#i did two and a half drafts. its hard to figure out what to say in just 8 pages! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hannie-bees · 1 month ago

Text

Pieces of you || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Genre: Fluff, domestic, romantic, comfort

WC: 1.9K

Theme: Its your 2nd anniversary and you gift your bf a jar of 100 reasons why you love him.

Song Recommendation: 10000 Hours

Two years.

You’d been with Vernon for two whole years.

And yet, somehow, when your anniversary rolled around, your brain decided to take a vacation. The “what to get him” panic had set in early—weeks of browsing, scrolling through Pinterest boards titled “Anniversary Gift Ideas for Your Lowkey Emotional Musician Boyfriend", and endless Etsy deep-dives later, you caved and bought him a Rolex.

Now…

You were this close to a breakdown.

It was two nights before your second anniversary with Vernon, and you were dramatically sprawled across the living room carpet, surrounded by Google tabs, half-finished card drafts, and a fancy black velvet box from the Rolex boutique that now made you want to scream.

“Why did I do this?” You groaned, dragging a pillow over your face. “It’s so low-effort boyfriend-gift-core.”

To be fair, you’d panicked. Vernon had mentioned once in passing that he admired classic timepieces, and your brain short-circuited into: oh my god, fancy anniversary = man + watch = love. But the more you stared at the sleek, expensive thing, the more you hated it.

Because Vernon wasn’t a Rolex kind of boyfriend.

He was the boyfriend who saved the last bite of every snack for you even if he was starving. The boyfriend who left you post-it notes with doodled hearts on mornings he had early schedules. The boyfriend who wordlessly held you until your anxiety stopped clawing at your throat. Who remembered you liked your toast golden brown and your strawberry milk with extra ice cubes.

A watch didn’t cover all that. He deserved more.

And that's how you found yourself in your sweats, surrounded by crumpled sticky notes and a half-eaten box of cookies, trying to figure out how to tell him what he meant to you.

That’s when it clicked.

Words. Words were always the answer.

He’d once told you that you had a way of making ordinary things feel important, and maybe—just maybe—writing them down would remind him how much of your life he lit up.

You counted out a hundred sticky notes. Soft pastels in a mix of pinks, blues, and greens. And you began writing.

Your gummy smile. The first thing I fell for. It’s unfair. You smile, and I forget how to function.

The way you think. You process the world so gently and deeply—it makes me fall in love every day.

The way you love. Not loud, not flashy. Just right. Just… you. You don’t say it often, but you show it, always.

You understand me—even when I don’t make sense. Especially when I don’t.

You’re patient. With my bad days. My weird moods. You never make me feel wrong for needing time. You just… get me. You listen between the words.

You never make me feel stupid. Not when I forget things. Not when I panic. You just hold space.

You’re weird. The good kind. The dancing-in-the-kitchen, talking-to-cats, doing-a-fake-British-accent kind. The I’m-gonna-marry-you kind.

You send me memes when I’m upset. Usually cursed ones. It works.

You’re honest. Always. Even when it’s awkward or hard.

You give me the aux cord without even asking.

You laugh at my bad jokes like they deserve Oscars.

You kiss my forehead when I overthink.

You listen. Like, really listen. Like, “remembers things I said 4 months ago while half-asleep” listen.

You let me take the first bite of your food even when you’re starving.

You say, “Text me when you get home,” even if I’m just going to the convenience store.

You kept going, hour after hour. You wrote them curled up on the couch, with lo-fi playing and your legs tangled in a blanket you stole from his side of the bed. You wrote them the next morning, stirring pancake batter with one hand and scribbling thoughts with the other.

Each note was like a breadcrumb trail back through your relationship. The quiet mornings. The messy fights. The making up. The comfort.

The you-and-him-ness of it all.

27. You let me warm my hands on your stomach in winter, even though you hate it.

39. You rap under your breath when you’re concentrating. I pretend not to notice. You pretend not to see me smiling.

41. You never let go first during hugs.

57. You carry my bags without making a show of it.

69. You tell me “I love you” like it’s a fact, not a performance.

72. You say “I got you” instead of “it’s okay.” And somehow it feels like both.

88. You’re just… you. And that’s more than enough.

99. You remembered I always wanted to be seen. You saw me. Even when I couldn’t see myself.

100. You’re my safe place. My home. My favorite person.

You folded each sticky note carefully into a tiny square, dropping them into a clear jar one by one until it was full—your love made tangible, note by note, word by word.

___

Anniversary Morning

You woke before Vernon did, still tangled up in the shared comforter. His hand was loosely curled on your waist, chest rising and falling in that steady, sleepy rhythm that always grounded you.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His features were soft with sleep, lips parted just barely, hair tousled and flopping into his eyes. Your eyes trailed down to the tiny mole near his cheek—the one he always forgot he had until you kissed it and your heart squeezed.

Happy anniversary, you whispered in your mind. To the boy who doesn’t need to say much to make you feel everything.

___

You gave him the Rolex first.

He blinked at the box, then at you. “...Babe.”

“What?” you said with a grin. “You love watches.”

He opened it slowly, then whistled. “Okay, I do. But this is—this is a lot.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “You deserve nice things.”

He leaned in, kissing your cheek with a quiet, “Thank you, really,” but you could tell from the way he pulled you into his side that he knew something was up.

___

Later that Evening

The sun was setting, casting honey-colored light through the apartment windows. You stood awkwardly in the living room, the jar tucked behind your back, your stomach flipping.

He was lounging on the couch in a hoodie and sweats, the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms, a bowl of cereal in his lap even though it was almost dinner time. He looked up when you stepped in.

“Everything okay?”

You nodded quickly.

Then, without a word, you walked over and placed the jar on the coffee table in front of him, before diving onto the couch, grabbing a throw pillow, and hiding behind it like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

He stared at the jar. Then at you. Then back at the jar decorated with little cloud stickers and a label that simply read: 100 Reasons I Love You (and Counting)…

His brow furrowed slightly as he set his cereal aside and picked it up. “What’s this?”

Your voice was muffled behind the pillow. “Read it.”

He opened the lid and pulled out one of the tiny folded notes, unfolding it carefully.

1. Your gummy smile.

The reason I fell for you. It makes everything else feel softer.

You peeked out from behind the pillow.

He blinked. Then pulled out another.

2. The way you think.

You have such a beautiful way with words; I could listen to you talk for hours and never get bored.

And another.

3. The way you love.

Not loud, not performative. But steady, gentle. I always feel it. You don’t need to say a thing.

By the time he’d reached the fifth one—

5. Your patience.

You’ve never made me feel stupid for not knowing something. You make me feel safe enough to ask.

—His hand had slowed.

He looked over at you, eyes glassy.

“YN… What is this?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your chest. “I felt like a Rolex wasn’t enough, too boring. So I made this too. It’s a hundred reasons why I love you.”

Vernon stared at the jar in his hands like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

Then he laughed softly, almost breathless, shaking his head in disbelief. “You wrote me a hundred love notes.”

“Every single one?”

“Every single one.”

You mumbled from behind the pillow, “It was either that or a custom rap verse about how hot your hands are. I figured this was less embarrassing.”

He laughed, soft and disbelieving, and then took another.

12. You send me random memes in the middle of the day, and somehow they’re always exactly what I needed.

Like, you just know.

18. You never force me to talk when I’m not ready. You just sit next to me. That’s more comforting than anything.

29. The way you rub your thumb over the back of my hand when we’re holding hands. You probably don’t even notice you do it.

He swallowed, and his voice came out a little choked. “You remembered all these things?”

“Of course I did,” you whispered. “They’re pieces of you. How could I forget? ”

38. You tell me you’re proud of me—even when I haven’t done much.

43. Your hoodie always smells like you, and I secretly steal it when you leave for the studio.

52. You once offered to watch a horror movie just because I wanted to, and you ended up hiding behind my pillow. Adorable.

68. You once said, “You’re my favorite place to be.” I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

He pulled another one out, smiling through teary eyes.

Then he got to one that made him pause.

