god or whatever can’t figure it out for you?”

“I don’t need others to think for me,” Jon said stiffly. It was something he’d had to say far too many times. “The Witness is less helpful with...troubleshooting...look, do you know how to work a computer?”

Timothy stared at him blankly. “Like, at all?”

“I’m trying to buy Martin this toy he desires,” Jon said desperately. Fuck it all, he walked over and sat down in the chair next to Tim’s desk. He pulled a little bit closer, placing his laptop on Tim’s desk, and ignored the way the other man leaned away. “But whenever I try I keep on seeing alerts about hot singles. I’m not interested in young women, I just need to buy a ‘Portal Gun’. Do you know what a Portal Gun is?”

Timothy continued staring at him, eyebrows raised. Clearly involuntarily, so quick that he may not even have noticed, one corner of his lips was ticking upwards into a smile.

“How many credit card scams have you fallen for?”

“Absolutely none,” Jon said, very quickly. He pulled out his credit card, placing it on the table. He knew a credit card was involved, although he didn’t know how. “What do I do? Do I swipe it? Is there a port?” He picked up the laptop and squinted at its sides, looking for a port. “I wanted to ask Sasha for help, since she’s the expert in hacking, but surely you know the basics?”

“I mean...I can’t, like, code, but yeah, I can work Amazon.” Timothy carefully opened the laptop, watching the display light up. He effortlessly navigated to an icon on the screen, clicking it open.

“That’s not right,” Jon said urgently. “You’re supposed to press the E.”

“I do not want to know how many toolbars you have,” Timothy said bluntly. “We’re using Chrome. That’s another way to look at the Internet.” He rubbed his hands together. “Yeah, I got a grandmother, we can do this.”

Jon perked up. “So you’ll help?”

Went unsaid: even though you hate me?

“Whatever,” Timothy grumbled. Jon decided not to press his luck.

Jon decided that he liked the Chrome better than the Internet Explorer, because it was simpler and Google was on the first page. Tim rapidly typed on ‘Amazon.com’ into the search bar and easily scrolled through the very busy and picture filled page that immediately popped up. Why was everything so fast? Maybe this was why the young people had no attention span: these pages just came up immediately. No flipping for indices for finding anything in phone books.

“Right. What was it, a Portal Gun? Like from the game?”

“A board game?”

“Video game.”

“Like on a VHS…?”

“Right.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know, Sasha said that you’re one of the most famous sociologists and anthropologists in British history.”

“I am extremely intelligent, Timothy, and I won’t abide any insinuation otherwise,” Jon said curtly. “I cannot be expected to keep constant track every time there’s another - iPhone or whatever. You have teenagers in your family, correct? Do you always know what they’re talking about? That’s, what, a twenty year age gap? Multiply that by ten.”

That shut him up. Timothy sighed again, much more aggressively, but he clicked the white bar and typed in ‘portal gun’ anyway. “Right. Not fucking apologizing, but right. I still don’t fucking know what ‘Twitch’ is.”

“It’s a brief spasmodic contraction of the muscle fibers,” Jon said helpfully. “Fascinatingly, this phenomenon was first observed in frog’s legs before I was even born in 1780, by Luigi Galvani. Erudite man, by the way, but he couldn’t hold his liquor. It was the birth of the study of bioelectricity, although the exact mechanism of muscle contraction eluded scientists for years.”

“Never mind.” Timothy sighed again, the perfect mix of aggravated and long-suffering. It seemed to be the man’s two favorite emotions. “My grandmother has a PhD and she still can’t figure out her cell, either. We had to get her a Jitterbug.”

Amazon, as Timothy explained, was a kind of shopping mall, except you could pick out what you wanted by its picture and have the shopping mall pack it up and send it to you. Jon didn’t quite understand why people preferred this to just going to a shop yourself, seeing as you could get it immediately instead of with a three or four day turnaround, but Tim explained that Amazon was cheaper, had a wider selection, and didn’t make you get off the couch.

“Oh,” Jon said, finally getting it, “this follows the economic model of large scale businesses underpricing their products to undercut smaller businesses in the area, driving them out of business until they hold monopoly over the market and can raise their prices without worrying about staying competitive.”

Timothy stared at him.

“I mean,” he said, “I guess?”

“This explains why my Alexa project was successful so quickly,” Jon mused. “With a lack of competition or alternatives, consumers are more likely to accept the dramatic invasions of privacy as normal. Normalizing intrusions into privacy took ages, but my early efforts paid off very well. The Ring doorbell was even better, along with the line of security and home protection systems. We’re now working on live streamed 24/7 surveillance to social media platforms.”

Timothy stared at him further.

Finally, he said, “Alexa was...you?”

“Of course,” Jon said, baffled. Who else would it be? “I gave Jeff the idea and convinced him it would be profitable. I didn’t understand the whole mechanics of it, but once I gave Jeff a vision from the Witness he was eager to implement the divinely inspired spyware.”

Timothy continued to stare.

“The evil fear god controls Jeff Bezos.”

“He thinks I’m a prophet, actually,” Jon said helpfully. “I let him become Cardinal of the imaginary cult in exchange for funding some of my more esoteric programs. Had him sacrifice a goat and everything, it was great.” At Timothy’s alarmed look, Jon was quick to elaborate, “It was the most evil goat you’ve met in your life. Morally odious.”

“...for my sanity I’m going to pretend that you said none of that.”

In retrospect, although Timothy had worked at the Institute for a few years, it did take quite a bit of time to acclimate to the fact that the Avatars permanently shaped the shape of human existence in order to better feed their gods. Jon knew better than anyone: when humanity made gods, and gods made man, and man made gods...the feedback loop could self-perpetuate for years. Eternity, if needed.

But they had no luck on ‘Amazon’. With Jon’s eidetic memory he was able to easily pick out the one that looked most similar to the one that Martin had showed him, but all of the little toy guns were for someone named ‘Rick’. Then Timothy took twenty laborious minutes explaining the entire plot of ‘Rick & Morty’ to him, which Jon patiently sat through.

“I think young people today deeply enjoy explaining media,” Jon said, once Timothy finished telling him the funny jokes. “I’m very interested in your interests, Timothy.”

“You are so fucking condescending. And please call me Tim, you’re sounding even more like my grandmother.” When Jon brightened, Tim - Tim! - quickly said, “This does not mean we are friends.”

Granted, Jon had never once in his life gave a shit about making friends, but he felt as if he should be making more of an effort with Tim. He was a sort of supernatural brother in law, wasn’t he? Although Sasha perhaps Sasha was more of a favored niece. At least, he would be, if today’s generation found some morality and stopped living in sin.

Good lord. Now he was sounding like Jonah. Georgie used to joke that he was born in the wrong generation - he should have been born a 17th century Puritan instead. Jon found it a very funny joke. Jonah did not.

“Are there any other shopping websites?” Jon asked finally, after Amazon failed them. He’d have to call up Jeff later and complain. “Or is this the only one?”

Tim sighed. “Let’s check Google.”

Quickly and efficiently, yet with many lightning fast detours, Tim found another site called ‘eBay’ - pronounced ‘e-Bay’, not ‘ehbay’ - that listed off exactly what they needed. They weren’t under the toy section, instead listed as something called ‘cosplay’, but Tim seemed highly resistant to explaining that one, so he dropped it.

They picked a likely looking white toy gun that looked the most similar to the one that Martin had liked and Tim talked Jon through punching in the numbers on his card into the website and sorting through the billing and shipping information. Tim helpfully took down the numbers on his card to file later.

“And...done!” Tim said, pressing a button and leaning back. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was ten times as complicated as I thought it would be,” Jon assured him, “but also much more fun. What else can you buy online?”

“Oh, god. What can’t you buy.”

Jon brightened. “Can you buy books?”

“Old Gertrude used to buy Leitners on eBay,” Tim said dully, “so yeah, sure, why not.”

Jon stared at his computer. He carefully navigated the mouse to the big red x and clicked out of the internet browser. “That’s enough of eBay, then, I think.”

Guess he would have to stick to buying Leitners in person. It was no good buying fucked up books from sketchy sources. Always stick to people you trusted, or at least trusted to be themselves. Mikaele was Jon’s favorite supplier since the kid Leitner disappeared, and they had a pleasant working relationship. Mikaele shared his grandfather’s stories about the history and culture of the Maori, and Jon told him which of his haunted artifacts would be the most helpful in the imminent apocalypse.

“Well,” Tim said finally, gently pushing Jon’s laptop away, “that was...something, great bonding session with my local supervillain, please run back to Elias and bother him instead.”

“You were very helpful, Mr. Stoker,” Jon said, as professionally yet paternally as possible. Tim was six years older than his body, so he’s not sure how it came off, but the touch of grey at his temples helped with the dignified air. “And as soon as you start acting like a man and propose to my Archivist, you’ll make an excellent brother in law -”

“Uh, excuse me?”

Jon spun around in his chair to see Sasha and Martin standing at the door, holding doggy bags and looking somewhat flummoxed. Probably confused at the sight of him and Tim having a civil conversation, which admittedly had never happened before. Possibly also confused at how completely mortified Tim looked.

“Who said anything about proposing?” Sasha asked incredulously. “Tim, are you -”

“No! No, god no!” Tim stood up quickly, holding his hands out as if he was placating a raging bull. “Nobody’s been saying anything - I would never do that to you -”

“Oh,” Sasha said frostily, crossing her arms and letting the bags swing, “would you.”

That was a domestic Jon should stay out of, even though he definitely caused it. He and Martin sidled away in tandem, huddling near the back of the Archives as Tim frantically pled for his life.

Sneakily, Jon glanced at Martin out of the corner of his eye. He looked happy. Happy, and just as stressed as he always looked - Jon had never known Martin when he wasn’t constantly stressed out, and he was more than aware that it was his fault.

He looked good, too. Really nice, broad jawline that gave his face a friendly round shape. Just friendly and round in general, it was really handsome. His hair was as nicely short and ruffles as ever. The big glasses were super stylish, and really framed his face well. Really big, broad hands. Jon, who had always been so poky and tall and thin and gaunt, like some kind of haunted scarecrow that lurked through the corners of time, was envious. He wanted some of that softness and gentleness. Really, he wanted some of Martin’s -

“So what were you and Tim doing?” Martin asked. “I didn’t know you knew he existed.”

“You told me his name,” Jon said anxiously. “I don’t forget the things you tell me, you know.”

Martin smiled shyly and him, and Jon found himself smiling back. “It’s pretty good for my ego to hear that I have something to teach the immortal genius.”

“I don’t know,” Jon said, as Sasha yelled in the background, “I’ve been learning a lot lately.”

“Really?” Martin teased. “Anything interesting?”

“Oh,” Jon said, watching the yellow fluorescent light cast Martin’s dim smile in soft relief, “I can think of a few things.”

#my writing #jonathan sims #tim stoker #archivist!sasha #martin blackwood #sasha james #mild homosexual activity and massive old man activity inbound #tma #the magnus archives #tma fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic #im posting this at an awkward time so prep for a lot of self rbs

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arieswonjin · 3 years

Text

my go-to (barista/cafe au)

pairings: goo jungmo x reader

genre: fluff, enemies(?) to lovers if you squint

summary: dealing with customers has never been your favorite part of being a barista. especially customers like goo jungmo. and now you have to train him to become one? that’s just great.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: none

song inspo: 커피를 마시고 coffee - reprise

masterlist | request here! | how to request |

"sir, may i ask if you’re going to order or not? you can step aside first if-"

"wait, wait. how different is the iced latte from the iced caramel latte?" says the man while still looking up at the menu overhead, lips parted, eyes squinted, and hands on the side of his neck, mid-scratch. you tapped the cash register impatiently and took note of how his sharp jaw moved as he scrutinized the menu. was it possible to hate someone at first sight? he was only your first customer of the day yet your blood was already boiling. either finals season was getting to you or this guy had a knack for testing your patience.

you walked to your part-time job every day at the break of dawn just in time for you to see most of the commercial establishments opening. people were going about their own mornings preferring to be undisturbed, you included. earphones in, you savored the few peaceful moments you had to yourself before the chaos of a morning shift.

more often than not, your shifts were totally and utterly uninteresting: you would be prepping ingredients to be used for the rest of the day and office employees or the occasional student running late for a 7 am class would be walking in and out to get their morning fix. there was also a bunch of cleaning left for you. the night-shift employee was simply not thorough enough to distinguish which mop to use for the spills. to this, you did your first of many eye-rolls for the day.

that being said, you weren’t exactly the most patient among your colleagues; however, the laid-back atmosphere this friendly neighborhood cafe had when it was not teeming with customers around the early afternoon almost made you forget about your subtle hatred for human interaction.

but today, as you started your shift at 6 am in the morning with your eyes barely open and a man who has been standing in front of you for more than three minutes, you remembered just why.

"well, sir, obviously, the caramel latte...has caramel." you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the stupid question, whispering the better part of your sentence to mask your tone. but as they all say, the customer is always right. what a nonsensical saying.

"give me a second. i’ll just call a friend to ask what to order here.”

to your distaste, the older male leisurely took his phone out from his brown coat and scrolled through his contacts like he had all the time in the world. oh, if he could only hear your inner thoughts.

“wait-” he flashed you a friendly smile while fumbling with the gadget. “hey, serim-hyung-"

the man flinched, almost too dramatically, when you placed both your palms on the counter with just the right amount of force to shake its contents. he expected to see you fuming but instead saw the softest expression on your face which, frankly, was scarier.

"one caramel latte, hot, with an extra shot of espresso and a pump of dark chocolate for?"

"goo jungmo." he replied, suddenly alert, phone still pressed to his ear. the dull sounds of a confused friend on the other line now went unnoticed.

"...goo jeonmo. coming right up," you punched in the order while holding a fake smile that started to hurt your cheeks and exhaled a breath you didn't know you’ve been holding. breathe, y/n, this will be a fine morning. he’ll be out of here in just a few minutes.

“it's actually goo jung-"

"5,000 won, please." you extended your palm to him without making eye-contact.

jungmo just stared at your hand for a few seconds, still dazed with your outburst. could that even be considered an outburst? how strange. "oh. here." and it just started to sink in that you practically made his order for him.

"hey, i didn't ask for a-" he leaned in to take a peek at the monitor, ready to protest against the sudden turn of events. all he wanted was to get a new kind of morning coffee at this new place before walking to the university, yet it seemed like the way you two met was enough to shake the morning drowsiness out of the both of you.

"it's good. it’s my go-to. consider it a secret special," you said nonchalantly and turned the monitor away from him. you handed him the receipt and gestured him towards the claiming counter. "next customer, please."

jungmo slowly slid to the side as he placed his hands inside his pockets. he just shook his head, trying to wipe away the amused smile he now unconsciously had on his face while thinking about the humor in this encounter.

“oh shoot. sorry, hyung. did i wake you? my bad... but i guess you have to get up now, huh?” he laughed mischievously, getting back to the phone call left unattended a few moments ago. “oh, it was nothing! i’ll tell you about it later. it’s funny, really.”

with a quick glance at your nameplate, he started to think about what other interesting encounters would take place in this cafe in the following mornings. maybe he just found his new pre-class route.

the rest of the week was uneventful to say the least. your encounter with the unrealistically good-looking yet annoyingly slow customer was now far forgotten. as per usual, university kept you busy outside of work.

you’ve always thought your part-time job jived well with your college degree. after all, there’s nothing like the scent and taste of coffee to keep a pre-med student awake in front of their brick-like pathophysiology books. all those extra shots of espresso and doses of dark chocolate are enough to keep your eyes open and your mind running for countless all-nighters.

and that was exactly what you were planning to do tonight. clad in your most comfortable sweater which replaced your coffee-stained apron, a cold drink in hand, you made your way to the haneul university library.

seoul started and ended its day just like any other famous metropolis. jungmo observed this everyday as his feet took him to where he needed to be like it's second nature. but that one wednesday when he broke his routine and entered a new side-street cafe, his morning became unlike any other stroll to the university and he was sure to go back.

for two very unexpected reasons.

first, because he was surprisingly offered a part-time job (a funny coincidence. who would’ve thought the cafe owner was his father’s high school bandmate?) and second, well, because he found himself craving your go-to drink. that genius mix really got to him. and to think that he didn’t even order it himself.

he pondered dropping by the cafe before his first day of barista training tomorrow as he stood up to exit the university library. jungmo just spent most of the evening finishing a 10-page world history paper, his last agenda for the day.

“agh… my back hurts.” he stretched before grabbing his jacket and the last of his things from the study table.

“y/n? the book you were looking for was just returned here,”

jungmo involuntarily snapped his head towards the front desk, reacting to the name called out by the resident librarian. he scratched his neck in confusion as he looked for the source of the voice.

“ah, thank you. i’ll take this,”

so it’s really that y/n from the cafe? he followed you with his eyes as you walked back to the library table that you were occupying alone. jungmo, his mouth frozen in a small ‘o’ at yet another coincidence, might just have a change of evening plans. haneul university was truly full of surprises. and good ones.

“long night?”

you abruptly looked up from the stack of notes you were studying intently, unable to properly respond to jungmo’s small talk. nonetheless, the look of recognition on your face was enough to urge him to continue.

“one caramel latte, with an extra shot of espresso and a pump dark chocolate for y/n. but you seem to be having it iced now?” he looked over at the drink on top of your desk, trying to use his wide smile to start a conversation. it’s how people almost always immediately warmed up to the charming and childlike goo jungmo. he silently hoped you were not an exception, even if he straight up just mocked your lines.

“you study here?” you asked when you recovered from the sudden greeting, if you could even call it that.

“well, obviously, i do.” jungmo mocked you again, all in good fun. he successfully replicated the tone you used with him during your not-so-pleasant cafe encounter.

you sighed in defeat. you really did feel sorry for the way you acted. it was a good thing you still even had your job. “i’m sorry for how i acted that morning. i guess it was the stress getting to me. jeonmo, right?”

“goo jungmo, actually.” he laughed, finally succeeding in correcting the mistaken name at which you just facepalmed in embarrassment. “no worries. i was really slow, wasn’t i?” he scratched the back of his head, a tinge of realization crossing his facial expression. you nodded with pursed lips.

“but hey, at least i got three good things out of that morning in bt cafe.” he casually sat on the chair next to you and pulled up three fingers, counting down while he spoke. “the drink was good, and i got a new job there, and...”

“wait, you’re the new recruit i have to teach?! you know i have to work nights now, right?”

maybe it was the way he sat down beside you so comfortably or how adorably foolish he looked with that habitual scratch to the neck, but holding a casual conversation with this jungmo wasn’t hard at all. the first impressions my 6 am-self created are really unreliable.

“you make it sound so sketchy. it’s a cafe job, not some underground cult.”

you rolled your eyes at his joke and scoffed, internally thanking the heavens for his humor that’s making this sudden interaction so light-hearted. he waved the previous statement off and continued. “turns out bt cafe stands for boys in trouble, my father’s band back in high school.”

“your father is mr. kim’s bandmate?! he talks endlessly about his band phase!”

“shhh!” both of you bowed to the librarian who was peering at you through the shelves on your far-left.

“best bandmate, mind you. it’s the reason why i picked up some guitar skills growing up.” jungmo gets immersed in your now-hushed conversation, making himself lean back on the library chair despite not having any work to do. you did the same, unconsciously leaning in to hear more about your boss.

your pending tasks were left undone for the meantime and you and jungmo were subjected to about three more glares from the librarian that night.

night 1: bt cafe

the training starts.

“coffee beans. they all look the same.” now wearing an apron identical to the one you had, jungmo stood in front of the cafe pantry trying to decipher the coffee beans you’ve been introducing to him without their respective labels.

“that’s what amateurs always say,” you teased. from the previous night, you already established how fun it was to see his reactions to even the smallest attempts to irritate him. it was a good thing trainings took place in the early evenings when you actually had the energy for a bit of fun.

“well, i am an amateur. that’s why you’re teaching me, sunbae.” jungmo jabbed back and followed you around the main counter, hands clasped together as he tried to act like a cute and enthusiastic junior.

you pretended to cringe and broke in laughter when he whined. “back to the coffee beans…”

night 7: bt cafe

within a week, jungmo got the hang of working the bulky and stubborn espresso machine. he has yet to produce a perfectly good batch without burning himself, though.

“i’m surprised you even have the time for a part-time job, pre-med.”

“i could say the same to you, mr. pilot. don’t you have plane diagrams to memorize--ow! that’s hot!” you retreated from the hot cup he was handing to you.

“shit, did I burn you?” jungmo instinctively took your hand and started to look for any redness and swelling, turning your hand over in his. “where does it hurt?”

“.....i’m okay.” you looked up at the much taller male and slowly slid away, finding the sudden proximity quite foreign.

“a baristas hands are precious. let me get a cold towel,”

you followed his retreating figure with your eyes, noting how easily he blended in with the rest of the cafe, apron and all. with a shake of your head and a repressed smile, you might have just thought about calling him cute.

night 10: bt cafe

“....then, after that you just let the coffee drip by itself for about 15-20 minutes- yah.”

“hmm?” jungmo straightened up from having his head on his palm, elbows against the counter. “sorry. you kinda looked...cute...when you were focused.” he said softly without making eye-contact as he mimicked the coffee drip set-up you just made. he realized that it was a weird feeling, suddenly being timid like this.

“tch. focus.” you turned your back to place some ingredients back on their shelves, taking this opportunity to smile and recollect yourself before going back to watching jungmo’s progress.

night 14: university grounds

"you really don't have to bring me these to track your progress..." you saw jungmo waiting outside the biology laboratory for the third time this week, thermos clutched in hand. a few days ago, he insisted on buying his own coffee drip set to get some practice at home. talk about being thoughtfully extra.

"i mean, yeah, we're together every night but you have to see how i do it on my own!"

"shh! people will take that out of context, idiot!" you looked around at the waves of people piling out of the laboratory, worried someone might overhear. jungmo just teased you by wiggling his eyebrows, earning him a smack to the shoulder.

night 20: bt cafe

“yes, y/n, to what do i owe this pleasure of a phone call from you?” jungmo answered his phone after several rings. you were beginning to worry that he got into an accident. why was he so late to his training tonight?

“where are you?”

“i might not come tonight. important presentation tomorrow and we might have to pull an all-nighter. don’t worry! i already told our boss. wait, you’re actually looking for me.”

“i mean, you’ve been coming every night so…”

“y/n misses me.” you almost hear his teasing face through the phone lines. jungmo heard your eyes roll in turn.

“uhm, no, thank you. i’m hanging up.” you put your phone back inside your pocket only to retrieve it after a few seconds when you received a message notification.

don’t worry! i miss you too!

night 30: haneul university library

“agh. how am i ever going to save lives like this?” the sound of resignation in your voice made jungmo look up from his laptop. aside from the regular trainings, you and jungmo have arranged regular study sessions. it’s safe to say that you’ve been spending a good fraction of your week with your fellow haneul student, workmate, and, as it now seems, a special friend.

“you’re keeping me alive just fine, though, doc.” jungmo walked over to your side of the library table and ruffled your hair while your face was still buried in your textbooks. his previous statement went unnoticed. “you should go home early tonight. i’ll take you.” he pulled you up by the arm, shaking you to encourage you to stand up as you grunted.

“thanks, mogu.”

he just nodded at you with a smile and held out his arm to drape around you while you walked. “let’s go.”

night 40: university garden

“hey, you never told me about the third thing.” you sat on the garden bench, stopping jungmo’s strides and pulling him to sit too.

"hmm?"

“the third good thing you got from that day at the cafe. you got a good drink, got a job and….?” you urged him to continue, expecting the answer to be something trivial. after all, it was something he told you on the first day you properly met. would he even remember what the third thing was?

“that? the third thing is that..." jungmo took his time and pretended to fix his jacket, intentionally stalling until you glared at him.

"....i met you.” the casual tone in his voice and the giggle that accompanied it made it seem like it was something he said everyday.

"liars go to hell. and you're full of cheese."

"but you love cheese." he shrugged. knowing you couldn’t deny this, jungmo stood up and pulled you by the hand, ready to walk you home like what the both of you have gotten used to.

night 50: bt cafe

“so you sold your coffee drip set to wonjin because…?” you were fixing up the last of today’s orders with jungmo waiting beside you to place them on their cup holders.

“i don’t need to make coffee for myself anymore. you speed up my heart just fine throughout the day now.” he secured the cups and held them out to the waiting customer. “come again!”

“goo jungmo.” you turned bright red and hid your embarrassment by slapping jungmo’s arm. “don’t fool around like that.”

“ey. i just confessed, can’t you be a little more accommodating?” jungmo ran to the door and flipped the cafe sign from open to closed. “should i have written it in latte art or something? i like you. would 8 letters fit in that tiny cup?”

“you call that a confession?” this earned the iconic whine from goo jungmo. "hey, idiot!" you called to him from across the empty cafe and scratched your neck like he always did, for effect. "i like you, too."

night 77: bt cafe

“shift’s over. what are you doing?” you leaned on the counter to take a peek at what jungmo was doing. there were no customers anymore so you were wondering what was keeping him so busy.

“one caramel latte, iced, with-“

“—an extra shot of espresso and a pump of dark chocolate...” you continued his sentence, nodding your head in time with the words.

“...for my y/n,” jungmo finished and handed you a cup with both hands. you took it with a playful squint of your eyes.

you took a sip, keeping your eyes on the expectant jungmo. a moment of silence ensued.

“jungmo. i love you….but-”

“i love you too.” he hurriedly replied without hesitation.

“…but i still make the best version of this.” you smiled victoriously, sticking your tongue out at him before drinking the rest of the latte which you admitted tasted pretty close to your specialty. jungmo just raised his hands up in defeat and proceeded to watch you drink his version of the go-to drink that brought you two together in the first place.

“if i get to see you smile like that, do i really want to get it right?”

#cravitywriters #cravity scenarios #cravity imagines #cravity fluff #jungmo scenarios #jungmo imagines #jungmo fluff #cravity #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #goo jungmo

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mlkytobio · 4 years

Text

loving isn’t easy, but it’s bearable with you

a/n: for the cheese cult fic event <3 i tried my best lol

genre: little bit of angst if you squint + fluff // hanahaki au

warning: mentions of blood, but nothing too graphic

pairing: nishinoya x fem!reader

wc: 2.6k

the hanahaki disease was something that everyone knew of. there were people covered head to toe in flowers, each one a reminder of a time where they had loved. and then there were the few lucky ones, the ones who just happened to have their soulmate as their first love. the ones with only a small flower tattoo over one of their body parts.

everyone covered all over with tattoos always knew that it was harmless at first, little flower petals being spat out, and then becoming thorns that scratch the inside of your throat as they come up. the process of coughing out the flowers was always quick, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t painful. more often than not, blood comes out with the flowers and thorns. it depends though, on the type of love.

you had fallen in love exactly three times. and for one of those three times, you had a trail of forget-me-nots trailing up your right forearm. for the memories of true love, and like the name suggested, “do not forget me”. for the time you had loved miya osamu and he loved you back, and it only ended because you had to move to miyagi. maybe there were more reasons for it, but it was a mutual agreement. he was your first love.

terushima yuuji was your second love. and as a result, tulips bloomed across your left wrist, for unrequited love. and it was also the first thing people see when they looked at you. because well, the flower was highlighted with red, like blood, almost. maybe it was a little cliche, for you to have fallen in love with johzenji’s resident playboy. but you couldn’t help it. every little smile he sent you while from his usual seat at the cafe you worked at, every brush of your fingers against his when you went to take his order sending electricity running up your spine.

with osamu, it had been small flower petals and smiles about the flowers that came tumbling out. sometimes you even saved the flowers, but they wilted soon after. still, before you knew that osamu felt the same way,the coughing out the flowers wasn't painful. but why was it with terushima? there were thorns sitting in the bathroom sink, crimson red pooling all around them. and it only got worse after that.

still, you fell in love with terushima yuuji. you fell for his smirk and his tongue piercing and his sly words. and when he walked into the cafe that day, he broke your heart, having a girl draped on his arm and she looked at him the way you thought you looked at him. he broke your heart unknowingly, perhaps, but it was heartbreak all the same. you half expected it, but there was a part of you that hoped, nevertheless, that he would feel the same way.

that day, you coughed out tulips among pools of blood, and it was in the same night that you chose to go get the surgery. you knew you were one of the more privileged to get the surgery, and it was foolish to waste it on a teenager’s stupid crush. but it was better to have others look at you with pity. maybe it was a little dramatic, but you knew you were doomed from the start. this only gave you more reason to do it.

the doctor had given you a look of pity, but everyone did. everyone saw the way you looked at terushima yuuji and felt nothing but pity. and if that doctor expected a story, he had to wait a damn long time for it.

it didn’t hurt as much as you expected it to. just prickling along the skin, and then when you looked down, your left forearm was covered in blood-red tulips. maybe it didn’t hurt because the thorns had hurt more. the unrequited love hurt much more than getting your lungs pried open than living with thorns creeping up your throat every single day for the rest of your life, knowing that once upon a time you were stupid enough to fall in love with terushima yuuji.

everyone at karasuno knew you as the girl who couldn’t live with her love anymore. the girl who squandered away her privilege for the surgery for a mere high school crush.

the volleyball team were the first people who understood your decision. the first people who didn’t talk about you behind your back about how you wasted your probably only chance of getting the surgery and how you were a spoiled brat that deserved the pain anyways. you had heard of every single rumour that people spread about you, and although you tried to ignore them, they were like a thousand little knives cutting into your back every single day.

the volleyball team was where you felt at home. the sleek wood floor of the gym and the frequent shout, mostly from kageyama to hinata. there was some sort of solace in the walls of the gym, almost like it was its own little world set apart from all the rumours on the outside.

becoming their manager was one of the best choices you ever made.