73. That night you thought I’d leave you… I wish I’d told you then how wrong you were.

I’m not going anywhere. I’m always here.

He paused at number 73. His hands stopped moving. For a moment, the room was quiet except for the sound of his breath.

He looked at you then, completely undone, the kind of emotion that Vernon rarely let the world see.

Gently setting the jar aside, he leaned over and tugged the pillow away from your face.

“Babe,” he whispered. “Come here.”

You climbed into his lap with a shy smile, arms looping around his neck.

His hands cradled your waist. “You’re insane. You know that, right?”

You tucked your face into his neck, grinning. “Only when it comes to you.”

He laughed, pulling you in tighter. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten. Like, ever.”

You pulled back slightly, brushing his hair out of his face. “I just needed you to know. In case I don’t say it enough. I love you. A lot.”

His eyes searched for yours, warm and shining. “You show it in a hundred ways every day. I just have proof now.”

He kissed your forehead.

Then your cheek.

Then, finally, your lips—slow and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

___

Bonus:

He started carrying one note in his wallet every day like a lucky charm.

Whenever he traveled, you’d get a photo—your jar of pastel notes sitting right on his nightstand.

And six months later, you opened your laptop to find a document named Reasons I Love You: Draft Version 1. He never let you read it. Not then.

But a year later, he printed it out. Bound it like a book. Gave it to you on your third anniversary.

The title?

Chapter 1 of Forever.

🌸 Masterlist 🌸

#seventeen imagines #svt imagines #Seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #svt x you #svt fanfic #hansol vernon chwe #vernon #vernon imagines #vernon fluff #vernon x reader #vernon fic #svt vernon #vernon x you #chwe hansol imagines #chwe hansol x reader #svt fluff

238 notes · View notes

bubblyi3 · 23 days ago

Text

Through the Veil | PJM

“you left, and the world kept turning, but his stopped.”

pairing: jimin x female reader

genre: detective!jimin, mystery, thriller, romance, angst

word count: 4.1k

content warning: death, grief, psychological themes, murder

summary: when detective park jimin loses you. the love of his life to a tragic and mysterious murder, he's left broken, haunted, and desperate for answers. but when an anonymous case file lands on his desk. reopening the very case that shattered him, jimin dives into the investigation with a purpose.

author's note: hiiii everyone~ please welcome my new series! <3 this concept actually came to me as a random shower thought, and i figured it was time to give jimin his moment to shine :) i’ve decided to put cigarettes and clementines on pause for now because of a bit of writer’s block. but don’t worry, i have the first part drafted and will share it sometime soon! huge thanks to everyone who’s interested in being on the taglist for that one <3 for this new series, the taglist is open as well, so if you want to be notified when i post, just let me know!

playlist:

feels - watts & khalid

kaleidoscope - chappell roan

blue - billie eilish

me and the devil - soap&skin

The night air was cool, touched with the scent of rain-soaked pavement and jasmine from the rooftop planter boxes. A soft breeze tugged at your cardigan as string lights flickered overhead, casting golden halos on the small table set for two.

You looked across at Jimin, who was nervously poking at his bowl of tteokbokki.

“You’re being weird,” you said, half-laughing. “What’s going on? Did you forget our anniversary again?”

He looked up, blinking like you’d caught him off guard. “What? No! I remembered.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you burn something? Are you dying?”

He laughed, a little too loud, a little too fast. “Why do you always go straight to worst-case scenarios?”

“Because you look like you’re about to confess to murder.”

That made him choke on his drink, which only made you laugh harder.

But then he sobered. Sat back. Studied you with that quiet kind of intensity he only used when he was about to say something that mattered. “You always assume the worst.”

“I’ve been dating you for three years. It’s called pattern recognition.”

He rolled his eyes, then leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Okay, fine. I wanted to do something nice for you. No reason. Just... because.”

“Because…?”

He smiled at you in that way that made your chest tighten — soft and warm, like a sunrise after a long night. “Because I want to remind you of how serious I am. About this. About us.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “Wait—”

“Don’t panic,” he said quickly, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “It’s not that kind of ring.”

From the small velvet pouch, he pulled out something fragile-looking. A slender band of brushed silver, its surface etched with faint celestial markings only visible when the light caught them just right.

At its center sat a tiny opal, milky with hints of blue and lavender that shimmered like trapped starlight. It didn’t sparkle in the traditional sense — it glowed, soft and ghostly under the string lights.

He didn’t drop to one knee. He didn’t make a speech. He just slid the ring across the table toward you, hands slightly trembling, his eyes locked on yours like it was the most important thing he’d ever done.

“It’s a promise ring,” he said. “Not a proposal. Not yet. Just… a promise.”

You blinked. The world blurred at the edges.

“A promise for what?” you whispered, almost afraid to ask.

“That I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly. “That I’ll protect what we have, even when things get hard. Even when I’m tired or scared or too in my head. You’re it for me. You’ve been it for a long time.”

You stared at the ring. Then at him. Your voice broke a little. “You sap.”

Jimin laughed again, gently this time, and took your hand. “You don’t have to wear it if it’s too much, I just—”

You cut him off by slipping it onto your finger, the fit snug and perfect.

“You’re it for me too,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You’ve always been.”

He took your hand gently, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I know sometimes you get scared about... things. About things ending. But I want this to be something you can hold onto, when it gets dark.”

You slipped the ring on your finger. It fit perfectly.

“I don’t want anything else,” you whispered.

Jimin kissed your forehead, then lingered there for a moment. His voice was so quiet, you almost didn’t catch it.

“Maybe this time, we’ll get to keep what we love.”

This time.

You didn’t ask what he meant.

You didn’t know you should have.

The funeral hall was quiet in that sterile, polished kind of way — all chrome finishes and white walls, dimmed lighting that cast soft halos around everything. A subtle scent of incense hung in the air, clinging to black suits and pale lilies. Outside, the rain poured steadily, slicking the pavement and turning umbrellas into a sea of black domes as mourners came and went through the glass doors.

Inside, the memorial portrait of you sat on an altar draped in white, framed by a wreath of chrysanthemums. Your smile in the photo was bright — too bright for a day like this. Too alive. Below it, the tablet bearing your name sat neatly beside a small brass urn, surrounded by offerings: bowls of fruit, flowers, and a soft candlelight that flickered like breath.

Jimin stood a few paces away.

He had bowed. Three times. Had stood through the Buddhist chant. Had watched as friends and family took their turns at the altar, heads lowered, eyes wet. But now the room had thinned out. Only a few guests lingered quietly, murmuring in corners or holding tissues in trembling hands. A staff member in a formal suit passed by, offering polite nods, ready to begin cleanup if given the signal.

But Jimin didn’t move.

His black suit clung to his frame, still slightly damp from earlier. His hair, styled perfectly that morning, now hung loose over his forehead. He hadn’t touched the bottled water someone had handed him. His hands remained at his sides, fingers twitching like they were trying to remember the feeling of yours in his.

He stared at your portrait like it might shift — like maybe, if he looked long enough, you’d blink.

“Jimin…”

Taehyung’s voice broke softly through the silence.

Jimin didn’t look back. His eyes stayed fixed on you.

Footsteps padded across the polished floor. Taehyung stood beside him now, his own gaze cast downward.

“You should sit,” he said gently. “You haven’t eaten.”

Another presence joined them — Hoseok, his usual brightness dulled by the weight in his eyes. He placed a hand gently on Jimin’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quietly, his voice cracking mid-sentence.

Still, Jimin said nothing.

Then Jungkook appeared — younger, quieter, wearing his grief like a second skin. He lingered a step behind, unsure of what to say. He looked at the urn, then at Jimin.

“It’s getting late,” Jungkook murmured. “Let us take you home.”

But Jimin didn’t budge.

Not until he saw her.

Sohee.

Your best friend.

She stood at the edge of the room, beneath the soft lighting near the door. Her umbrella leaned against the wall, forgotten. Her makeup had long since faded, her eyes red-rimmed, her expression vacant — like she was barely tethered to the present.

Their eyes met.

And just like that, the weight shifted again. Not lessened — just shared.

She didn’t speak. Just gave a trembling nod before stepping away, slipping back into the rain outside.

And that’s when he saw them.

Your parents.

Approaching slowly. Hands linked tightly together, like they’d fall if they let go.

Jimin’s throat tightened.

He rose slowly, as if bracing for a blow.

But instead, your mother stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. No hesitation.

He froze.

“You loved her,” she whispered against his chest. “She loved you. We know.”

He blinked fast, jaw clenched hard.

“I’m sorry,” he choked. “I should’ve—”

“No,” she said firmly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You were everything to her.”

Then your father stepped forward. Always the quiet one. Always steady.

“She’d hate to see you like this,” he said softly. “She’d want you to keep going. Don’t fade.”

Jimin’s lips parted, but no words followed.

Then—

“Please,” your father added quietly. “Find out what really happened. Don’t let this end here.”

Something in Jimin broke then — not in a shattering way, but in a shift. Like ice beginning to thaw. He bowed his head, lower than before.

“I will.”

And this time, when he looked up at your altar — the candlelight seemed to burn just a little steadier.

Later that night, the pub was dim and warm, but it felt wrong.

Everything felt wrong.

Jimin sat in the corner booth of the local dive bar they used to laugh about. It smelled like damp coats and wood polish. Like cheap beer and old jukebox songs.

Taehyung sat to his right, nursing a glass of whiskey. Hoseok slouched opposite him, arms crossed, jacket half-off. Jungkook sat to the left, staring at the bubbles in his untouched beer.

Jimin didn’t speak.

He hadn’t since they left the cemetery.

The silence around him wasn’t tense. It was respectful. Reverent, even.

They were giving him space. Space to fall apart. Space to breathe.

Only he wasn’t sure how to do either.

Taehyung finally broke the silence.

“She believed in you,” he said, swirling his drink. “Every time you doubted yourself, she’d talk about how strong you were.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok added, managing a weak smile. “She used to scold us for stressing you out at the precinct.”

“She was so proud of you,” Jungkook said. “All the time. You were her safe place.”

Jimin squeezed his eyes shut.

“I wasn’t there,” he whispered.

“You couldn’t have known,” Hoseok said.

“She called me,” Jimin snapped, his voice sudden and sharp. “Thirty minutes before. I was too busy. Thought I’d call her back after the interrogation.”

The guilt slithered through him, wrapping around his lungs.

“I thought I had time.”

Taehyung reached over and gripped his shoulder.

“You loved her. That’s what matters.”

Jimin didn’t reply.

“You gonna take a break?” Hoseok asked after a beat. “You don’t have to go back right away.”

“I can’t,” Jimin murmured. “The case was closed.”

“Then let it be,” Jungkook said quietly. “Don’t kill yourself chasing ghosts.”

But Jimin’s eyes burned.

“I have to,” he said. “Because none of this makes sense. It wasn’t random. Something about it… everything about it feels wrong.”

The three of them looked at each other, then back at him.

“You might lose yourself,” Taehyung warned. “You already are.”

“I’d rather lose myself than lose her again.”

No one said anything else.

Jungkook poured another drink. They clinked glasses without a toast. Just silence. Letting the rain outside blur the lines between what was and what would never be again.

It was past midnight.

The city outside had settled into silence, the kind that only came after a storm — where puddles reflected the amber glow of streetlights, and the wind rustled forgotten newspapers down alleyways. Inside the precinct, the atmosphere felt no different. Still. Suspended.

The building creaked with age. Fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead, some flickering with that twitchy, uneven strobe that made the shadows dance if you stared too long. The central heating hissed like an old secret trying to claw its way out of the walls.

Jimin’s shoes echoed against the tile as he made his way through the corridor, each step louder than it had any right to be. The precinct was nearly deserted — just the skeleton staff in night duty, a dispatcher yawning at the front desk, and the ghost of what used to be routine.

When he reached his office, the doorknob felt cold in his hand.

He pushed it open.

The air inside was stale — heavy with the scent of old ink, forgotten papers, and that faint trace of dust that lingered no matter how many times the place was cleaned. It smelled like memories sealed in manila folders. Like long nights and unsolved questions.

Nothing had moved.

The chair sat tucked neatly under the desk. His coat hung limply on the back hook, still damp from the earlier rain. The blinds were half-drawn, casting striped shadows across the room like prison bars.

And yet…

Something was different.

There.

Sitting in the center of his desk.

A single envelope.

Plain. White. No return address. No handwriting. No seal.

Just… placed.

Like it had appeared from nowhere.

Jimin stilled in the doorway, a faint chill crawling up the back of his neck.

He wasn’t expecting anything.

He hadn’t spoken to anyone about the case in days — not since it had been officially closed. Not since the report had called your death a “random burglary turned fatal,” and he had sat there, reading the words over and over until they blurred.

This envelope didn’t belong here.

He stepped inside, slowly, cautiously. His eyes didn’t leave the desk.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for it — not from fear, exactly, but from something deeper. Instinct. A kind of bone-deep knowing that whatever was inside would change everything.

He peeled the flap open carefully.

One single sheet of paper slid out. Thin. Off-white. Slightly creased.

He unfolded it.

“The dead are speaking. Will you listen?”

Seven words.

That was all.

But they knocked the air from his lungs.

His eyes dropped lower — and his breath caught in his throat.

Beneath the note… was a file.

Your file.

The same one that had been stamped closed just last week.

Now… it was open again. Restamped. Re-dated. A new investigator line left blank.

Jimin’s heart started to race.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Loud in the silence.

His pulse pounded in his ears like a second heartbeat, echoing against the stillness of the room. His fingers hovered above the file’s edge, but he didn’t open it yet. He couldn’t. Not while his mind tried to make sense of it.

Who?

Who had brought it here?

Who had the authority to reassign a sealed case?

Why leave no trace — no message, no name, no instruction?

Just a whisper of something unfinished.

The air shifted behind him.

A whisper of movement. A subtle shift in pressure. Like the room had inhaled.

Then—

“Jimin.”

His name.

Spoken low. Breath-soft. Almost tender.

He spun around so fast his chair toppled to the floor with a hollow thud.

But no one was there.

Just his empty office.

Just shadows stretched across old carpet. Just the blinds swaying ever so slightly, though no window was open.

His breath came short.

His mind fought for logic.

Maybe he was tired. Sleep-deprived. Maybe it was the weight of mourning, hallucinations from stress. He’d read the research. He knew what the brain could conjure under duress.

But it hadn’t felt like imagination.

It had felt real.

Like you were there.

Like your voice had brushed against the curve of his ear. Familiar. Intimate.

Like you had been trying to reach him.

The lights above flickered again.

He turned back to the desk. Stared at the file.

Something impossible trembled at the edge of his thoughts.

A possibility he would’ve dismissed weeks ago.

But now, with the note in his hand and your whisper in his ears, something inside him stirred.

A sense.

A shift.

A haunting.

Jimin lowered himself slowly into his chair, the legs creaking beneath him. His fingers found the edge of the file. He opened it.

Inside — crime scene photos. Witness statements. A coroner’s report. The timeline. The inconsistencies he had tried to ignore before the case was snatched from his hands.

And on the top page… someone had circled a single phrase in red ink.

"Not everything buried stays dead."

Jimin stared at the words until they blurred.

He didn’t know if he was losing his mind.

But if this was madness… it felt like purpose.

For the first time in weeks, he felt alive.

Eyes sharp. Chest tight.

He stood again, slowly, turning to the dark window.

Rain still fell against the glass.

His reflection stared back at him — hollow eyes, clenched jaw, and something burning behind them.

A vow.

A promise.

You weren’t gone.

Not completely.

And whoever tried to bury the truth…

Had made a terrible mistake.

The small BBQ joint in Mapo-dong was the kind of place that smelled like charred pork belly, cold beer, and old jazz playing too loud on busted speakers. It sat between a pawn shop and a stationery store that never seemed to be open. The sign above the door buzzed neon pink, flickering between chicken and soju, and complete darkness.