“y/l/n! come and see my new move!” you looked over to nishinoya, his blond tuft of hair slicked against his forehead. you smiled to yourself, knowing that it was probably some other variation of rolling thunder or of the sort. still, it was one of the things you loved most about practice, the players’ enthusiasm and desire to win was forever unwavering.

nishinoya received the ball in a sort of speed that made you dizzy when you first saw it, but even after so long your eyes could only adjust slightly to it. he’s grinning, and you couldn’t help but give a smile back, because it’s nishinoya yuu and his energetic self that could put everyone to shame.

you never paid much attention to nishinoya yuu. sure, he got suspended from the volleyball club for a month for breaking something, but you saw what happened. you saw that he didn’t mean to, that he was just trying to get his friend back. the blond tuft in his hair was the first thing you saw when you first stepped into the classroom, but still, you never stopped and looked at him carefully. until you joined the volleyball club as a manager, and then suddenly you see the bright energy surrounding the short libero, and wondered how exactly did you not notice him before.

you chalked it up to curiosity, to the strange spike of his hair and the way a room lit up somehow when he walked into it.this boy was like the sun, too bright for his own good and probably burns anyone who got too close.

practices only made you notice him more, of course. and maybe he noticed you too, from all the little smiles that looked like they were directed at you and the glances he kept giving you.

to most people, flowers were things of beauty, but to you, they represented a dark time. they represented getting your heart broken and the person who broke it didn’t even know. love was the same, crushing and suffocating you, and the two just so happened to be linked. every flower you saw, especially tulips, made you turn away at the sight. so did love.

love was a curious little thing, taunting you and when it pulled you in, only then will it reveal itself to be deadly. coiling around you, your heart, more like it, and every waking thought, like some sort of boa. it suffocates you, then brings you down with it.

nishinoya yuu heard about you before he even met you. about the girl who had red tulips imprinted on her skin, basically a form of public shaming. he never thought about you as someone who wasted away their chances, though. everyone had heard of at least one story where because of love, people had squandered away their lives, and he was no exception. your life was more precious than some unrequited love, so what was wrong with getting the surgery? he had never understood why people held a grudge against you, and so did the rest of the volleyball team.

most of the second years walked home together, and you were in front of nishinoya when he suddenly grabbed onto your shoulders and started jumping up and down in the air. you saw him doing this before, but with other members of the team, and your first thought was: why did he have so much strength?

“oi, noya! don’t be so hard on our manager!” tanaka laughed, and noya’s hands released their grip on your shoulders, his face cherry red. you found it a little cute, actually, if it weren’t for the ache in your shoulders from how tightly he had held on to them.

“i’m so sorry y/n-san!” he sputtered out, even as you said that it was fine, you weren’t injured, but as he kept apologising, all you could say in that moment was “okay, then i’ll let you make it up to me.”

his head lifted up, eyes filled with something indescribable, as he agreed. “i promise you that i’ll make it up to you, y/l/n-san! i’ll take you out on saturday!”

a flower petal was floating in his teacup when he sat it down. you looked at him, surprised, but stayed silent, giving him a napkin. he looked at you with a grateful look in his eyes, the tuft of blond hair being swept to the back as he ran his fingers through his hair.

it was spring in japan, when all the sakura flowers started blooming and there were couples all around you. you never liked spring, or maybe you did, and the hanahaki just made you despise it. anything related to flowers you didn’t like, you realised.

“do you know who is it?” you gently asked as both of you walked down the street together. the pink flowers were everywhere, on the cobblestone path that your shoes scuffed against, and on the tall trees looming over you. he looked at you then, slightly surprised, but answered it anyway.

“i think so, i mean, i have a vague idea of who it is,” he gave a reply that was strange of nishinoya, but perhaps it was due to the fact you weren’t that close with him as you were with maybe tanaka, or ennoshita.

“well, i hope they feel the same way,” you gave him a small smile, and he returned it, but there was something lurking deeper in his eyes that you couldn’t place.

he walked you home, and when you were about to say goodbye, his gaze fixated on you, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn’t want to.

you were about to ask what was it when he yelled out, “y/l/n-san, i like you!”

how ironic, was the first thing that went through your mind. how ironic that you were intrigued by him and now here he was, confessing to you. how ironic it was that this exact scene gave you deja vu, of when you confessed to osamu. how ironic it was that when the thing you tried so hard to avoid doing turned into you being on the receiving end of it. falling in love.

“i-i’m sorry, nishinoya-kun, but i don’t really want to fall in love right now,” the words left your lips before your mind could even register them. his face fell at that, and you wished you could take it all back, say that you would give him a chance, but all he said was “that’s okay! i hope you can reconsider. have a good night y/l/n-san!”

you watched his figure retreat into the shadows, until all you could see was the faint outline of him walking. you thought about his words, and of a time you loved terushima yuuji. the memories of that were laced with regret, but then again, when you loved him, and osamu at that, all you could feel was pure euphoria. the climax of a roller coaster ride, when you’re tipping at the top and it felt like forever before it made its decent again.

hoodies weren’t your favourite piece of clothing, but they made well for covering the red ink on your forearm. as you pulled the hood over your head again, hoping to cover your face, you heard the familiar jeer. it wasn’t foreign for you to have insults hurled wherever you go, only for the person who shouted them to disappear into the crowd when you looked over your shoulder. and so, you always said to yourself not to look. it was better not to place a face to the voice.

“attention-seeking bitch,” you heard someone mutter, followed by the laughing. don’t look, don’t look, was all you thought as you made your way through the crowd in the hallways.

“i hope whoever you ‘loved’ is dating someone much better and more deserving right now,” was one of the more prominent insults that were in your range of hearing. gasping to yourself, you felt an empty ache in your chest, probably where your feelings had been. still, it hurt. it hurt for people to not understand your decision, for them to constantly belittle and insult you as if pain was something to be made fun of. you felt blood rushing in your ears, vision growing blurry as you tried to walk, run, even, out of that hellhole. throat constricting and breathing growing ragged.

“stop!” you heard someone say. you only increased your pace. “stop it, right now. all of you.”

it wasn’t directed at you, but to the people crowding around you. “it’s not funny to ridicule someone who has been through pain,” you recognised the voice this time. the voice of the person who constantly shouted excitedly in practice, even at the smallest things. nishinoya yuu.

he walked over to you, placing his hands lightly on your shoulders as he led you away from the gaping students. “if you feel uncomfortable, i’ll stop right now,” he whispered, just loud enough for your ears to pick up. you shook your head, the only thing you could muster then.

he led you to an isolated space behind the gym, where only then did you release your tears. and he was there, not uttering a single word, just silent companionship, and that was enough.

as you regained your breath, a single flower petal floated delicately out of your lips. he noticed it too.

“thank you, nishinoya-kun,” you said, gaze not leaving the flower as it sailed on the wind. no blood or thorns, though, you thought.

“i feel like the word love has been taken out of definition with me,” you whispered. “but i want to give you a chance, at changing the definition with me.”

he smiled at you, his hands on your shoulder once again. “i’d like that.”

the sakura flowers were in bloom yet again, and for once, you found them beautiful.

“do you remember-” the boy started, but you cut him off.

“when you took me out as an apology for jumping on my shoulders? yeah,” you grinned.

“i always thought you were beautiful, you know. and never understood why you got made fun of for choosing to have the surgery,” he said.

“well, i’m glad they did. it led me to you, didn’t it?” you smiled at him.

his hand found yours, and the two of you walked down the same cobblestone path you did a year ago. maybe love wasn’t easy, but there were some people that made it bearable. like nishinoya yuu.

and that was the third time you fell in love.

[ cheese cult bbys: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @from-left-to-write @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi @hanibuni @cupofkenma @kawanisshi @milkandc00kiez @thiccbokuto @shinsukestan @sufiawrites @wakaitoshi @skyguy-peach @fern-writes-ig @briswriting @kawaiikraykray @bubbleteaa @miyuswriting @raevaioli @ouikarwa @hakueishirei @pineapplekween @estherwritess @keiji-n @achoohq @badlywritten-hq @mochibeaa @oinkanna @chxrry-wxne @spudicide @airybby @asranomical @karmasuna @nekoglasses ]

#cheese cult fic event #hanahacheese #cheese cult #haikyuuwritersnet #hqappreciation #underratedhq #hanahaki au #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yuu #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #hq #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu imagines

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splitpush · 3 years

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multifandom fic in review

as usual, nothing prompted this. i was reminiscing about the various fandoms that i’d traversed over my last decade+ of fanfic. if had to pick one story written by me that was my favorite for each fandom, what would it be?

if you see this meme and you want to do it, feel free to. i am tagging you.

the first set of fandoms are ones i dabbled in when i was basically prepubescent so it’s hard to pick a favorite when they’re all equally cringe (but.. in a cute way....). not linking back to anything on my old ffn because it’s embarrassing but they’re easily accessible if u squint (please don’t squint)

Artemis Fowl - no favorite

Guardians of Ga’hoole - probably the story i started writing about Pelli being a nazi cuz she was on good terms with Kludd before she tried to escape his cult with a bunch of nestmaid snakes. wow look at me being a real edgelord here

Kill Me Kiss Me - no favorite but i did a double-take when i went back to check i’d actually written something for this manhwa

next set of fandoms are from when i started to get into anime, namely tennis & ninja foolery. i was based on FFN at first because of my ties to a group of forum friends, but then it bled into LJ as the circle started to migrate. those friends were probably the reason i was faithful to tenipuri for so long. having multiple 知音s in a fandom really does start to make it feel like your home base.

ATLA - crane station for jetko fic exchange

APH - ok for real this fandom dragged. i only stayed in it so i could keep talking to some of my favorite people. i guess if i had to pick a story i liked at all it would probably be softly treading softly

Bakuman - Your Chance to Rewrite the Bible

Code Geass - no favorite

FMA - Pacific Ocean, Telephone Line. i treasure this story. reading it feels like opening a time capsule of hopes i held onto near the end of high school

KHR! - SUNSHINE for me today. kyouko/haru rapture!

Prince of Tennis - tv cables. written as part of a private gift exchange between forementioned forum friends. marui gets hit by a car but it’s not an angsty story by any means. for a while my brand was injecting humor into concepts that were typically tragedy-driven and i kind of lived for it lmao... like i really thought i was doing something

PJO - definitely ハミングバード ~HUMMING BIRD~. nc-17 luke/nico magical realism 16k binge. first time writing id fic, i was hooked!

Naruto - The Pop Is Dead; Long Live The Superflat. deidara/oc, which makes this a self-insert. he was my favorite baddie and i’ll never understand why... whole lotta edgy references in this story but it’s probably the first time i felt like i got even remotely better at writing so it has a special place in my mind

the rpf fandoms i wrote for were scattered between LJ/tumblr eras but i’m going to list them all here. like most ppl that write rpf i ran in and out of it.

e-sports - probably subperfect. everything on that blog is gratuitous & no you’re not welcome. i stopped writing e-sports rpf after i met najin sword irl. it got weird after that obviously

Genius Game - my Modulo on your Modulo. jdm/ohm for yuletide

JE - lot to pick from but probably Kind of happy, kind of not, written for je_holiday. my first foray into the pseudo sci-fi genre. i also accurately predicted the demise of politics americana but just so we’re clear the orange-kun mentioned in the story was a geass reference

kpop - no favorite

NBA - lapslock towel science for wall/cousins. yes i was actually drunk when i wrote this

i want to call this era of fandoms my ““second”” anime wave, wherein a lot of life imitates art bullshit came about via tunglr. it started with knb and led into time spent moonlighting as a typesetter and writing stuff across several pseudonyms. i made and discarded a lot of fandom friends/interests at this time and if you met me during it, i’m very sorry for the trouble i caused

Ao no Exorcist - Songe à la douceur. let’s be honest this fic transcended levels of self-insertion it was practically an autobiography

Daiya no Ace - finite fixation. but if i were picking by titles, “tanba-san is a secret” cuz i’m BL trash thru & thru

Free! - emotional trapcards you never wanted to play

Kuroko no Basket - i can’t pick just one, but i can tell you that it’s definitely nothing i wrote as gamblers. either aomido tennis AU “drive if destination not set” or nijimura/aomine “both of you, dribble like you want to win”

Slam Dunk - Rebound Rhapsodic, unfortunately. gratuity at its finest!!!!

Shingeki no Kyojin - remember when his name was rivaille lmao. pepperidge farm remembers. i got no favorites here

and finally we’ve reached the list fandoms that i’m currently writing for, so these are subject to change.

Haikyuu!! - probably オイ-メシ!! ~simple japanese homestyle cooking~

Saezuru - i’ve written only 1 fic so far & it’s not my favorite, but since i joined the discord it’s made me want to write more. we’ll see!

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therainroguefanfiction · 4 years

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✰ A Love So Strong (Denki Kaminari)

Genre: Crack, Fluff, AU, Magic

Word Count: 4,043

Pairing: Reader x Kaminari

World: Boku no Hero Academia

Author’s Note: This fic is just, uhhhh… a clusterfuck of fuckery. Yeah, that’s it xD I wrote this for a dear friend, @smol-enby , as a thank you for the Yaku fic they wrote for me, which you can find here – go read it because it’s amazing and it’s about Yaku buying Y/N their own fucking Taco Bell, enough said. Special shoutout to @euphylli for beta-reading this trainwreck and to @miniiqui for being a willing member of the cult of rain and resident drink-bringer in this fic lol

And yes, I put myself in the roll of goddess of rain, you wanna fight about it?!?! (it’s a running gag in our discord server okay don’t feckin’ judge me)

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, staring up at the dark ceiling above you, shadows dancing under the light of the fireplace. Try as you might, you couldn’t seem to recall where you were or how you had gotten there – or why you were currently lying on the floor. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, feeling the warmth of the faux bear rug beneath your fingers.

To the right sits a large fireplace, the flames crackling as they ate away at the logs fueling them, mingling with the soft pitter-patter of rain against the roof. Two plush chairs sat across from one another, slightly angled toward the fire. And that’s when you realized that the chair on the right was currently occupied.

With a gulp, you scrambled to your feet, searching for anything you could use as a makeshift weapon, but the only thing you found was a small plush of a kawaii taco sitting on the table behind you. The movement caught the person’s attention and they slowly turned toward you, green eyes illuminated by the dancing flames.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” The voice belonged to a female, reminding you of a rainy day in Autumn. It was quite calming, but you still kept your guard up as she stood, their plump body outlined in shadow.

You squinted, but were unable to make out of their features. It was as if they were made of shadow like the criminals from Case Closed, a simple black nothingness to prevent giving away their identity. When they stepped around the chair, moving ever so closer, you took a step back, butt bumping against the table as you grabbed for the taco, squeezing it tightly within your hand.

“Stay back!” You ordered with a shaky voice.

The woman halted, tilting her head to the side. “Fear not, my dear mortal, for no harm shall befall you here.”

“Who are you?” You demanded, surprised by your ability to keep your voice level as you held the taco out in front of you. “Where am I?”

She smiled – a lazy, content smile. “I am the goddess of rain and you, my dear, are within my realm. The realm of rain.” With a simple flick of her wrist, the soft pitter-patter suddenly became a violent downpour, pounding on the roof like a stampede of animals.