It was just after noon.

The lunch crowd hadn’t fully arrived yet, but the scent of grilling meat had started to fill the narrow alleyways. The sky hung low, a dull grey, threatening rain again.

Taehyung arrived with a scarf tucked around his neck, still slightly damp from the earlier drizzle. His brows furrowed as he pushed open the door, a bell jingling overhead.

He spotted Jimin immediately.

Back booth, corner seat. Hood up, black ball cap pulled low, hunched over the table like he was trying to fold into himself. There was a half-empty glass of water in front of him and a file — thick, overstuffed, the kind detectives used to carry around before they all went digital.

Taehyung slowed his approach.

He had thought Jimin just wanted company. A little air. A talk. Maybe even a drink if they could stomach it. Grief made people reach in different directions — and Jimin had always reached for him when it got bad.

But when Taehyung got closer, he saw the look in Jimin’s eyes.

Wide. Sharp. Bloodshot. There was a twitch in his jaw. His fingers tapped against the file like a metronome he couldn’t stop.

“Jimin…?”

Jimin didn’t speak right away.

Instead, he glanced around — eyes darting to the waitress, the man at the bar, the open window beside them. Then, with a kind of controlled urgency, he shoved the file across the table.

“Read,” Jimin said lowly, voice like smoke. “But don’t let anyone see.”

Taehyung stared at him for a moment before sitting down slowly. He looked at the file, then back at Jimin.

“Jimin,” he said cautiously. “I thought we were grabbing lunch. You said you needed air—”

“I do,” Jimin cut in, eyes locked on his. “But I also need you to read this.”

Taehyung frowned and reached out, fingers brushing over the folder’s edge. It was thicker than expected. Stuffed with loose sheets, copies of witness statements, scene photos, a timeline chart, red notes scribbled in the margins — all too familiar.

His stomach turned.

“Is this—”

“Y/n’s case,” Jimin whispered. “Reopened.”

Taehyung froze, blinking.

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m not.”

“You—” Taehyung’s voice dropped. “Jimin, are you out of your damn mind?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“No,” Taehyung muttered, sinking into his seat. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Probably haven’t,” Jimin said without missing a beat. “I found the file on my desk three nights ago. No label. No name. Just… there. With a note.”

Taehyung leaned in, his voice lower now. “What kind of note?”

Jimin’s eyes flicked toward the front of the restaurant again, but no one was paying attention. He pulled a folded slip of paper from his coat pocket and slid it to Taehyung.

Taehyung opened it slowly, and stared at the words for a long moment. Then he exhaled hard, rubbing his hand down his face.

“Jimin…” he said, softer this time. “I know this hurts. I know she was everything to you. But this—” he tapped the file, “—this isn’t healthy. You’re not even on this case anymore.”

“I should be,” Jimin snapped. “You know the department. They closed it too quickly. They tied a ribbon on it and called it solved. But it wasn’t.”

Taehyung clenched his jaw. “You were pulled off it because you were emotionally compromised. Everyone knew it.”

Jimin leaned forward, his voice trembling now. “And maybe I was. Maybe I am. But you know what’s worse than grieving?”

Taehyung didn’t answer.

“Not knowing.” Jimin’s voice cracked. “Not knowing who took her. Why. How they got in. Why the alarms never triggered. Why the only camera footage cut out for seven minutes. Nothing adds up.”

There was silence between them.

Taehyung glanced around, paranoid now, suddenly aware of how exposed they were. The smell of grilled meat filled the space between them, but neither of them had touched a menu.

Finally, he spoke again, low and measured.

“Maybe it’s not your job anymore. Maybe it’s time to let someone else figure it out.”

“Someone who doesn’t know her,” Taehyung added.

Jimin’s hands clenched into fists.

“No one else will care the way I do.”

“I care,” Taehyung said, his voice tightening. “We all do. But if you keep going like this, you’re gonna lose yourself. What happens if they find out you’re looking into this on your own? They’ll bury you, Jimin.”

Jimin looked up, eyes dark and wild.

“Then let them. I’d rather be buried next to her than live pretending this is over.”

Taehyung stared at him — really stared — and for a moment, all he saw was the boy he’d known since academy days. The boy with steady hands and sharp instincts. The leader everyone trusted.

But this wasn’t that boy anymore.

This was a man unraveling. Held together by obsession and the weight of a promise.

And yet… behind all of it, something flickered.

Conviction.

A truth Taehyung couldn’t ignore.

He closed the file and leaned back slowly.

“I’m not saying I agree with you,” he said after a long pause. “But… I’m not leaving either.”

Jimin blinked, caught off guard.

“You mean that?”

“Dumbass,” Taehyung muttered. “I just said someone else should handle it. I didn’t say I’d let them.”

They sat in silence again — not comfortable, not easy, but honest.

The grill crackled softly beside them, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

Outside, the rain had started again.

But inside that dim, smoky restaurant, something had shifted.

The dead were speaking.

And they were finally listening.

It had been one of those rare Seoul evenings when the air didn’t feel like smoke and concrete. The summer heat had broken just enough for the wind to breathe again. The apartment windows were wide open, letting in the soft hum of city life — distant horns, an occasional bark, someone’s TV echoing with a laugh track. And in the middle of it all, was you.

Wearing his oversized hoodie and sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, you bit into a tangerine, lips sticky with juice. Jimin stood across from you, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, a mug of tea forgotten in his hands.

“You always eat those like it’s your last meal,” he chuckled, watching you with that lopsided grin that only ever appeared when it was just the two of you.

“Mmm,” you hummed, wiping juice from your lip with the back of your hand. “If I die tonight, at least I’ll go smelling like citrus.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin said too quickly.

You paused.

He hadn’t meant to sound so serious. His grip on the mug tightened slightly, the knuckles of his fingers whitening just a touch. There was a flicker in his eyes — there and gone — like he’d just seen something behind you that wasn’t really there.

You tilted your head. “Hey.” Your voice softened. “I’m kidding.”

“I know,” he said, his smile returning, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You jumped off the counter and padded barefoot to him, arms looping loosely around his neck. “You okay?”

He exhaled against your shoulder. “Yeah. Just… you ever get a weird feeling? Like you know something’s coming, but you don’t know what?”

You blinked. “Are you having another dream?”

Jimin went quiet.

He’d never told you the whole story of the dreams. Just snippets. Shadows. A door that never stayed closed. A whisper in a voice that sounded almost like yours.

You looked up at him, tracing your fingers along his jaw. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it. Like we always do.”

“I know,” he said. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thunder cracked in the distance — not close, but loud enough to make the window panes tremble slightly.

You both looked toward the open window.

The wind picked up then, curling through the curtains like fingers.

Jimin stared at it for a beat too long.

“…Did you lock the front door?” he asked suddenly.

You furrowed your brow. “Yeah. Why?”

“I thought I heard—never mind,” he said, brushing it off, but you could tell it was still bothering him. “Sorry. Long day.”

You took his face in your hands and smiled. “Then come to bed, Detective Park. Your civilian awaits.”

That made him laugh. A real one, this time. One that lit up his entire face and pulled the years off his shoulders. He chased you down the hallway moments later, laughter echoing off the walls, the citrus scent of your skin still on his fingers.

Neither of you noticed the tangerine peel you’d left on the counter.

Or the way the kitchen light flickered once… then steadied.

And somewhere down the hall — too faint to be noticed — the sound of the wind knocking gently against the door.

Once.

Then twice.

#bangtan #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts scan #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x oc #jimin angst #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin fanfic #jimin fanfiction #park jimin fanifc

53 notes · View notes

thelongestway · 3 months ago

Text

Very-very tired for many reasons, but I made it with a very rough draft of the next chapter, ahaha. :P (Do not write near 4000 words in one sitting and stop on a tricky moment, that will block you!)

Very rough because I am very sleepy, will see about editing etc tomorrow.

Edit: Well, it took two days, but I basically added another half-chapter here in the beginning, and will need to quit fiddling with this by now - I'm growing pretty blind to the damn thing! I think I'll leave this one for the edits afterwards and move on.