Your eyes widened, the taco falling from your grasp and bouncing once before coming to a stop beside the rug, its kawaii face flat against the wooden floor. Surely this was just a dream… right? Gods and goddesses weren’t real and… an entire realm dedicated to rain? It seemed like such a silly idea, cooked up by a madman or someone in a food-induced dreamstate. Yes, you were most definitely dreaming.

The woman seemed to send your thoughts, holding her arm out toward the two chairs behind her. “You cannot be harmed within dreams, so, won’t you indulge an old woman’s request and join me for a fairy tale on a rainy day?”

You hesitated but, determined to prove to yourself that this was, in fact, just a dream, you squared your shoulders and approached the chair on the left, keeping your eyes on the woman and making sure you didn’t expose your back to her as you fell into the chair. It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as you had expected it to be by judging from its aged appearance.

With a contented hum, the woman reclaimed her seat on the right, the fire dancing within her eyes. “Before we begin, would you care of a snack? Some Dr Pepper, perhaps?”

“Uhh… how about some apple juice?”

“But of course.” She snapped her fingers and a beautiful young girl materialized behind the two of you. “Qui, be a dear and fetch our guest some apple juice, won’t you?”

The girl giggled, showing off her sharp fangs. “Of course, mother! Back in a flash~” And in a puff of white smoke, she was gone as quickly as she had come.

“You have… children?” Your brow furrowed at the spot the girl had just been. ‘This is just getting weirder and weirder. I really need to stop eating before bed.’

“Yes, well… all those that pledge their loyalty to me by joining the cult of rain are considered my children.”

“You have a cult?” You cried in disbelief, feeling yourself shrink back as your mind brought fourth various bad images about cults you had seen in real life in movies and on TV. Your head was seriously beginning to hurt.

“But of course, I -” A muffled explosion made the house tremble and you jumped in surprise, heart racing as the woman merely heaved a heavy sigh, bringing her hand to her face and mumbling under her breath. “Honestly, Qui said she was going to work with him about getting that temper of his under control.”

Qui suddenly reappeared, soot staining her clothes and skin but the smile upon her lips was even brighter than it had been before. She bounced over to you, leaning down as she held the tray out to you. “There may be a bit of soot in your drink but don’t worry, it just adds to the taste!”

You sweatdropped, picking up the cup of apple juice with a shaking hand. “Y-Yeah… thanks.

She twirled on her heel, offering the tray to the woman, who picked up the second cup with a smile. “I protected your drink, mother! I know you don’t like caramel flavored Dr Pepper!” She giggled, holding the now empty tray behind her back. “I’ll be going now, I hope you decide to join us. It’s really lovely here~” With a wink, the girl vanished into smoke once again.

“Yes,” the woman sipped her soda from the tea cup with a content hum. “Would you be interested in joining the cult?”

Of course you weren’t. Who in their right mind would want to join a cult? It seemed highly suspicious and you had clearly been singled out. With a frown, you inquired, “Why me? What makes me so special that I deserve to join your… family?”

“Is it not obvious?” She questioned with surprise.

You shook your head no.

“Every one of my children have one thing in common.” She said simply, offering you a closed-eye smile. “Each of them are absolutely beautiful inside and out. Though they may be mortals, they are each a god or goddess in their own right and have earned not only my respect, but my adoration, as well. When you think of them as a mere cult, you may think they are simply part of the hive-mind, following blindly, but they all chose to be here. I do not hold them here against their will, though I do offer them what they most want.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You wondered, more to yourself than to her. It sounded way too good to be true and life had taught you many times that if it seems too good to be true, it most likely is.

“Every member is granted one thing upon their entrance into the cult of rain.”

“One thing? Like what?”

“Whatever your heart desires.”

You scoffed at the idea, your mind immediately thinking of him, but you knew that was impossible. Even so, you jokingly asked, “Even bring an anime character to life?”

“That’s right.”

“Yeah, I though -” your eyes widened as her words sunk in. “Wait, what?”

She sent you an amused look as she sipped her drink. “You heard me correctly. There’s a surprising number of members that have requested the very same thing! Why, young Qui that was just here – upon my offer to join, she wished for a character named Bakugo. He was the cause of that explosion just a moment ago. He’s quite a handful, but he is such a good cook.”

“B-Bakugo?!” You nearly spilled the drink as you leaned forward. “From Boku no Hero Academia?!”

“Oh, you know it? I shouldn’t be surprised, it’s quite popular these days, isn’t it?” She hummed, her green eyes lifting to the ceiling as she recalled the various requests she had gotten from her members. Several of them had been from that very series.

You swallowed hard, scooting to the edge of your seat as you released a shaky breath. “So… if I join this… this cult of yours… you can make Denki real?”

“Kaminari, hmm?” Her eyes sparkled with interest as they fell upon you. “A fair choice. He’s quite handsome! Tell me, is this your desire? What you truly want?”

You didn’t hesitate, nodding your head frantically. “Yes! I’ll do anything to make him real.”

She chuckled, setting her cup down on the small table beside her. “Tell me, dear Y/N, will you accept the cult into your heart and devote yourself to the realm of rain?”

“Yes!”

She leaned back in her chair as a black cat jumped from the second floor, landing right on her lap. His golden eyes looked at you for a moment before he settled across her thighs, purring in content as he started to fall asleep. Her hand gently rested on his back, rubbing across his silky fur.

There was something oddly familiar about that cat, but you couldn’t quite place it. Was it the golden eyes? The spiky tuft of fur that hung over his right eye? Or something else entirely?

“Sit back and relax, dear Y/N, and allow me to tell you a tale. I think you might enjoy it.” Her green eyes sparkled with something you couldn’t place, but you did as she commanded.

Setting the cup on the round table beside your chair, you slid backward until you were flat against the soft back of the chair. Your heart was racing within your chest, head full of only thoughts about Denki.

The woman lifted her right hand, palm toward the ceiling, and a small green-blue orb started to materialize, hovering above her skin. It glittered under the firelight, seeming so magical to you. You couldn’t look away, as if your eyes were permanently glued to the object. She smiled, flexing her fingers as the ball started to expand, growing larger and brighter until it started to encompass the whole room.

Your head started to feel hazy, eyes heavy as they started to slide closed. It felt as if you were slipping into a dream and no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t stop the darkness that was beginning to creep into your mind. The last thing you saw was the woman’s closed-eye smile before the darkness overtook you.

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The smell of chicken nuggets tickled your nostrils, rousing you from sleep. You blinked a couple of times to clear your vision, slowing sitting up on the queen-sized bed. While you didn’t exactly remember your dream, you remembered it being very… strange. And the more you tried to recall it, the more your head hurt.

Shaking your head to rid the last bit of sleepy fog from your brain, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet falling against the plush white carpet that covered the bedroom floor. The smell lead you through the house toward the kitchen and you peaked around the corner, curious about the loud clanging that was being made inside.

Denki hummed loudly as he stood in front of the sink, washing the leftover dishes from the night before. The microwave was also humming as it heated up a plate full of chicken nuggets because the blonde was incapable of using a stove without the risk of burning the house to the ground.

You had been dating Kaminari for several months now but… every single time you looked upon him, you were filled with such a strong sense of happiness that it made you want to cry. It was like there was some magical spell over him that directly effected your emotions. You didn’t understand it but you really didn’t want to. He made you happy, and that was more than enough.

With a warm smile, you stepped up behind him, arms sliding around his slim waist. “Good morning, Denki.”

His mood instantly perked up upon hearing your voice and feeling your body against his. He shut off the water and turned around so he could bring you into a bear hug, threatening to lift you off of your feet. “Morning, Y/N! Did you sleep well?”

You thought back to the strange dream, but you still saw it through a blur as if you were wearing an older person’s prescription glasses. Shaking your head, you offered him a smile, your hands rubbing against his back. “I slept well, I always do when I’m in your arms~”

His cheeks darkened at your flirty tone, a goofy grin coming to his lips as he buried his face in your neck. “You always tease me, Y/N, it’s not fair~”

With a chuckle, you pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “You make it too easy, babe.”

The hum of the microwave died as it started to beep loudly, making him pull away from you and bound over to it. “Breakfast is ready!”

“Denki, wait -” But you were too late.

He thrust his bare hand into the microwave and grabbed the plate, only to yelp as the heated ceramic burnt his hand. He dropped it as a surge of painful heat crawled across his flesh, the plate clanking as it fell back to the circular glass. You cursed, rushing into action as you took his wrist in your hand, tugging him back over to the sink and running his reddening skin under the cold water.

“You should be more careful,” you scolded lightly, your finger ghosting over the red skin of his fingers. “It doesn’t seem to be too bad, but I’ll put burn creme on it just to be safe. Keep your hand under the water.”

With a pout, he nodded his head, golden eyes following you as you exited the kitchen to find the burn creme that was located in the bathroom cabinet. Upon returning, you gently pulled his hand from under the water, patting it dry with a paper towel before applying the creme to the reddened areas. He winced in pain, bottom lip jutting out farther.

You honestly felt bad that he had gotten hurt, but he was just so damn cute when he was pouting like that. You couldn’t help but reach forward, capturing his bottom lip between yours. He responded instantly, grabbing at the back of your neck with his uninjured hand, groaning against your lips.

When you tried to pull away, his grip tightened and he leaned forward, not yet wanting the kiss to end. “The food is going to be cold,” you commented against his lips, nibbling at his lower lip, so plump and soft.

“Don’t care, just want you,” he mumbled back. At that moment, his stomach started growling loudly, resembling a bear growling within a large cave.

You giggled at the red spreading across his cheeks. “You may not care, but your stomach does.”

“Fine~”

You grabbed a kitchen towel and carefully pulled the plate from the microwave, setting it onto the kitchen table. “Which condiment do you want, babe?”

He tapped his chin in thought. “I’m feeling like a ketchupie mood.”

“That’s not a word,” you chuckled, grabbing the bottle of ketchup from the fridge before returning to the table.

Denki huffed as he sat down across from you. “It could be in another language!”

You highly doubted that, but you decided to keep that comment to yourself. “I was thinking, why don’t we go on a date tonight?”

He instantly perked up at the thought, nearly dropping the chicken nugget he had picked up. “Yes! You should let me plan it, though.”

“I… are you sure you want to?” You didn’t want to be mean, but the last time he had planned a date for the two of you, he had somehow managed to short circuit the entire mall, thus getting you both banned from life. And it was the only place that housed your favorite pasta restaurant!

“You don’t think I can?” He frowned, nudging the nugget into the ketchup like a sad child. “This is because of the mall incident isn’t it? You destroy the power to a mall one time, I swear -”

“I trust you,” you announced firmly. “Whatever you plan, I’m sure I’ll love it.” And you truly meant it because you knew whatever he planned, even if it ended in disaster, would come from his heart. He would plan it hoping to make you happy, and that’s what warmed your heart the most.

“Great, I’ll get to planning!” He grinned, hopping out of his chair only to pause, grabbing another chicken nugget and shoving it into his mouth before heading further into the house.

You chuckled, cleaning up the mess that had been left behind. It was a nice day outside, so you decided to head into the backyard and check on your children – four little bees that had been named Bob, Moth, Laura, and Fuck. Though the names were quite unusual, they had been chosen by your closest friends so, of course, you had to keep them.

The bees were part of your little family and they loved you dearly as if you were the queen of their hive because, in a way, you kind of were. You smiled as Fuck landed on your finger, its leg tapping against you as if to say, ‘I love you.’

With a smile, you gently ran your index finger along the length of its body, watching as its wings started to flap and it took to the sky, returning to its siblings.

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“Is the blindfold really necessary, Denki?” You complained, not liking the fact that you couldn’t see where you were walking. What if a piece of concrete was sticking up? You wouldn’t be able to see it. What if a stray cat suddenly decided to run through your legs as you went to take a step forward? You wouldn’t be able to see it. What if –

Denki’s hand gently squeezed your own, his voice soft. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/N.”

Your heart leaped at the words, giving him a nod that you weren’t sure he could see as you chewed on your bottom lip. Night had fallen, offering a cool breeze as the two of you walked down sidewalk away from the city. Though it caused you to take longer to reach the destination, he was meticulous about warning you of any cracks in the pavement and stopping to kick rocks or twigs out of the way so you wouldn’t step on them. The sounds of the city started to fade the further you guys got and you could hear the chirping of cicadas getting louder the further you got into the countryside.

“Okay. I’m going to remove the blindfold.” He released your hand and you could feel him reach behind you to untie the cloth from your head. It fell away and you slowly opened your eyes, which widened at the sight before you.

The two of you were standing in a field outside the city, far away from the bright lights and sounds. The night sky was clearly visible above the trees, a rich navy littered with bright stars that were scattered like spilled glitter. Sitting atop the soft grass was a red and white flannel blanket with a wooden picnic basket. Candles were set up at each corner of the blanket, flickering softly in the breeze.

Denki chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched your expression carefully. Your eyes were shining under the starlight, a smile lighting up your face. To him, you had always been the most beautiful person in the world, but somehow, under the nature-made light of the stars, you looked so much like a goddess. He couldn’t believe how lucky he had gotten that you fell for him. “Do you… do you like it?”

“I love it!” You snapped out of your daze, throwing your arms around his neck. “It’s so incredible, Denki. Thank you so much.”

His mood brightened at your praise. “Of course! I even made us some sandwiches.” His hand slid down to yours, gently tugging you over to the blanket. The grass was soft beneath the blanket, as if you were sitting on a bed of pure cotton and, while he had added far too much honey mustard to the turkey sandwich, it still tasted amazing because it was made by him.

You glanced at the blonde as he chewed on his sandwich, eyes trained on the sky. He was unbelievably attractive and, while he had moments of unbelievable stupidity, as well, he was such a loving boyfriend. You loved him with every fiber of your being and you knew he felt the exact same way about you. Was this what it felt like to find your soulmate? You didn’t know, but you were sure that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with this man.

He noticed you staring and blinked, tilting his head to the side. “Is there something on my face?”

You shook your head, feeling a bit embarrassed that he had caught you staring at him. “No, sorry.” Your eyes slipped up to the sky, widening as you noticed something quite familiar that you had studied a couple years ago. “Oh, Denki, look! It’s Orion’s Belt!”

Denki’s eyes moved to where you were pointing, but he only saw a jumble of stars. Was it supposed to look like an actual belt? He tilted his head this way and that, but he still couldn’t see it.

“Did you know that the three stars across the middle of the constellation are also the placement points of the Three Pyramids of Giza in Egypt?” Your finger traced across the three, a bright smile coming to your lips as you continued. “If you were to draw a line straight up from of those pyramids, you’d land perfectly on each star of the belt if you’re looking at them projected on the celestial sphere!”

His brow furrowed as he tried to keep up with the words leaving your lips a bit faster than normal to mirror your excitement of the topic. If he were to be honest, he didn’t have a clue what the hell you were saying to him, but he didn’t have the heart to tell you that because of how happy you looked as you continued to talk about the stars. Not only that, he really didn’t want to make himself look stupid. So when you glanced at him, he just smiled and nodded as if he wasn’t completely lost.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

The goddess of rain smiled down at the crystal ball floating before her, the image of Y/N and Denki enjoying their picnic filling the orb. “Hmm, it seems that he was perfect for them after all. Perhaps it was fate that led them to me, though I do loathe giving fate that kind of credit.”

Qui giggled from behind her mother, standing on her tiptoes so she could view the orb. “They’re super cute together and now I’ve got another sibling!”

The goddess chuckled, waving her hand across the orb. It shattered, lightly raining down to the floor before disappearing. “Yes, it seems our family is growing quite strong as of late.”

A sudden explosion rocked the home.

Her eyes landed on Qui with an exasperated sigh and the younger girl giggled, rubbing the back of her head. “I’ll just… go calm him down before he blows up the kitchen.”

“Yes, please do so.”

With a grin, the young girl vanished into a cloud of smoke.

The goddess returned to the fireplace, picking up the black cat and holding him protectively to her chest as she claimed her seat. Her fingers lightly scratched his ears, making the cat pur in content. “Our family is growing steadily, Kuroo. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Kuroo’s golden eyes met hers and he released a mreow of approval, his tail swishing back and forth.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

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yeoldontknow · 5 years

Text

Totem

Author’s Note: this story is entirely an act of fiction. it contains strong, mature themes and features subjects which may be triggering or uncomfortable to read. these themes include, but not limited to: themes of abduction, references to ptsd, extreme trauma, and paranormal activity. please take these warnings seriously and do not read if any make you uncomfortable. | this story is written as a script, rather than a traditional prose fanfiction. even though its unusual, i still hope you enjoy it <3 happy spooptober! Pairing: Hoseok x Reader (oc; female) Genre: horror; suspense; thriller; haunted house au; light romance; au Summary: What follows is an account of YouTube vloggers Euripet3s1 and theJungProject. This is a report of the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok. Rating: M Warning: themes of abduction/ghostly possession; references to ptsd; extreme trauma; paranormal activity; explicit language; non-explicit nudity; graphic situations Word Count: 5.5K

Towards the end of my research for my Ph.D, I became fascinated by what has recently been cited as the "second wave" of realism films in production, thanks, in part, to the advent of creative social websites like YouTube and Vimeo. The introduction of reality and scripted reality television, alongside its relatively unilateral conjunction with the internet, sparked a new direction in filmmaking that prided itself on low budgets and the autonomy of immediate authorship.

Where Vimeo encouraged, and favoured, well produced filmmaking and art house developments from a range of semi-professionals to professionals, YouTube saw a strong dynamic shift in what eventually was defined as vlogging. Video series like Marble Hornets, Fewdio, and curiously chilling uploads by users such as EverymanHYBRID became cult canon amongst internet users. Instead of humour posts, video game plays, and make-up tutorials, users sought creative expression in 'noise aesthetics' and the horror genre.

On April 30, 2010, YouTube user Euripet3s1 (full name: Y/F/N Y/L/N) uploaded a video entitled #184-190 to her channel of 12,413 subscribers. It would be the final upload she would make before deactivating the account three weeks later, eventually removing herself from social media altogether. The video itself is an account of her trip to England to visit fellow YouTube vlogger and boyfriend theJungProject (full name: Jung Hoseok), who was residing in the country while finishing his degree, depicted through seven pieces of footage taken from video cameras and mobile phones.

Euripet3s1's channel was a comedy and lifestyle channel, in which she would present everyday information in a humorous way. Therefore, the unsettling events in the final video left both fans and casual viewers stunned. Avid fans of the Marble Hornets series were the first to draw attention to the video, before it went viral on hundreds of forums, including Reddit and BuzzFeed. When the users’ account was deactivated, the video was removed from the website only to resurface two months later by user TwerK (full name: Kim Taehyung). There are only two videos on TwerK's channel: #184-190 and Help Explain This.

Help Explain This was filmed in August 2011 and is the last surviving footage of Jung Hoseok.

Numerous attempts at paranormal investigations have occurred in the last two years with no results. Psychics have been brought to every location depicted, though their efforts have been futile. The pocket watch in the film has been defined, by paranormal researcher David Kelwayne, as a totem. To quote David:

"A totem is an item left behind by the dead which they had ascribed deep personal meaning or symbolism during their life. To come into contact with a totem is to contact the spirit attached to it, even if said contact is relatively erroneous; to become connected to the totem is to become connected with the spirit, often permanently" (Seeking Answers: Beginner's Guide To The Paranormal, 54)

This report exists only to present the video as it was found, in its untouched manner, for archival and historical purposes. The research to be found on the events, people, and locations involved has lead many in vast circles and down endless rabbit holes. It is my hope that the academic world will provide its resources for the many seeking answers about what truly happened to Jung Hoseok during that week in April.

Editor’s note: Heretofore, the speakers will be quoted using their first initials rather than their usernames.

#184

Duration: 1:46

[Exterior. Night-vision mid-close up of dirt path. Leaves cover the ground and crunch audibly. Feet remain in view as two persons walk the path in brisk, even steps. A low male voice is heard, his accent distinctly Korean. ]

H: Are you filming, Y/N?

[A second voice speaks, female. She is American]

Y/N: I have no idea. Your camera is weird.

H: It's no different from any American camera. It's a SONY. Has the green dot gone on?

Y/N: Well, it's different in the dark. Yeah, it has.

H: Then it's filming. Point it at your face, dummy.

[Camera is lifted and spun towards the holder's face, the night vision on the camera giving her a blue glow. She is young, no more than 24. The fringe of her hair gets caught in her eyes, trapped there by the hood of her sweater. She smiles brightly, waving at the camera momentarily.]

Y/N: And so we meet again! Today I am joined by theJungProject -

[camera pans left. A young man, also no more than 24, is walking briskly with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. He squints at the light of the camera and pulls a face by sticking out his tongue]

- say hi, Hobi.

H: [nods once] Hello, Tiddy Harem.

Y/N [sighing]: Must you call them that?

H: [shaking black hair out of his eyes; he sniffs, not looking at the camera] You have thirteen thousand subscribers and 12,950 of them are men. Yeah, I'd say it's a harem.

Y/N: [snorting] I do not have thirteen thousand. And that's an insult to my fifty female subscribers.

H: You know I’m playing. [sniffs] You have fantastic tits, though.

Y/N: You’re literally disgusting. [turns camera back to her face] So, as you all remember I landed last night in Heathrow, after which I got embarrassingly drunk on incredible beer. We spent most of the day being hungover before getting on a train from - what station was it?

H: [in background] Liverpool Street.

Y/N: Right, yeah. We got a train from there to here, [pulls camera back to wave hand, denoting surrounding location] which is apparently Suffolk…specifically Sudbury. We had a grand idea to go to the Borley Rectory because I'm in England and apparently that means it's okay for Hobi to go on a midnight ghost hunt.

H: I'm not ghost hunting, I'm just…exploring.

Y/N: [faces camera; raises one eyebrow]

[Camera turns off]

~~~

#185

Duration: 7:08

[Interior; night. Camera pans from left to right as Y/N breathes heavily. The windows of the rectory are shattered. Leaves scatter the concrete floor. What little furniture existing within the house has been tattered and worn over time, the sheen of its once extraordinary grandeur decayed with dust and time. Y/N walks to her right, into a small dining area. The camera pans over a wooden table that is badly scratched, three long distinct marks marring the mahogany. A hand comes into view, Y/N’s, as she runs her fingers over the marks. The camera pans up and to the left, showing cabinets that are missing their drawers. She leaves the room, slowly walking towards the foyer. A mirror hangs on the wall, the light reflecting off the glass into the lens. She waves.]

H: [distantly; calling] Baby, come up here.

[Y/N head turns right, facing the direction of Hoseok’s voice. The camera turns right as she walks straight back toward a carpeted staircase. Slowly, she ascends it, her footsteps quiet and muffled by both the camera and the foliage. She sniffles. As she approaches the landing, a painting of a pasture comes into view. It is crooked. When she reaches the landing, the camera moves from right to left. There are three bedrooms]

Y/N: [loud whisper] Where are you?

H: [voice from left] In here.

[Camera passes through a doorway. Long shot of Hoseok at chest of drawers to the left. There is an empty bed on the right side of the room, the mattress bare and torn. The video pixelates for approximately two seconds, correcting itself. The windows of the bedroom are in tact, though the carpet has been ripped up from the floor in a seemingly random pattern. Y/N walks to where Hoseok is standing. Atop the chest are several items: a broken hairbrush, a small empty picture frame, an empty ring box and a pocket watch. Y/N zooms in on the pocket watch. Hoseok picks it up, his grip indelicate. Y/N turns the camera, and zooms out to a medium close up of Hoseok’s face as he inspects it]

H: [whispers] This rectory had hundreds of residents before it was condemned. I wonder whose this was.

Y/N: [also in a whisper] Hobi, this place was destroyed by a fire in 1939. Isn't it weird to you that there's still…..things, objects…belongings in here? Nothing seems terribly ruined.

[Pause. Hoseok does not reply. Y/N returns the subject to the pocket watch, appeasing him by maintaining focus on the object though her discomfort is evident.] It looks really old. Can't be from any time after 1920, look at the design. Early surrealist or something.

H: [humming in interest] How do you know that?

Y/N: I’m taking art history for my electives. I’m just saying it looks like something I’ve seen.

[The camera zooms back on to the pocket watch in Hoseok’s hand. There is a patch of dirt along the rim of the cover, but an intricate design of intertwined clock hands and numbers is distinct.]

H: This is mental. You know the more you look at it, the more it resembles a kind of face. Like from a masquerade.

[Long pause]

Y/N: I don't see it. Where are you looking?

[Hoseok’s thumb comes into view. It presses the button on the side to open the watch. The cover pops open with a soft click, revealing an elegant Victorian clock face.]

H: Too much to ask for it to be working, isn't it. [laughs]

Y/N: Probably needs to be wound.

[Hoseok closes the pocket watch.]

[Cut. Interior. Y/N thuds down the stairs after Hoseok, hands clasped and both laughing They come to a stop in the parlor. Hoseok inspects bookshelves, looking for something or nothing, running his fingers over the dusted wood. Y/N turns the camera away and zooms in on a picture frame. It is badly singed. The image of a woman, who looks almost sad, is barely discernible.]

Y/N: [muttering] Something about this……isn't……

[The sound of piano notes echo loudly through the room. Y/N screams loudly, swears, and is visibly shaken as she turns toward the noise. Hoseok sits at a piano by the back of the room, playing Erik Satie's "Gnossienne No. 1." He is chuckling. Y/N approaches him.]

Y/N: There's a fucking piano?

H: [plays uninterrupted] Scare you, did I?

Y/N: Hobi, is there anything about this that's ok? You said this place was destroyed by a fire and has been abandoned. Logic this out for me: why would there be a piano in a burned down house? Wouldn't the city have this cleared out?

[Hoseok shrugs]

Y/N: I think we should go.

H: Don't want to spend the night here? We haven't seen anything yet.

Y/N: I paid £35 for a train ticket to this hell. I'll cut my losses and say we’ve seen plenty enough, okay?

H: [expression softening, he stops playing. The silence is deafening.] Okay, baby, we can go.

[Cut. Exterior. Y/N and Hoseok walking along a residential sidewalk. Hoseok is holding the camera this time, pointed at Y/N in a long shot. Night vision is switched off, faces now illuminated by street lamps they pass. He whistles seductively.]

H: [whispering] Don’t tell anyone until she watches this guys...but I think I’m in love with her. [He turns the camera to face him. The camera zooms out to fit his face.] I mean it. [He looks over the camera to her.] I love her.

Y/N: [distant, off camera] What are you whining about back there?

H: [laughing, he catches up with Y/N and aims the camera at her profile] Say what you said again.

Y/N: [biting her cheek, but smiling nonetheless] I said you're a twunt.

H: Look at that! Y/N has spent 30 hours in this country and is already adopting its language.

Y/N: Yeah, well you are. Tell the audience what you did.

H: [turns the camera to his face and holds it out. His leather jacket is unzipped, revealing A Horrors band-tee shirt] I've been a naughty boy. [His other hand reaches into his pocket. He pulls out the pocket watch] Y/N’s upset with me because I wanted a souvenir.

Y/N: It's not yours, Hoseok.

H: [turns his face to Y/N, camera still aimed at himself. He puts the watch back in his pocket] It's technically not anyone's. Besides, this is one thing we could at least fix.

[Camera turns off]

#186

Duration: 2:01

[Interior. Hotel bedroom. Y/N sits at the desk provided, laptop open as she uploads footage from the video camera onto her computer. Her back is to the camera. The pocket watch twirls in front of the screen. Hoseok hums. The camera flips, revealing his face. It is clear he is filming on his iPhone. He starts to mouth lyrics to "Don't Stop Me Now," which is playing in the background. He flips the camera back to the watch.]

Y/N: [turns her head quickly over shoulder] Holy shit, come look at this.

[Hoseok drops the pocket watch and hoists himself off the sofa. He is wearing plaid flannel pants. He approaches the desk, leaning against the back of Y/N’s chair and extending his arm as he films.]

H: [kissing Y/N’s head off camera, voice muffled] What is it?

Y/N: You tell me. [looks back at Hoseok, anxious]

[Y/N has Final Cut open. She presses play on footage taken earlier in the evening. She has selected footage from when he ascended the stairs and entered the master bedroom. It plays without sound.]

H: What am I looking for….I don't…

Y/N: [quietly] Just wait.

[The footage shows the camera panning through the room. As it comes to the bed, the footage warps, revealing a figure wearing black sitting on the mattress. It turns to look at the camera. It is wearing a white mask. The footage warps again. The figure is gone]

H: [reels back] What the fuck is that?! Did you put that in there?

Y/N: [turns to look at Hoseok] No. How would I do that?

H: [words unsteady] I don't know, you're the film wizard. I still use iMovie. Maybe you have clever special effects or something.

Y/N: I can assure you that I have no idea how to superimpose an image that clear onto digital footage. I took one semester of New Media, I'm hardly advanced.

H: How did you not see it when you were filming?

Y/N: I don't know, the camera went all pixelated when I was filming but I just thought the battery was running low or something.

H: You better not be having me off.

Y/N: [brow furrowed, disbelieving] What does that sentence even mean?

H: Is this punishment for taking the pocket watch?

Y/N: [pursing her lips briefly before she speaks] I'm really not that upset about the pocket watch. Why would I do that?

H: Whatever. Let's just go to bed and forget about it. I don’t want this to turn into a fight.

Y/N: Fine by me.

[Video ends]

~~~

#187

Duration: 0:53

[Interior. Mid-Day. Close up of Y/N’s face. She stares at something out of view. Behind her, the scenery has changed. Band posters line the green wall, gig tickets and setlists framed next to them. This is what many assume is Hoseok’s bedroom.]