Chapter 30: Preparations

Preparing for the war game was sort of like preparing for the hacker's game, except I wouldn't have ART with me, and I didn't have the option of just waiting out the opposition until they gave up. (Though letting the humans wear themselves out and then just walking past them would probably have made for a really effective tactic. But we were on a time limit.)

Instead, I waited for the humans to finish their preparations and answered the occasional polite tap from Dandelion, who was helping Aspen weave my outputs into their simulation system and wanted me to test if something was working or not. (Dandelion probably didn't need to help them. She did anyway.)

Aspen was standing next to me, hands folded on their chest, looking at the entrance to their old body and lost in thought. When they noticed my drone pausing next to them, they looked up and gave it a quizzical glance.

"Is everyone in your family out of the simulation area?" I asked.

"Yes, all out safely. Which wasn't hard--it's not like anyone's home much during a Meet anyway. But we'll need to make sure people aren't underfoot during the actual transfer, so this is good practice."

"Yeah. A hostage situation is the last thing this scenario needs."

They nodded. "It's a lot harder for four people to attack a massive gathering watched over by a station than just take someone isolated in their quarters. We can't link Note in to keep track of everyone with main systems down. But they can keep watch over a specific area."

We waited. I stood still (there weren't any chairs in the access corridor we were in), and Aspen paced--two steps forward, two steps back. Then they stopped in front of the old Courageous' wall and leaned back on it, frowning and looking up. Like they were talking to themselves.

"It sucks, though," they finally said, familiar bitterness in their voice. "This entire thing. I wish this wasn't how I had to say goodbye to them."

"What do you mean? Your cluster isn't coming with you?"

"They can't come. You'd be surprised how small of a cutting and stimulus you need to regrow the same synnerve patterns. I know my cluster too well. Having them with me would defeat the entire point of trying to retrain me on a whole new synnerve system."

I had a brief mental image of ART having to leave its humans behind if it wanted to be a station. (For some reason. I backburnered the thought too quickly to figure out exactly what reason.)

"How long is that going to take?"

"It's anyone's guess at this point. But we're looking at months or years. Maybe decades," they looked away, chewing on their lip. I wasn't monitoring their performance reliability or emotional instability or whatever, but I could bet it took a hit.

Stop borrowing grief from the future, Aspen, Dandelion said matter-of-factly, sending us her latest piece of code, designed to register fake outputs from my energy weapons.

"That's my entire job," they grumbled as they double-checked the code and implemented it on their end.

Dandelion retorted: No, your entire job right now is to get through the transfer intact. The rest is for others to handle.

Aspen snorted quietly, but I could see them smiling again as they refocused on their work. (They were also working on their own code, which Dandelion checked.) Both ships didn't talk much about it. They just sent each other snippets, picking up where the other left off seamlessly.

(Seeing them work together like that gave me a weird emotion. I backburnered it before I accidentally started bothering Aspen about it.)

Instead, I implemented my part, then tapped Dandelion's feed. Threat assessment on the transfer? Not on the security end, on the medical end.

It's complicated, she replied. Aspen being the first experimental node ship has made their synnerve system very convoluted, and trying to prune it without damaging them isn't an easy task. We're probably not going to lose them, but quality of life outcomes are variable.

Are you worried?

Dandelion sent me a snapshot of her performance reliability. It was hovering at the 95% mark.

No, she said. But I will be busy during the transfer, Note will have their processes full with two stations' worth of critical operations and all of the humans, and Blaze has space-side monitoring. With respect to your part of the job, the security teams will have to pull through on their own.

Then we'd better start practicing, I said.

She gave me a grateful tap, neatly caught the piece of code Aspen sent back to her, and implemented it.

---

Nike's and Aspen's humans were better at this than I thought humans who only had tactical simulation experience would be. They managed to get a few hits on me in the first scenario, where I infiltrated the Courageous as quietly as possible, and in the second scenario, where I imitated standard corporate tactics, they actually took me down. But that was after I killed 27 out of 36 human defenders, which was not what they were expecting either. Hiram and Basil (Nike's and Aspen's respective security chiefs, and jointly in charge of the simulation and upcoming defense) looked pretty rattled afterwards, but they really were a lot like my Preservation humans, which meant that despite being rattled, they immediately began updating their plans for the defense.

Their plans didn't involve me.

Tell them you're available for a contract, ART said second thing after it finally tapped my feed.

(First thing it did was send me a record of the ships' discussions, with commentary. It was weird. Looking at Dandelion, Aspen and Note in comparison to Nike and Blaze was sort of like looking at my Preservation humans in comparison to other Preservation humans, the ones who'd never encountered the Rim directly before. Except they were all ships like ART.)

They know that.

ART sent me one of its versions of the eyeroll emoji. (This one had five eyes).

I have had ample time to observe Aspen's humans. They will not engage a member of another node ship's crew of their own initiative.

It would be pretty rude to do that, yeah, Aspen said somewhere to my side, and I nearly jumped. I knew they hadn't just snuck up on me to sit on an overturned crate which their humans had used as part of a barricade, leaning forward a little, but try telling my fucking organics that! But I can inform them myself, provided you're interested?

Hiram and Basil both saw my face change and looked where my drones went. (Right now they looked like they were hovering over a random crate.)

"I'm just talking to Aspen," I said, "You can keep asking questions."

"You can do that at the same time?" Hiram said, looking surprised.

"And watch media. And code. And fight. And other things, too." I executed a little complicated maneuver with my drones at the same time as I tapped their handheld communicators.

To Aspen, I said: I can tell them. We're already talking anyway. Also, you didn't answer me during the referee call: why the fuck do you have carbon monoxide in your fucking ventilation systems?

Because the Courageous did, which was really fucking creepy. I mean, any ship AI could kill people if it wanted, but this wasn't ART's repurposed pathfinders. Carbon monoxide wired into the ventilation was a weapon that couldn't be used for anything except killing people.

Early corporate failsafe, Aspen said, shrugging. Antarctica wanted a way to kill the colonists if their plans didn't pan out. We repurposed the infrastructure later, but it was easy enough to put the weapons back now that we need them.

And your family doesn't mind?

Aspen's face twisted, and they folded their hands, looking guarded. They suggested it.

"Hell and high water," Hiram said, exchanging looks with Basil. "Nike said you were a node ship in human form, but I don't think I realized until now just how true that was."

"Even when I kicked your asses?"

"We have no real combat experience," Basil said. "You do. We expected to get our asses kicked at least a little, just not quite so thoroughly."

"You have better threat assessments than your ships," I said, and ART sent me a clip of Nike's outraged Hey! in the feed.

(To my left, Aspen gave a short laugh and said, Nobody who gets far enough to be a node ship ever has good threat assessments.)

(I agreed.)

"Let's hope they've improved enough to help us against our hostiles. They may not be little nodes, but they do have combat experience," Hiram said. "Thank you for the games, SecUnit. We'll make good use of the lessons."

He offered me a hand again.

I said, "I don't touch people unless I need to rescue them."

"Ah. I apologize," Hiram withdrew his hand. "Then thank you again, and do not let us keep you."

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"I'm available for further collaboration. And for the day of the transfer."

Basil and Hiram exchanged looks. Basil said, "Really? You're not busy with your clusters?" (Ke sounded surprised. Not in a "fuck off" way, but genuinely surprised.)

"Yes, I'm part of ART's crew. No, that doesn't mean I don't want to help defend the station. My humans are all going to be here during the transfer. The earlier the hostiles are neutralized, the safer they'll be."

"Well, then. Welcome on board, SecUnit," Hiram said, nodding, and his tone suddenly became a lot less formal. "We've got plans to discuss. D'you eat?"

"No."

"Mind if we do?"

"No."

"Then c'mon," Hiram turned and waved for me to follow him. "The Courageous cluster promised us dinner. Let's go get what food they left for us, settle into a spot and have ourselves a chat."

After about an hour of conversation in one of the Courageous' lounges and some literal napkin planning (with Aspen, Nike and ART providing occasional commentary through the speakers), I finally had a role in the Trellians' plan.