Y/N: [whispers] He's been like this all morning. I have no idea what the hell is going on. He was fine yesterday when we got back from Borley. Fine when we went to lunch, fine when we went to The Borderline for the Lescop gig. Now, he won't stop staring at that goddamn pocket watch. Look.

[The camera is flipped, again the film is from an iPhone. Hoseok sits shirtless on the bed, hickeys dotting his neck and collarbone, the pocket watch in his left hand. He stares almost impassively at it.]

Y/N: [loudly] Hobi.

[Hoseok does not respond]

Y/N: [louder] Hoseok, what the fuck are you doing?

[Hoseok does not respond]

Y/N: [mutters quietly] Jesus Christ.

[The camera tilts and wobbles, tipping down for a moment as Y/N bends to pick something up. A shoe is thrown in frame and lands on the bed right next to Hoseok. Hoseok lifts his head, dropping the watch. He smiles]

H: Want breakfast, baby?

Y/N: [long pause; quiet breathing] Uh huh.

[video ends]

~~~~

#188

Duration: 3:21

[Exterior. Mid-Day. Extreme long shot of Hoseok as he stands in front of a wooden sign that says Boxer's Lake. From the pockets of his leather jacket he pulls the pocket watch]

H: [looking over his shoulder; calls] You sure this is a good idea.

Y/N: [loudly; voice garbled by wind into microphone] You should have seen yourself, Hobi. It's gotta be the watch and I don’t want to go back there to return it.

[Hoseok reels back and throws the watch into the lake. He stares after it, shoulders drooped and jaw tense]

[Cut. Interior of a car. Hoseok is driving. Y/N points the camera at his face.]

Y/N: How do you feel?

H: Like my soul has been ripped from my chest.

[Pauses. Looks at Y/N]

H: [bursts into laughter] Chill out, baby. I feel fine.

Y/N: [laughs weakly]

[Cut. Interior. Hoseok’s kitchen. Y/N films as Hoseok brews tea.]

H: You want any, love?

Y/N: Nah, water is fine.

H: [looks up at camera] Are you going to film everything?

Y/N: We have an interested audience. Need to keep them satisfied. And besides, I’m only here for a week. I want to remember everything with you.

H: [begins to pull off shirt, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows.]

Y/N: [laughter] Don’t start with that!

H: [straightens and flattens shirt] You said satisfied! Y/N: [still laughing] Yeah, well, that’s just for me and I’d like to keep it that way.

[Hoseok bites his lip, happy, and walks to a cabinet to the left. He makes to open it, but his attention is brought to something on the counter beneath it. He pauses. His hand slowly drops from the knob of the cabinet. The colour drains from his face]

Y/N: What?

[Hoseok brings his eyes to the camera, lips parted. He is visibly disturbed. He lifts his right hand. He holds up the pocket watch. Y/N’s breath becomes heavy and labored]

H: [voice small] What the fuck.

[Camera shuts off]

~~~

#189

Duration: 8:32

[Interior. Mid-Day. Hoseok’s car, again. Y/N holds the camera as Hoseok drives, lens pointed out the windshield]

Y/N: Slow down, Hobi.

H: [voice hollow] No. The fucking watch is ticking…and existing. How is any of what just happened possible?

Y/N: I don't know, I don't know.

H: This is fucking twisted.

Y/N: What are you going to do?

H: Leave it in a field? Pawn it off? Whatever, as long as it's far away from me.

Y/N: Why not burn it?

H: Any fire I make wouldn't get the metal hot enough.

Y/N: Just don't get reckless. [Pleading] Please, baby?

[Cut. Interior. A Pawnshop. The camera pans along a shelf. Various objects come into focus. A door opens and an older man comes into view from the back of the store. To the left of the frame, Hoseok walks over and introduces himself]

H: Hi. Uhm, I'm Hoseok. I need to sell a pocket watch?

[The store clerk looks from Hoseok to Y/N]

Clerk: Get your mate to turn the camera off and then we can do business.

[Cut. Interior. Hoseok’s car. Y/N has rested the camera on the dashboard, pointed at the passing scenery]

H: WOOOO! £650 for a shitty old watch!!

Y/N: I think the fact that it was still working was what sold him.

H: Who knows how long it will work for. We practically robbed him.

Y/N: You practically robbed him. I almost got thrown out for having a camera.

H: Eh. He was probably drunk from boredom. I would be, too, if I had to sit in silence eight hours a day.

[Cut. Interior. Night. Hoseok’s kitchen. Hoseok presses play on his answering machine as he takes off his coat. Y/N sits at a chair at the kitchen table and zooms in on a Sainsbury's frozen dinner.]

Y/N: Mmmmmm.

[In the background, a voice is heard on the answering machine.]

Recorded Voice: Mr. Jung. It's Geoff. You sold me a watch not two hours ago. I’d like to make it clear I don't appreciate being fucked with. [Y/N brings the camera around, landing on Hoseok who is paused at his refrigerator staring at the machine, frowning.] I get enough shit in my town, and I certainly don't need non-locals breezing through and pulling pranks. I'm giving you twenty-four hours to return the watch or my money to the store. If you don't, I'm calling the cops and we can settle this with legal action. [Machine beeps]

[Hoseok remains paused at the refrigerator - frozen. He begins to visibly tense and Y/N gets up from the kitchen table. She approaches him slowly, before Hoseok slams the refrigerator door shut and rushes into the living room]

Y/N: [shouts] Hoseok!

H: [yells] Where the fuck is it? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT WITH ME?

[Y/N enters the living room and turns right. Hoseok is standing in front of his mantle, hitting his chest with the flat of his palms. He stares at the ceiling and screams]

H: [still yelling] YOU CAN HAVE YOUR FUCKING WATCH BACK, I DON'T WANT IT.

Y/N: [yelling over Hoseok] HOSEOK, THERE IS NO ONE ELSE HERE.

H: [looks at Y/N] Of course there is! How else would any of this be happening? [Turns abruptly and heads down the hallway. He disappears into his room.

Y/N: Fuck’s sake.

[Y/N follows and enters Hoseok’s room. Hoseok is pulling books out of shelves. He abandons that project and quickly goes to his bed, where he up-turns his mattress]

H: [yelling again] WHERE IS IT, HUH?

Y/N: Hoseok, calm the hell down!

[Hoseok turns and rushes past Y/N. Y/N follows]

Y/N: Hoseok, ripping up the house isn't going to solve anything!

H: It's not in my room, it's not in the kitchen. It makes itself known, right? It wants to fucking be seen. The goddamn ATTENTION WHORE.

Y/N: It's an inanimate object, Hoseok, stop!

[Hoseok stomps into the kitchen and picks up his jacket. He pauses for a moment, softening, and reaches into a pocket. He pulls out the watch]

H: [staring at the watch] Something…someone…whatever…wants me to have this. I don't. Fucking. Want it.

[**In the recorded footage, a voice is heard. It clearly says “But you took it.” Neither Y/N nor Hoseok reacts to it and neither has spoken. This voice was pointed out by YouTube user Sarkozam12**]

[camera turns off]

~~~

#190

Duration: 8:00

[Interior. Night. The couches and chairs have been removed from Hoseok’s living room. Two pillows are placed on the ground, side by side, beneath the coffee table where a ouija board as been set up. The scene is lit by numerous candles along the floor and mantle. Fingers over the microphone cause muffled noises and garbled sounds. Hoseok enters from frame right. He sits, in jeans a tee shirt, on one of the pillows. He takes a swig of cider before setting it next to him. He looks slightly above the camera.]

Y/N: [off camera] This is a terrible idea, Hobi.

H: [solemn] Is the camera set up?

Y/N: [pauses, sighs] Yeah, it's just about.done tightening the tripod.

H: Good.

[Y/N enters from the bottom of frame left. It's a long shot of the living room. Y/N sits next to Hoseok. They look at each other briefly. Hoseok draws his eyes away and onto the Oujia board. Y/N’s brow furrows, and she reaches to twine her fingers with Hoseok’s. The contact has him return his gaze to hers, smiling before he leans in and kisses her deeply. Pulling back, he kisses her knuckles three times. Hoseok’s expression hardens]

H: [quietly] I love you.

Y/N: [smiling; quietly] I’m still not used to you saying that. [pauses] I love you, too.

H: [inhaling deeply] Let's do this.

[Y/N pauses. Hoseok looks at her, concerned.]

H: Don't tell me you're quitting on this.

Y/N: [looks at the ground] Ouija boards are scary, serious shit, Hoseok. I don't think we should fuck around with this. We’ve already fucked up so much shit.

H: [shaking his head] I fucked up. And I just don’t know what other choice I have.

[Y/N pauses briefly, hesitating before leaning in to kiss him once more. They whisper to one another as they break apart, kissing for a few more seconds before separating fully. Pulling her hand from his, she sighs and places both hands on the planchette. Hoseok follows suit and does the same]

H: [uncomfortable] What do I say?

Y/N: [loudly] Is there anyone here with us?

[They remain quiet and wait. The planchette does not move.]

H: What if we contact Zozo? That's the opposite of what I want.

Y/N: [giggling, though her sense of amusement is unconvicing] Don't be stupid.

[Both are silenced by the planchette which has started to move in swirls across the board.]

H: Is that you?

Y/N: No, I'm barely touching this.

H: [shaking his head] It's not me.

[The planchette stops on the word 'Bye']

H: [pauses] Well, that's sinister.

[The video warps into pixels and corrects itself. Three candles have been blown out. Y/N is panicked]

Y/N: What the fuck did that?

H: [loudly] What is your name?

[The planchette moves, quickly. Y/N says the letters it stops on.]

Y/N: L…A…I…R…R…E. D…D…D…E…A…T…H.

H: Lairreedddeath? The hell?

Y/N: I'm busy focusing on the part that - [The video warps. the masked figure from #186 appears behind Hoseok, getting closer after each pixel correction. A white hand with sharp nails reaches for his neck. It disappears] in the fire?

[The Marimba ringtone of an iPhone goes off]

H: Shit. That's mine.

Y/N: Leave it.

[The planchette spins out of control and falls from the table onto the floor. All the candles are blown out at the same time, though there is no wind to disrupt the atmosphere. The camera shifts to night vision. Both draw their attention to the bright light from the camera]

Y/N: Does your camera shift modes automatically?

H: No, what -

[A loud thud is heard, the sound of a door slamming open to the left, its metal knob hitting the wall. The door to what is considered a broom closet has flung open, but its interior is black and occasionally blurred by pixelated static. Y/N turns to look at the noise, but Hoseok disappears from view. We hear him scream]

Y/N: Hoseok?!? [Y/N searches frantically for where the sound is coming from. She turns her attention back to the door, eyes wide in alarm.] Hoseok?

[Y/N gets up and approaches the closet but the door slams shut. The lights of the house come on. Y/N opens the door to the closet. It is just a closet. The tripod falls over. The screen goes blue and flashes NO BATTERY]

~~~

Given the found footage nature of the editing and the allusion by Hoseok that Y/N was proficient in film editing, at least once mentioning the capability of using special effects in post production, many of the initial viewers of #186-190 believed the story of Hoseok’s disappearance was a clever hoax. While this report remains unbiased, it is important to point out several facts.

Firstly, it is true that Jung Hoseok went missing from his shared home April 25, 2010. The phone call received on his mobile during #190 was from his mother, mentioned in Y/F/N Y/L/N’s police report, who had not seen her son since April 11, 2010. Secondly, the pocket watch, and the clothing in which Hoseok disappeared in, have never been found. Until August 2011, the footage captured during #190 depicted the last known whereabouts of Jung Hoseok.

When Y/N deactivated her account, #184-190 was removed from YouTube in accordance with YouTube’s privacy policies, however not before user TwerK had downloaded the video to a flash drive. In June of 2010, the video was uploaded to Kim Taehyung’s channel, with reasons citing the urgency for fans and interested parties to continue to study the video - i.e in search of clues or proof of a hoax. It is worth noting that while there is a well documented friendship and romantic relationship between Euripet3s1 and theJungProject (ie: both were subscribers to each other's channels, the earliest comments on each party's videos date back to 2008, Euripet3s1 tagged theJungProject in a video called Top 10 Films of 2009, etc) TwerK did not subscribe to either channel, nor has he confessed to knowing either personally.

It is because of these reasons that the footage in Help Explain This is, in a word, astounding. The film itself was uploaded with a description consisting of a personal plea from Taehyung to help explain what he had caught. Once the video was live, Taehyung experienced a brief period of notoriety on the internet, while simultaneously going under fire by those close to Hoseok who called his video 'tactless and offensive.'

It is also worth noting that Y/N has become reclusive since these events and has not been available for comment since late 2010, on advice from her therapist.

Help Explain This

Duration: 4:03

[Interior. Mid-Day. Footsteps thud up the stairs of Borley Rectory. The camera is pointed at the landing, but the painting is gone. The person arrives at the landing and he speaks. He is Korean.]

T: Okay. So. Kim Taehyung here. I’m sorry in advance for any English mistakes, but a few subscribers wanted me to visit the rectory while I am here on vacation. Yes, yes, I know it's weird that my YouTube channel only has one video on it, but some of you on Reddit convinced me to make this. Here we are [Camera pans right to left, light pours in from holes in the ceiling. The home appears to be empty.]. Exact same spot where Euripet3s1 stood. As you can see there is no painting on the wall. Ehm.

[He turns to his left and enters the bedroom, panning the camera right to left as Y/N had done. A naked figure stands in the back right corner of the bedroom, his back to the camera, facing the wall]

T: Again, the room is completely empty. The walls are badly burned. I know you all want to believe this was a hoax, but there's no way these two had the budget. You can't even get up the stairs easily without worrying about falling through.

[He turns left, zooming to an extreme long shot. The right side of the room out of frame.]

T: This is where theJungProject found the pocket watch. No chest of drawers here. [Camera pans down, showing his feet] You can see the boards of the floor are burned. I'm too afraid to even put weight there. [He presses his foot to the floor, retracting it immediately.]

[Raising the camera, he turns the camera back to right, slightly, showing the whole of the room. The figure from the corner has turned around and is standing naked in a full body shot. The camera pixelates. The figure is now close to the lens, able to be viewed from the middle of the waist up. His mouth and eyes are wide open, but blackened as though holes. The figure is clearly Jung Hoseok.]

T: That's it, then. Sorry the video was so lame.

[He turns and leaves the room. The camera does one last pan from the landing back to the room. The foyer below is empty. The room he had just exited is empty]

Fin.

Author’s Note #2: The locations in this story - Borley Rectory, Boxer's Lake, Liverpool Street Station, Suffolk, and Sudbury - are all real places. Borley Rectory was known as 'the most haunted house in England' and it did get severely burned in 1939. There is actually a woman who haunted the building named Marie Lairre.

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babykkyu · 4 years

Text

TAEKOOK

amorem (102k, complete, 19/19, M)

by ignooy

tags: ❗ mob au // 1980s au / mafia au // crime boss taehyung // cute jungkook // jungkook’s just trying his best // cults // lowkey a mystery fic // slow burn // enemies to friends to lovers // fluff and angst //everyone is in this fic // not tagging background/past relationships // tattoo artist jungkook // recreational drug use // next 3 tags are NOT about taekook // unhealthy relationships // abusive relationships // emotional psychological abuse // homophobic language // asexual taehyung // hypnosis // there is violence ❗

summary:

Kim Taehyung shows up at his door at 5am in the morning wearing a fucking suit.

Jeongguk squints at him with tired eyes. Its only when cold air comes in through the open door does he realize that he’s only wearing boxers and bunny slippers.

He blinks, suddenly wide awake.

“Fuck,” he spits, stepping backwards. “Fuck you. Why are you here?”

Taehyung's eyes are dark and narrowed. His jaw clenches, and Jeongguk is painfully, painfully aware of the cold and his morning wood and how hot Taehyung is.

“I - I mean,” Jeongguk rushes out, jaw dropping. “Oh God. Not fuck you. Can I unfuck you? Oh my God.”

(or, taehyungs a mob boss, and jeongguk gets stuck in a mafia war)

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foxtophat · 4 years

Link

ugh my grammar checker is on the fritz so sorry if i fucked up something somewhere

ANYWAY HEY HOWDY HI guys how are you? boy it’s been two weeks already huh? time flies when you’re on island time i guess. SO HERE IS TODAY’S CHAPTER, it’s about john and nick dealing with their emotions, also it’s the first time where we officially touch actual factual canon!!! which is just crazy, my buds, absolutely nutso

i don’t have a lot to say today, i’m kind of tired and i’m dreading going to take my dog for a walk because nobody in this neighborhood understands that they need to stay away from me!!! so i’m gonna keep this simple. i really appreciate all of you, from the humble kudos i recieve from someone who got tired after the first chapter, to the mighty comment chains that you guys indulge me with when i finally get my socially anxious ass up to the task of replying to your beautiful comments. i am so happy that y’all are having fun with me, and i hope that we continue to all have fun together!!!

not much else to say without ruining it, so i’ll just say this: boy howdy, do people just not wear shirts in the apocalypse?

for the non-linkers out there, click the read-more to get straight to this chapter’s text!!! and if you enjoy, consider giving my project a little boost with one of those rebloggy things. you know i love it, and you know i love you!!! be safe buds!!!

Nick and John have spent the last day and a half repairing the fence that once enclosed the whole Rye property. Nick wouldn't bother if it weren't for the return of wildlife after the long winter, but they need to do something to prevent dogs from getting into the yard, and just this week Kim caught a deer trying to get at the planters. The last thing they need is to go another round with mother nature after they just reclaimed their place in her.

It's one of those days where the weather can't make up its mind, alternating between sunshine and shadow as massive clouds roll across the blue sky overhead. It doesn't quite look like rain, but they should be expecting it any day now.

Nick takes a swig from his canteen, waiting on Kim to bring him the box of nails from the hangar. He leans against a newly restored stretch of fencing, which doesn't collapse under his weight.

"Guess we're doing something right," he says to John, who's more interested in finishing the job than talking about it.

Still, he replies, "Don't jinx it." He even gives Nick a distrusting look, as though he's the liability around here.

"It's my fence, I'll jinx whatever I damn well want."

John scoffs. "I have enough bad luck without you making it worse."

"Oh yeah, real bad luck you've got here."

Kim finally returns with the box of nails, which admittedly had been left in a pile with a bunch of other components for later sorting. As she hands them over, she looks around the yard for Carmina.

"I think she's taking a nap," Nick reassures her.

"She's going to be up all night if she is," Kim replies, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe it's time she learns how to mend a fence. She'll probably enjoy it more than doing times-tables all afternoon."

"We still got a ways to go," Nick says. "All four of us might be able to get it done quicker."

With that settled, Kim turns towards the house. "Carmina!" she hollers. She waits a few beats for a response, then sighs wearily. "Alright, I'll be right back."

Nick shrugs away his first inkling of concern as he watches her go. John doesn't seem to care one way or another, ignoring Kim as she heads inside. It's taken a while, but he's finally mastered reattaching the cross-posts, and now he can throw himself into it as mindlessly as digging dirt or hauling trash. Nick used to think he was bad about burying himself in work, but jeeze . Watching John tune out the rest of the world while he works is fascinating, if only in the same way watching Hoarders or My 600 Pound Life had been. The only difference here is that there's no talking head to tell Nick just what John is trying to distract himself from.

"Nick!" Kim shouts, somewhere on the other side of the house. It isn't a scream or cry for help, but there is a deep and worrying concern underlying her voice.

Panic that Nick hadn't realized he had leaps into his throat, a thousand hideous possibilities flying through his mind as he springs to his feet. He forgets all about John, who follows behind him with his hammer still in hand. His mind is too busy coming up with dozens of feral dogs for him to fight off, if not maniacs with guns, or one of those god-awful bears ! He doesn't have time to consider whether or not he's dropped too much of his guard around John when Carmina is being kidnapped by raiders!

Nick turns the corner and sees Kim dragging Carmina across the front yard by her bicep. There's no blood, no screaming, not even a dead wolf in the yard to reveal to Nick the problem. For that, he has to look further, down the dilapidated front drive, where a group of people stands bunched together. They're far enough back that Nick can't see their faces, but the way they mill around worryingly reminds Nick of a pack of angels.

Two people are retreating from the house. Nick only catches their backs, but that's all he needs. It's impossible, after all, to miss the massive, faded black Eden's Gate brand, and while Nick can't read the words carved into the flesh around it, he recognizes them immediately.

Of course Joseph Seed is still wandering around shirtless, even a decade after the apocalypse. He's flanked by some beefy, hoodie-wearing jackass, returning to his flock who are spreading out to eagerly accept him back into the fold, without so much as a backward glance at the house or the people in it. He doesn't even seem to care that he's left his back wide open to them. Like he knows they aren't going to do anything about it.

Nick should shoot him. No, wait, Kim has the rifle, so she should shoot him. Somebody should shoot him!

But they don't. Kim drags Carmina inside while Nick stares helplessly after the retreating cultists, who swallow Joseph's form up in their group before disappearing down the drive the way they came. They're almost out of eyesight before Nick realizes that John's supposed to be standing next to him, but isn't.

He looks around wildly for a second, trying to catch John mid-escape, but the guy has vanished. There's no sign of him rejoining the group leaving their property, but Nick hasn't been paying attention, and John knows the area better now; he could easily be making a loop somewhere out of Nick's sight.

Swearing under his breath, Nick hovers in the doorway, keeping his eyes peeled for the missing Seed even as he desperately wants to check on Carmina. Thankfully, Kim has their daughter cornered by the stairs, so she isn't going anywhere.

Although the initial adrenaline seems to have worn off now that Carmina is safe and Joseph has left, Kim's still jittery and tense, trying and failing to hide it from their increasingly confused daughter.

"What did he do?" she asks Carmina, "Did he hurt you?"

"Who?" Carmina scoffs, "The bearded man? He was just... giving me some food. What's the matter?"

"If he ever shows up here again," Nick snaps, "You come straight to your mom and me, you understand?"

" You said to find food wherever we can!"

"Yeah, well, we don't take anything from him. Not even food!"

Carmina squints so hard that her lips purse. " Why ?"

Nick throws up his hands. He has no idea how he's supposed to explain Joseph to his daughter. He doesn't know how to warn her about bliss-tainted food, or the cult's violence, or all their fucked up brainwashing. He doesn't know how he's supposed to convince her not to go near that maniac when they've been keeping one of his brothers fed and sheltered for half a year!

Kim, lifesaver that she is, takes the burden of explanation onto her shoulders. She turns to Nick, looking to either side before asking him, "Where's John?"

Nick hisses through his teeth in response, unwilling to admit he lost sight of the guy pretty much the second danger presented itself. He should have known better. He shouldn't have let his guard down. If he'd known the problem was going to be Joseph, he would have been more careful!

"Go find him," Kim says. "I'll — let me handle this."

As much as Nick doesn't want to leave the burden to Kim alone, she's right. They can't lose sight of the bigger picture here — and that picture involves Joseph's youngest, most irrational brother, who's probably running through the brush right now to reunite with his stupid, psychopathic family.

Still, before he goes, he points at Carmina and demands, "The next time you see him, you run the other way."

"Go, Nick," Kim tells him, and so he reluctantly does.

Although logically , Nick should be making a beeline for Joseph's last known location, since that's undoubtedly where John has fled, his gut keeps him close to home. Instead of sneaking through the brush to confirm his suspicions, Nick turns to investigate the rest of the property first. He knows he's being naive, and a real idiot, but he needs to make sure John hasn't gone off to find a weapon or alternate escape route. More importantly, he has to prove to himself that John really did flee at the first sign of rescue.

There's no sign of John anywhere in the backyard, leaving the space weirdly empty. After so many months with another person living in their space, there's something strangely lonely about the concept of going back to living on their own. John is a creep, sure, but he had still been better than being on their own. And besides, he'd been getting better as of late — not exactly quality companionship, but at least he's been a little less of a dick and holding conversations for a full two or three sentences longer than usual. Just the other night, he'd managed to eat dinner and say two full words without turning into a morose teenager desperate to go back to his room.

Something crashes inside of the hangar, breaking Nick out of his thoughts. Of course, one paranoia is replaced by another, and Nick approaches the open service door ready for an attack. After all, there aren't a lot of reasons for John to stick around that don't involve beating Nick to death with a length of irrigation pipe.

The hangar is dark and silent. Nick stands in the doorway for a full ten seconds, waiting for some kind of response from the gloom, another noise, John calling out the all-clear... but nothing. He almost calls out, catching himself at the last second and biting his tongue. Since they've organized most everything in here by now, there aren't a lot of places for an ambush, but Nick steps slowly nonetheless, leaning around heaps of scrap metal and carefully edging around wobbly shelves holding boxes of materials. Every time he braces himself for a blow, he winds up wincing at nothing for seconds at a time.

Nick eventually finds John hiding behind the counter in the back of the hangar, pinned down against the wall. Crouched down with his head against his knees and his hands over his neck, he looks braced for another nuclear blast. His teeth audibly grind as Nick steps behind the counter, but if he's got anything to say, he keeps it to himself.

"John?" Nick asks. He's still braced for a fight, but John seems miles away.

He tries again. "John. Hey, John ."

" Yeah ," John hisses through his teeth, hunkered down for the apocalypse, "I hear you."

Neither of them move. Nick, getting increasingly uncomfortable under the tension, leans into his outrage to keep him from stalling out into a panic right alongside John. "What the hell was that?" he exclaims, throwing a hand up. "That psycho brother of yours was supposed to be dead — what, did you all have goddamn contingency plans in case the rest of you fucked up?"

"No," John mutters.

"And you said that goddamn cult shit was over with! Well, I just saw a dozen Peggies lurking around my property with that maniac. What do you have to say about that ? Doesn't seem very dead to me! He's coming around here, trying to pass handouts around, smug sonofabitch —"

John, bracing his feet against the ground, breaks past Nick's whirling anxiety. "Did he see me?" he asks.

"What?" Nick replies, abruptly forgetting about his rant. "I mean... No, I don't think so." He waits a beat for John to relax, to respond, continuing awkwardly when he doesn't. "He didn't look back, I mean."

John exhales, although it does nothing to ease his tension. "Okay," he says, repeating distantly, "Okay."

Nick had been so sure that John was going to try to escape, storming across the yard just a minute ago. But now, looking at the guy now, he's not sure John can even stand up, much less make a break for it. He realizes that despite all his reservations before, he doesn't think John is going anywhere. Not right now, anyway. Whether he wants to be or not, he's stuck here for the foreseeable future.

"You really didn't know, huh?" Nick asks. He lays on the pity thick enough that even he feels like he's being a dick about it, but all he gets is a nonverbal grunt in return. "Well, don't get any ideas," he continues, each word feeling like a step further into uncharted waters. "Just because we've been lax around here doesn't mean you're not still watched twenty-four-seven, you know! I hear you pacing around at night, so I'll know if you try to, uh..."

Nick really doesn't want to keep yelling at the back of John's head. He doesn't really mean to yell at all, letting his motor mouth run for him until he realizes abruptly that nothing he's saying is having an effect.

"John," Nick says again. He wishes he didn't sound as anxious as he does.

" Yes ," John rasps, "I hear you ."

Nick falls back against the counter, resting his weight against it as he watches John's tense form. "You don't even want to look at him?" he asks when the silence gets too uncomfortable.

"No," John mutters.

The next stretch of silence is broken as Kim enters the hangar. Nick wheels around, thankfully able to direct his energy towards someone who will respond to him for once.

"What happened?" he asks her, "Is Carmina alright?"

Kim makes a middling gesture with her hand, coming to a stop at the counter across from Nick. "I tried my best," she says. "I explained that he was the one who — well, that a lot of what happened before was because of him. She's going to need some time to process it, though. It's a lot to think about."

"What's there to think about?" Nick asks incredulously. "It's simple: they're whack-job cultists, and we're not . This is an anti-Peggy household! She isn't going to accept any handouts from Joseph Seed!"

Kim ignores Nick, turning her uncertain frown in John's direction. Honestly, though, Nick is just fine with that, considering that he isn't going to be any help with John's mental spiral.

She chews on her lip as she tries to figure out the best thing to say. "You're going to have to talk to us," she tells him at last. It's not exactly an ultimatum, but there's not a lot of room for arguing.

"I didn't know," John says after the silence stretches out between the three of them. It would be more convincing if he would make some eye-contact, but Nick finds himself believing it anyway. Especially as John miserably continues, "I thought he was dead."

"If there's anything you know that could help us figure out what he's doing here, now would be a great time to tell us," Kim points out, gentler than maybe she even intended. "What's his plan? What is he going to do next?"

John swallows heavily. Nick wonders if he has any loyalty left to his brother, if he has to struggle between revealing information or continuing to live with them the way he has been. Maybe he's just too panicked to think of anything beyond how to get out of this immediate situation. Again, eye contact would really help here, but Nick's not banking on that happening.

"It was so long ago," John mutters finally. "He wanted to start over. Jacob was meant to — to lock the armory. No one was going to need it after the Collapse. He and the faithful would establish New Eden together — without sin, without the unfaithful, and..." He lifts his shoulders, the first move he's made since Nick's found him. "No matter what, they would get it right this time."

"Last thing I heard before everything went nutty, the deputy trashed Jacob's armory," Nick says.

John huffs. At last, he uncurls from his doomsday position, slumping back into the cabinet behind him. "That does sound like them," he says, oddly relieved.

"He gave Carmina food," Kim says. "Should I be worried? It could be contaminated, right?"

"What kind of food?" he asks.

"Bread, I think? Crackers? I don't know exactly."

John shakes his head, scrubbing his eyes briefly. "It wouldn't be Bliss. The heat would kill it."

Kim sighs with relief. "Okay. I'll take your word for it."

Nick almost asks if that's such a good idea, but John doesn't look like he can take another kick lying down right now. "So what are we supposed to do?" he asks instead. "Just let him go rebuild his bullshit back on the island? Reform the cult and retake all the land that we thought he lost when the bombs dropped? Trust him not to have another psychotic breakdown and envision a good reason to get violent again?"