Both Nike and Aspen's security team agreed that the hostiles must want one of the hearts. ("Makes no sense otherwise," Tabby--Nike's hacker who'd killed her team by shutting down my grenade drone--said, "Caldera figured out the ships' intelligence pretty early, it figures they'd want in on it. And without the heart, the old Courageous is a bunch of scrap metal--no offense, Aspen!"

"None taken," Aspen said through their speakers. Their illusion spoke the words, too, and looked like they meant it.)

Note's security would be handling most of the civilians at the festival (where no one really expected any trouble, but Hiram sort of hoped the festival would keep civilians busy enough not to accidentally run into the corporate team), while Nike and Aspen's security would be handling the respective hearts. Hiram and Basil both thought there was also a chance that the Calderan team might go for Nike as the ship with newer neural architecture, and then the old Courageous was either a distraction or a mistake on the hostile's part. The old Courageous would still be empty, since Aspen's cluster had a role to play in the ceremony, same as Nike's cluster. Only the specialist cluster members would be doing the transfer, and they would be guarded at all times.

"If the target is Aspen, then we think the most probable moment of attack won't be on the Courageous' center, but at one of the corridor junctions, so the heart pod is already loaded and ready to move, and also close to Magma. That's the point we'll be monitoring the most heavily, and our teams will also be moving along with the hearts," Basil said. "But just in case, we've transferred most of the sensitive data off the old Courageous' systems. If Caldera miscalculates, all they will find is an empty old ship."

This didn't look too bad. Getting their house hit would suck for Aspen's family, but nobody would be dead.

Hiram said, "Considering your sheer speed and firepower, SecUnit, we want you to be our first response team if we've misread Caldera and they wind up hitting something we haven't considered--or the reinforcements to any team to make enemy contact. We'd like you to do as much monitoring as you can, and if a priority threat makes itself known, to go in and neutralize it. To that end, I think we'd be stationing you near the civilans, with Note. That's easy access to the Courageous' main body, which can work as a tunnel through half the station and is one of the priority targets, and only slightly harder access to Nike's new station."

"Who do I respond to?"

"Not respond, coordinate," Basil said, "You're basically Perihelion's chief of security, right? We'll treat you as one. You have autonomy in your sphere, but if one of us two--plus Note's chief--sends you a stand down code, you do. Conversely, you can send us a stand down code, and we'll do that, too."

"Or at least reassess. No guarantee that anyone will be be standing down until the end of the situation, but it will give the others a heads-up something isn't right," Hiram added. "Sound like a plan?"

ART's chief of security. I liked that. (I wondered what Senior Indah would have thought of me being treated like a security chief.)

"Yeah." I said. "Let's do that."

#the nameless fanfic #ttou #time to orbit unknown #tmbd #horrible crossover thoughts #my writing

13 notes · View notes

thefirsthogokage · 2 years ago

Text

More call outs on bullshit the AMPTP is saying they have all the risk and the people who work on their productions don't.

This has been in my drafts for apparently like a month and a half and I have no idea why I didn't just post this before. Anywho, sorry, my bad.

[Image ID: a tweet thread from Geoff Thorne's (@wintermanbooks) from July 23rd, 2023, that reads:

When I agreed to come on as showrunner for Black Panther's Quest, I was presented with an NDA that precluded me or my reps from telling anyone what I was doing or who for, for the duration. this took a 2-year bite out of my career & ghosted me in the eyes of potential employers.

When I was done with that job, my live-action career was AGGRESSIVELY stalled because, as more than one potential employer told me, "I thought you'd left the business." That 1 job (nominated for 2 IMAGE awards, BTW) nearly ended my career. Talk to me about risk again. #WGAStrong

CODA.

Even though I was the showrunner & head writer on that show, because it was an animation gig, guess what I get in residuals for that near career-killer?

That's right, zero dollars. No, risk?

Go and entirely fuck yourselves, you money-shuffling posers.

(Link to tweets: one - two - three)

/End ID]

[Image ID: A tweet thread by Matt Altman (@mattaltman2) from July 23rd, 2023 (that I had a real hard time getting to because Twitter is bullshit or him deleting it? Or he went private? Probably the glitching) that reads in its entirety:

I optioned a script and did 23 rewrites and a bunch of polishes for free so we could get a director attached and then they’d activate the one paid rewrite. I barely (with the help of friends) paid rent for months. But we don’t take risks. Oh yeah— that happened more than once

I “sold” my first script, got an announcement in Deadline, had meetings about the rewrite, and waited over a year and a half for the lawyers… only for the company to declare bankruptcy and never get paid. But no risk. I’ve done untold hours of free development… but no risk.

Optioned a feature script with rewrite. They brought me in for another rewrite, but were shocked when my reps billed for the optional step. They expected free pass. Fired me, hired a big writer to rewrite my original spec for 7 figures. My step would’ve cost 25k. But no risk

(Link to tweets: one - two - three)

/End ID]

#wga strike #wga strong #sag aftra strike #sag aftra strong #fuck amptp

21 notes · View notes

achilleasfury · 1 year ago

Note

Jiggy knows A-Yuan :( attachment

Tell me about this /sticks hands out my enclosure

OKAY SO!!

Honestly, i dont remember where the wen siblings were in canon when Jiggy was in Nightless city, but for fic sake, theyre there now. Wen Yao meets Wen qing, and while there is a lot of mutual suspicion they... get along? Theyre not best friends, but they help each other. Wen Qing shows Yaoyao how he can heal/help his own wounds and pain and also like. Basic biology stuff. That concept has already been there in a few wen yao fics i think?

Anyways i adore the headcanon that Wen yuan is Wen Xus son, so we r sticking with that!

Wen Yao is there for the birth! *waves hand around* he knows the mother (not sure yet if she'll be from the dafan wen or like. Just there.) And has been keeping her company through the last bits of her pregnancy, esp when WQ wasnt there to do it. Since he has thr experience from the brothel in hoth working with pregnant women but also birth? Something like that.

so when A-Yuans mother dies and WX is gone as well, when Wen Yao isnt working/actively doused in blood, he helps take care of A-Yuan and supervises the time WRH spends with his grandson.

So when WRHs state gets insanely bad, Wen yao is the one saying "maybe you should send a-yuan with Wen qing away so nothing happens to them,with all the fighting going on? :(" and WRH agrees!

During the last bit Wen yao doesnt see Wen qing nor a-yuan.

End of sunshot happens, jiggy gets acknowledged, whoop whoop.

[And here i mess with canon even more bc i cant actually remember when wgat event happens lol]

Something? Sets the Jins of earlier/Jin Zixun brings Jiggy with him when he visits the Wen Camp. He arrives shortly after when WN was used as target practice.

this is where the fic actually starts lol i put an exerpt here but this is very much a draft-draft so i'l probably fo "fuck these specific sentences" in like 3 weeks and rewrite it.

// not graphic character death (jin zixun)

He was breathing hard, and not breathing at all at the same time.

His eyes ran wild, trying to make sense of the scene before his eyes, trying to comprehend what was happening.

This, this should not be happening.

The child should not be here. it should be somewhere safe with relatives, all hidden away. It should not be here, face smeared with blood and dirt, holding onto Wen Qionlins dying body.

In his … was it terror? - panic? - distress? - he almost didn't register Wen Qing raising her voice at him, and his cousin - Jin Zixun - screaming something.

When he looked at the two of them, he was almost surprised to find his dagger buried in Jin Zixuns chest.

He was holding the dagger.

Stupid. Why did he do that?

“Yao-gege!”, the child, still clinging onto the, other, dying man, gasped, tears and snot dripping down his face. “You have to help him!

since jiggy does know the Wens pretty well in here, his reluctance to harm innocent/the ones he is attached to, i want to go into the direction of a big inner turmoil between familial piety and "they were the closest thing to an actually real and loving family i ever had"[excluding mama meng. Love her. Gorgoeus woman.]

Also, the even worse not-trust between jiggy and nmj, since well. Wens.

Also im trying to figure out how this situation could actually like. Give 3zun a nudge into healthier dynamics-ish?

Also nmj needs to see jiggy with ANOTHER baby in his arms and have a crisi about it. He deserves it.

Ideally ofc this all would lead to jgs dying early/jiggy being able to let go of him earlier, but, who knows! I sure dont.

I also want to give the lotus trio and jiggy a bit of a more relationship? Since wwx, his attachment to the wens and jiggy and his attachment to a-yuan will like. Kinda bind them tgt and i need yanli to 'take' jiggy in. Theyre great.

I feel like i forhot half of what i wanted to say but im in a anthropology lecture rn and its INTERESTING so ":D

#Mdzs #jin guangyao #a yuan #Wip #Herecticcryptid #Jiggy deserves a Big Sister Figure #Or a wife i guess #This is not gonna be focused on ships so who knows!#achillea writes

6 notes · View notes

photoniccyclone · 1 year ago

Text

SFR Update - Making progress

Hey ho! In my last update, I told you I had been outlining a big scene that would be the last one big one in the chapter. While I have yet to finish that scene, I made A LOT of progress on it. If this scene were normal-sized, it would've been done already; the issue is it's REALLY CHONKY. It's probably the longest scene this fic has had by far, so it's taking a lot to get done.

Also, thanks to the scene being so long, the chapter has passed the 16k word limit, so I'll have to see what to do about that. I will probably cut some stuff out or split it into two shorter chapters, as it likely won't be long enough to split into two full-sized chapters. But I know of some... "fluff" that I may be able to cut out to shorten the length, so I'll probably try that first. In the situation where that doesn't end up working, y'all might end up with two 11k word chapters or something because the current word count of the whole chapter is around 18k. And to that we can expect maybe 1k, 2k, or more words to be added to finish the current scene, and then perhaps about 1k or 2k words to hopefully cover the following two scenes combined.

But yeah, hopefully, the scene will be done sometime in the next week or two, and then I can speedrun the last two scenes and get this thing ready for editing, which will require some more time but hopefully as not as long as the rough draft (as always).

Also, I will have to change some things from previous chapters that I want you all to be aware of when the chapter gets uploaded. I'll mention it in the author's notes when it comes out, too, and I'll say exactly what's been changed, so you don't need to go back and read.

Here are the things that will be changing (if you haven't caught up on SFR yet, which, at the time of posting, means read chapters 1-6; don't read through these yet as they may contain some spoilers. Again, I'll put something similar explaining what's been changed in the author's notes of chapter 7, so don't worry).

For cannon compliance, Sol Regem no longer burned down Elarion. Instead, he tried to, but Ziard successfully stopped him, as in the show. This was initially in there because I thought that after Ziard blinded Sol Regem, he flew back to Elarion and burned it down. This belief held by many, including me at the time, seems to have stemmed from the Midnight Star poem. This, however, at least as far as we know right now, is false. Sol Regem did not manage to burn down Elarion, and the more likely explanation is that all of its citizens were kicked out in the judgment of the half-moon. I debated for a while on whether or not to change this in the fic because it is an au, so technically, I can keep it in there and just claim it's one of the things that have been changed, but a future scene is going to need the canon version of events anyway so this is going to have to be changed. It shouldn't be too hard to do. It's only been brought up in the fic twice so far, and one of them is just a change from "burned down Elarion" to "tried burning down Elarion," pretty much. The other occurs earlier in the fic in chapter 1 and may be harder to change because it's one of the things that Zym roasts Sol Regem on in a way that's not so easily changed. So I'm either going to have to come up with something else for Zym to roast Sol Regem on as a replacement or try to still work with the original one and just change it so it talks about him for attempting to burn it down rather than burning it down. I don't know how easy or hard that will be; that's also in the future when this chapter is pretty much done. I just wanted to let you know this will be changing.

2. In chapter 4, during Team Rayla's battle at the Earthblood settlement. Multiple injuries reference arrows "lodged" into limbs. The problem is, I recently did some research and figured out that if an arrow gets "lodged" into a limb, that limb is going to be out of commission for quite some time; it will likely not just be an "ouchie" that will cause you some pain for a while as it's kinda been shown in the fic. I never wanted the injuries sustained during that fight to be too debilitating as it would make some future scenes not work. I planned to make the injuries bad enough to lower morale, but not enough to put limbs completely out of commission. So, this is gonna have to be changed. I plan on changing places where an arrow gets "Lodged" into a limb to places where an arrow "grazes" the limb. So, it grazes the limb instead of implanting itself into it, decreasing the severity. Hopefully, this will make what they experience after the fight more believable, and it shouldn't be too hard to change.

That's all for now; hopefully, I'll see you all in the not-too-distant future!

#the dragon prince #tdp #fanfic #sol regem #sun fueled rage #sfr #fanfiction #ao3 #writing #SFR update #We're slowly hopefully approaching the light at the end of the tunnel on chapter 7 #There's some pretty cool scenes in here that I can't wait for y'all to see!

1 note · View note

dzpenumbra · 2 years ago

Text

6/28/23

I don't even know where to start with today. I surprisingly slept decently. I don't know if I dreamt, but I slept at least 6 hours. I got up and immediately started setting up a business account on Stripe.

I was browsing an art subreddit trying to figure out how to like... process payments as a freelance business. I honest have only done a handful over the years, because my pushover ass just gave away thousands of dollars worth of art for free. The few that I did for money, I used PayPal. But that was... almost 10 years ago, and I was reading that it's not the best for this kinda stuff.

I got super overwhelmed just trying to read stuff about business. It's like nails on a chalkboard for me, I swear. I think it's an emotional wall thing, like a trauma thing. I don't know. I just get super overwhelmed and have a really hard time focusing, and have to re-read things like 10 times and I just get super frustrated. But I got through it. It took like 2 hours, but I decided to put my PayPal account aside for now, keep that personal... and set up a business Stripe account, dedicated to my art stuff. And it's done, it's set up. I started going through the process of sending an invoice, it was surprisingly pretty simple, and really customizable, and looked really snazzy once I put a color scheme and logo in there.

I did yoga, which was very relaxing. Very low-key, very chill, and very positive. I'm very glad I chose that video today. I watched a video before it about orange cats (my cat was orange) and it made me really miss having pets, and I got a really strong sudden urge to go out and adopt two older cats. A few things stopped me. 1). I have a plant in the house that is toxic to animals, the Night-Blooming Jasmine, and I really don't want to worry about it. 2). I don't want to worry about coming home to a destroyed house if I ever decide to go out. 3). I don't have a vehicle or a ride, so if there is a vet emergency, I'm really fucked. 4). I'm just not really there yet, emotionally. But yeah, it was nice to just reflect fondly on my time with my cat. And chill yoga after was a nice transition. Then a pretty gentle workout. It was a pretty good start to the day.

I was nice and calm, I had the security of having payment processing ready and available, taxes should be processed through it too. The exercise was pretty calming too, so I was really in a pretty good place. Then I messaged the guy who commissioned a tattoo design. I reached out to get info from him - what medium he wanted (either hand-drawn or digital), to get his email for the invoice, and to let him know I planned on charging half upfront, half when I finished. That's how I always planned to. I sent him that on Instagram, which he said was his preferred contact point, and started drafting something.

I "drafted"... for 3 hours. I had a pretty good idea of what he wanted, he gave me a reference photo and said he wanted a specific pose - the owl swooping to the side with its claws out, hunting - but with the head turned so it was facing the viewer. I got the foundation started, and it started to take form and it was really looking good. It's really hard to do believable realism that is altered from reference pictures. At least for me. My way of doing realism has been just basically... replicating what I'm looking at. Like... do I have an example on hand? ...