"I don't know," John sighs. He's so pale and tired, as though his panic attack had burned through all of his energy. He works his jaw over some thought or another. At last, he admits to them, "You should shoot him, although I doubt he will ever get close enough again."

Kim blinks, nails scratching the counter-top as she curls her hands defensively. "Are you serious?" she asks.

John takes a deep breath. "Yes," he says. "I am."

"Okay, well, it's something to keep in mind," Kim says, slowly feeling out her own opinion on the matter. "But I don't think that murdering him is going to be the answer. Maybe it was back then, but now... I mean, things change."

"He won't change," John tells her. "He won't."

"That's what everyone thinks about you," Nick points out. He doesn't realize it's a low blow until John bows his head again, leaving him to flounder. "I just mean, you know..."

"I know what you mean," John replies. Nick isn't appreciative of the icy tone, but at least it's put an end to him eating his own foot.

"Right now, we need to keep calm," Kim tells them, disappointedly eying Nick. "I'm going to get on the radio and let Grace know what happened. I'll trust her to tell the right people, so the whole county doesn't turn into a witch-hunt. The last thing we need is for another war to break out and destroy all the progress everyone's made."

"Right. Okay." Nick scuffs his shoe on the dirty concrete. "John, uh. We can keep working on the fence. Unless you... need a break. You can stay here, if you want."

He feels like an ass offering it, but John doesn't let it hang for long. "No," he shakes his head, lifting it again, "I can work."

Nick doesn't think "can" and "should" are the same here, but who is he to judge? All he wants to do right now is focus on something he can get done, rather than sit around speculating. John is probably even more eager to bury himself back into his work, now that he has something he really needs to be distracted from.

Kim doesn't wait for them, taking off for the house at a brisk walk. Nick waits for John to stand, then follows him out of the hangar, setting him to work on the part they'd been working on before. He starts to help, but John seems to have it and he seems to be more interested in spiraling mentally, so Nick sets up a few yards down to work in silence. The entire time, he watches as John goes through the motions, a million miles away as he stops to occasionally stare at the trees not so far away. Nick doesn't know what he's looking for, but even though he wants to ask, he can't bring himself to risk detonating whatever emotional time-bomb is building.

Nick wakes up that night not knowing what roused him. Sleeping for more than a few hours at a time is a miracle most nights, interspersed by long stretches of watching the passage of time from the shadows on the wall. Tonight is no different, and Nick blearily watches the deep, dark blue shadows that fill the room during the deepest hours of the night. He almost doesn't realize that Kim is awake, not until she reaches out to gently shake his shoulder once again.

"What," he groggily whispers, "What's the matter?"

"I don't know," Kim whispers back. "I thought I heard something."

The only thing Nick can hear is the house creaking all around them. He catches a thud from the other room, which usually means John is up and pacing around. It's much more apparent that isn't the case when the second bedroom door slams open, rattling the wall, followed by running footsteps down the hall.

Carmina groans, half-awake as Nick throws off the blankets, leaping out of bed and yanking on his jeans. "Son of a bitch ," he hisses, "That goddamn liar — no, stay here." He waves a hand at Carmina, who groggily waves a hand back, and tells Kim, "Somebody has to keep an eye on her. I'll handle this."

"Nick..."

He doesn't have time to argue about it, so he just bolts from the room and hopes Kim won't follow. He doesn't bother to check the damage to the door, which is hanging wide open against the wall; instead, he chases John's footsteps down the stairs, thundering down them and coming to a brief halt in the living room as he guesses where John has gone next.

The front door is wide open, leaving Nick staring out into the misty dark by himself. It's just thick enough that Nick can't see past the car parked protectively in front of the house, and boy does he not want to go out there. He's exhausted, and the last thing he wants to do is go running around in the mist like it's 2018 all over again.

But he has to, because he can't let John get away. To think he believed that rotten, lying asshole! Of course, the second Nick lets his guard down, the second he decides to believe that John isn't frothing at the mouth to return to his old life, of course that bastard has to go and shove it in his face! He hadn't been able to hold up the act for one night after Joseph reared his goddamn head? What a joke.

It's a wet, cool night, and the mist is thick enough that Nick can't immediately see John as he jogs down the drive, but it doesn't take him long to catch up. John's escape plan seems to come to an abrupt end halfway down the lane as he comes to an unsteady stop on the cracked dirt. Nick picks up the pace, angry enough to jog barefoot after the bastard trying to escape. At this distance, Nick could probably shoot him — that is, if he'd bothered to bring either of the guns with him. If Joseph appears and has his lackeys attack him, he's going to be shit out of luck.

Nick gets within a yard of John and finds himself pulling up short. "What the hell, John!" he exclaims, too tired to notice his voice cracking and far too exhausted to care that he's given up his only chance at a surprise attack. "Are you kidding me with this bullshit, you lying, no-good —"

John whirls around, fist balled up and pulled back like he's actually going to strike at Nick. His face is blotchy and wet, his eyes heavily rimmed with red. "Get the fuck away from me!" he shouts, voice welled with panic, and Nick takes an immediate obliging step backwards. He's run right out into no-man's land without any defenses and he does not want to get caught up in the messy storm of John's emotions if he can help it. He especially doesn't want to get punched in the face for his effort.

As soon as he moves, John drops his fist, run ragged by the burst of adrenaline that got him this far out of the house. He breathes like he's just run twenty miles. His eyes drop to Nick's hands, to his hip where he usually holsters the pistol, up to where the rifle should be strapped to his chest, and then finally he directs his wild eyes to Nick's face.

"What are you doing," he gasps.

"What am I doing," Nick shouts, "What the hell are you doing! You can't just break down the door and go running for your brother whenever you have a — a nightmare, or whatever!"

"You don't now what you're talking about," John hisses.

"I know exactly what I'm talking about! As soon as you find out he's alive, you go running after him! I'm catching you in the act!"

"That's not —!" John's objection is strangled by emotion, pushing past it to shout hoarsely, " He was supposed to be dead ! And now he knows I'm here, he has to, and he's going to come for me and there is nothing I can do about it!" He throws his hands in the air. "Nothing will ever stop him," he exclaims, "And there's no point — there's no fucking point to any of this if he's just going to rip it away from me!"

John is easily twice as strong as Nick, but that doesn't stop Nick from wanting to grab him and shake him until he shuts up. "Maybe you should think about somebody other than yourself, then, you stupid bastard!" He throws a hand back towards the house. "If you go back to Joseph, you're going to ruin our lives . We've been helping you because you said you were done! We promised Grace you were telling the truth! Do you think she's going to forgive us? And how do you expect us to explain it to Carmina when you show up with your goddamn inquisition again? Eventually, you'll come for us, and you'll force Carmina through — and I can't let that happen!"

Nick swallows back the heavy emotion that's threatening to overwhelm him. "Come the hell on, no point ," he finally snaps, voice frayed. "You goddamn asshole."

John frowns heavily. He doesn't have anything to say in response, standing there mutely hopeless for a full thirty seconds before he finally tries to speak. "I didn't think about that," he finally mumbles.

"No, you did not ." Nick sighs, heaving out all of the anger left inside. "Look. You can sit out here all night and wait for Joseph if you want, but you're doing it on your own. I'm not gonna watch you waste your time. If you're coming back inside, let's go."

Nick plays the gambit for what it is, turning his back to John and starting back for the house. He walks slowly, and though at first he thinks John might not follow, he eventually feels John trailing behind him, a ball of tense anxiety right at his back. When they reach the front yard, John comes to a stop, forcing Nick to turn to him.

"I just... need a minute."

"It's way too late for this," Nick groans, "Just — be quiet when you come back upstairs. I don't need Carmina waking up a second time."

John swallows. He looks weirdly desperate as he tries to find something to say, but that's no surprise. He's always perpetually waiting for Nick or Kim to start treating him the way he would treat his own prisoners. "Okay," he rasps, like he might start crying again.

That is Nick's cue, so he darts back inside and upstairs, careful to limit the creaking as much as he can so as to not rouse Carmina. Hopefully she didn't keep Kim up with a bunch of questions about what's going on — those will be fine in the morning, but Kim doesn't get enough sleep as it is.

Kim is still awake, even if Carmina has passed out again. She looks worried, and Nick can't help but wonder how much of their argument had made it through the windows and cracks in the wall.

"Is everything okay?" she asks as he shoves off his jeans and climbs back into bed.

"Who knows," Nick sighs. "He's outside. Don't worry, I locked our door, and the rifle's right here."

"I'm not worried about that," Kim mutters. She brushes some of his hair out of his face as he lies down, following his lead reluctantly. "Next time, let me handle it."

Nick yawns and closes his eyes. "That's crazy talk," he mumbles, although maybe next time John has a meltdown, it would be better for Kim to take care of it. That's a problem for Nick tomorrow, though — right now, his brain is shutting off the lights at a rapid pace, and it's barely a minute later before Nick has completely passed out.

Nick wakes up to the cool, blue-gray light before dawn. It takes a few minutes for Nick to gather the energy to move, but he needs to check and see what happened to John after last night. Hopefully, he went back to bed and Nick will only have to look outside his own door to check on him.

Kim and Carmina are still fast asleep as he carefully climbs out of bed, taking care not to step on the creakiest floorboards as he pulls on his jeans and boots. He's sure that Kim would be glad to do this for him, but she needs to rest and he needs to make sure he didn't put his faith in the wrong Seed brother.

The whole house is quiet. Even the creaks that he can normally hear all night have eased up, leaving Nick's footsteps to echo as he carefully steps out into the hall, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

John's door is still hanging open. Nick takes a moment to look in, but John's nowhere to be seen; when he closes the door, the broken lock scrapes against the doorframe and leaves it stuck half in place. It'll be easy enough to repair, and Nick knows just the petulant jackass to fix it.

The stairs creak as Nick heads down into the first floor gloom. There's only enough light to clear the darkest shadows, but once the sun rises and they open up the back porch, it'll be fine. For now, Nick heads out the front door and circles around the the backyard. There's a chance that John' won't be found anywhere, that he's given up and gone off to find his family, but Nick can't bring himself to consider it. After everything John said last night — Nick would never be able to believe the man if he turned out to be a turn-coat.

Thankfully, John isn't hard to find at all. He's taken a seat on the empty planter, watching the spinach heads grow. From his pale, haggard face and the dampness of his shirt, it's clear he stayed out here all night. He doesn't outright acknowledge it as Nick approaches, but there's no mistaking the way his entire body tenses for a fight.

It's way too early for a fight, and honestly Nick doesn't think he's got one in him anyway. "Morning," he offers instead, coming to a stop next to the planter. "Guess you didn't get any sleep."

John exhales. "No," he says, his voice rough. He hesitates another second or two longer. "I needed to think."

"Yeah, I figured."

On the right side of groggy like he is, Nick doesn't hesitate to take a seat next to John. He drags his boot through the dirt for an awkward moment, before finally saying, "I guess you decided to stay."

"I was never going to..." John bites his cheek, taking a breath before continuing in a more subdued tone, "I didn't want to leave. I'm well aware that I'm better off here than I've been anywhere else. It was just... a lapse in clarity." He takes a breath, like he might be gearing up for one of those old-fashioned monologues of his, and Nick finds himself weirdly eager to hear it. Kim's curiosity is definitely rubbing off on him.

"I've had these... dreams," he admits quietly. "For years now. They're... intense. So vivid, so real that I used to... They used to consume all of my time." His hand gestures limply towards the ground, as close as he's ever gotten to talking openly about the bunker. "They happen less, now, but I still recieve... messages, warnings from Joseph. When I thought he was dead, they were easier to ignore. But I never could dismiss them outright. And the one I had last night felt so real. So much so that I suppose I didn't realize when I woke up. All I could think about was what he was saying and I... I panicked."

Nick probably shouldn't ask. This is the most John's spoken in months, and he shouldn't interrupt, but he can't help himself. "What'd he say?" he asks.

John looks over at him, his expression complicated and dark. "That he knew where I was," he says. "That no one would stop him from saving me." He closes his eyes, turning his face away. "But he didn't come," he finishes. "He didn't show. It was just a dream. I know that now. I won't make the same mistake again."

There's nothing Nick can say to that, and nothing that John wants to add, so they sit in silence for a minute or so.

Eventually, John looks back to Nick, checking him over for weapons with much less panic than last night. "What happens now?" he asks.

"Well, we still have half a fence to build," Nick points out. "Plus, we gotta start laying out plans for the electrical wiring, so when we get the generator up and running..."

"I meant with me," John interrupts. "I broke out — I tried to escape. Doesn't that warrant — something ?"

"You're going to have to fix the door," Nick replies. "And you're already doing the heavy lifting around the house. You want me to ground you, or something? No dessert for a week?"

John sighs heavily. "You could come up with better than that."

"I don't want to come up with something better." Nick braces his feet on the dirt, but fails to stand at the last moment, even though he wants nothing more than to propel himself out of this conversation. "Life is already hard enough as it is. I'm not going to add to it just to make you feel better."

It's clear from his furrowed brow that John doesn't get it, but that's okay. Nick's satisfied with the peaceful resolution as it is. John might scowl in confusion at the ground, but at least he isn't demanding Nick take a pound of flesh from him or something. It's too bad that he isn't satisfied by simply apologizing, since that's all Nick needs, but he'll get the hang of it eventually. Lord knows he's gotten the hang of plenty else so far.

Nick pushes himself to his feet. He might as well use this extra time to get everything ready for breakfast, even if it's technically Kim's turn to cook. Still, he stops to stand over John, waffling on whether or not the guy deserves some genuine comfort. He's been open and honest enough — Nick probably should do the same. "Look. I, uh, appreciate you telling me. About the, uh, dreams, and all that. I figured you'd forgotten how to talk about yourself." He hesitates, then suggests, "You might wanna go get some sleep before breakfast. We really do got a lot more fence to go over."

John turns his head, following the broken line of fencing that reaches out clear down to the end of the airstrip. "You're right," he says at last. "I should rest."

"Please tell me you don't need me to escort you all the way upstairs," Nick says, mostly joking as they make their way inside. Letting John walk around freely hasn't ended up in disaster so far, but John still seems surprised that Nick's going to let him continue on alone.

"No," he says, "I have it." He stops on the stairs, watching as Nick forcibly ignores him in favor of getting the kindling and cast iron skillet. When Nick fails to stop him, though, he finally turns and makes his way up. Nick tries not to make it obvious as he waits to hear John walk across the upper hallway to his room, the door scraping audibly against the frame as he opens and then shuts it again. Only then does Nick seriously get to work on starting the morning fire, glad to have some small task to distract him from the thoughts that would otherwise pin him in place — thoughts about loyalty, and about what John said, and about his own dreams that have sometimes seemed too real to be anything less than prophetic. Maybe someday, he'll sort all his feelings out, but for now he can build a fire and hold on to the vague suspicion he has that maybe, just maybe, pulling John out of that bunker had been a good idea after all.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #fcnd #new dawn #john seed #nick rye #kim rye #far cry fanfic #my fic

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