There, that's a portrait I drew --- well, duh... --- but I just... pulled up a reference picture and pulled it up on my laptop and had my piece of... I think this was on Bristol paper, and just started drawing. And there it is. And it's not an exact copy, of course. But that's just... how I've always drawn a lot of my work. So... say you wanted to do this piece... but... without a beard. Right? That... honestly wouldn't be too hard, but it would take some really educated guesses. Or other reference pictures showing what his jaw structure looks like, what kind of chin he has, whether he has jowls (I doubt it, but you never know), whether he has a pronounced philtrum or not, etc. Again, you can kinda eyeball this and get an idea, but... you'd have to be psychic to get it 100% accurate. You're literally working without information.

Now... imagine drawing this portrait... but with the head rotated 1/4 to the right so his face is looking over your right shoulder... with no reference material on other angles. It's doable, and the more I think about it the more I want to challenge myself to try it sometime... I'm actually getting really excited about that, now that I think about it. But like... yeah, you need to have a pretty comprehensive understanding of anatomy and lighting to be able to do that accurately, believably. And, again, you're working with information that is not provided, so you have to fill in blanks. How wide is his ear? How long is his skull? What shape is it? Is it more oblong or round? How far does his nose extend off his face... Is the tip of the nose pointed, rounded or flat? How sunken in are the eyes? How much do the jaw or lips protrude? Is there over or underbite? How pronounced is the brow? A lot of the depth information you can kinda... deduce from the darkness of the shadows, but some features can get a little hard to predict. And sometimes even tiny little differences can make the face look completely different.

This is really advanced shit, and not stuff I have spent too much time on. Again, I have spent most of my time doing either... weird surreal stuff from my imagination, abstract work, cartoonish stylized stuff or or realism direct from reference. And this dude didn't have a reference. Well... he kinda did, but he wanted the head turned 90 degrees.

So I pulled up Krita and did three separate sketches. I got one really close to where I wanted it, just drawing the bird he liked the pose of. Then I went and turned the head to look at the viewer. And, in the sketch, it looked... well, it looked believable. It looked organic. I don't think it would ever happen, so it didn't entirely look natural to me. I mean, you'd have to really surprise an owl to get its attention mid-swoop as it's calculatingly slowing its descent towards its dinner. But here's where I got with it. When you turn your head to the right and look over your right shoulder... do it now so you can sorta feel what I'm talking about. Pay attention to your left shoulder. It takes some pretty strong deliberate effort to not move your left shoulder when you do that. Now... owls are notorious for their ability to independently rotate their necks, I get that. But I don't really know enough about bird anatomy to understand what's going on under the feathers there. So... that's the problem I started to run into.

First - it felt like the left wing would move with that head movement, because it wasn't so much of a swivel of the head, it was more of a lean, like craning the neck, kinda. And the movement of the left wing would change... pretty much everything. I would have to figure out the angle of descent, where the wing bones were hiding behind the torso, where the shoulder socket is, find those new locations and change the entire wing rotation to match the right wing's angle. That's like... pretty basic aerodynamics, like... what happens when you go to fly a kite, but one side isn't perfectly flat, it's kinda bent back a little... Yep, it just goes spiraling. And most people don't notice this kinda stuff in art specifically... but I think a lot of people can sorta feel something a little uncanny about it when its off. Like... they can tell it's a drawing. On the flip side, when those details are accurate, the "wow factor" is much more significant.

I struggled with this for about an hour. Adjusting the wing angle, tweaking, all that. In hindsight... I probably shouldn't have started working on the piece at all, even a sketch, without payment first. But yeah, I got on a roll so I went with it. And eventually I found a comfy place to settle the wing. And that was actually a bit easier than the next part. So... rotate your head to the right again. This time, pay attention to what happens to the skin on the right side of your neck. It kinda bunches up, kinda creases. Here's the fun thing with fur and feathers... you don't technically have to know what's going on with the skin under the fur/feathers, but again, it helps with believability... But either way, when the head rotates, it's at very least going to smoosh up feathers and create some dark shadow creases. So I had to figure out where those creases would form when bunching up against the shoulder, and figure out how this ripple would alter the feather patterns. And I got that pretty decent.

Then I started to just... add in "color". Translating the color to black and white and blocking the color by area, with intention of adding detail later.

Given how much I got done in such a short time, I was worried I kinda overcharged the guy. I went off how much work I did on the last owl - a realistic Barred Owl... the one in my profile picture. It took over 40 hours total, it was a full page so... I think 11"x14"? A bit smaller than that to add a margin in. Full color, lots of detail, that size... This guy wanted an owl with less detail, black and white, and 5"x7". So... I estimated that would take about 15 hours. I think it was a fair estimate. But I'm not sure how much of that time was spent blending colors, you know? I don't know. I was a little worried I overquoted considering how much I got done in such a short time digitally today.

Welp, he messaged me back at 11PM. Right when I was getting ready to make some dinner and fire up my stream. He backed out of the commission. He said his tattooist offered to draw and tattoo the whole thing for what would end up being... about $200 less for him than having me draw it and her ink it. Again... I probably shouldn't have started without getting paid first. I know. But honestly, it was good practice. And I enjoyed it. And I tried to be really supportive of him and tell him I understand and tattoos are a super important decision and I'm glad to have been part of the progress, even if it was just a creative spark that helped him find what he wanted on his body permanently. And I do mean that. Even though it fucks me over, even though I could really use some idea of what to do with my life. Even though this gave me some purpose and direction... I do mean it. I don't want to fuck someone over just to get money. But I can't allow myself to bring that price down to fractions, that's just... naw. Like... I would have to do like $100 to meet what the tattooist was proposing and stay in the game, and I had already done like... $75 worth of work on this? So yeah... I don't think it was gonna happen.

Again, I just really wish I had some coaching, or at least a second pair of eyes on this shit. I almost called my mom even, I'm really glad I didn't. It ran through my head while making dinner to maybe call my old advisor at some point, the then head of the Art department at my old college. I think she still works there. But like... I haven't talked to her in... since 2010? Good lord. Oh wow. Time fucking flies. And... I don't know if she really liked me... I was always a very free spirit and I made a lot of weird shit. I don't think she really... got what I was doing with a lot of my stuff. Hell, I'm not sure I even get what I was doing back then either. I was all over the place. But hey, some things never change, yeah? XD

I just feel... I feel like I need a mentor. And I get stuck in this shitty place where I'm like... Okay, half of me is going "just swallow your pride and pretend you're in college getting on stage to do a gig... and just go to a tattoo shop and check out their art and talk shop and see if they need any help working the counter or something." That said... I'm going to be 37 in a few months, I don't have any on-paper work history since... probably 2015? I have pretty debilitating mental health shit I'm battling on a regular basis, I'm writing this at 5:30 AM so I'm fully nocturnal, I have no references. Not even friends or family as references. I mean, what I do have going for me? I don't have a criminal record, I am a hard worker, a very fast learner, I go above and beyond and I have an extensive art history, and tattooing experience. But here's an even bigger catch than the life stuff I mentioned above... I'm not even sure I want to be a tattooist. I've entertained the idea just so I can... be around creative people, and get paid. Like... I might be the only actual artist with an art degree and 15 years of experience who legit only wants to work the counter. I'm not sure I could really take the permanence and pressure of inking skin anymore. And my hand is much shakier than it used to be.

But lets be honest here. I'm coming from almost 3.5 years of extreme isolation. I haven't seen a human face in... 2 days? And that was quickly passing people in the hallway. I leave my apartment maybe once a week. And I'm going to be... working a counter at a tattoo shop, around people all day every day? Do we see this going well?

I don't know. I'm just really overwhelmed, and balls-deep in impostor syndrome. And I've been having a pretty constant existential crisis for the past 24 hours. I'm just kinda biding time until therapy. Which... get this... is going to be my last therapy session for a month. Then it's total isolation. And I don't have a plan. So... I don't know, man. I just don't know what to do. I really don't.

The worst part? I got really inspired. XD I got a really cool idea. I've had this idea for a long time now of... making an animated piece that's similar to my abstract bubble-like designs, but simulating mitosis. I think I've described it here before. And I'd still like to play around with that sometime, maybe. I spun off of this with the thought... "if I want to be like... a gallery artist... like a fine artist... if that's my thing... then what would I submit to a gallery?" And I definitely have a theme going of this abstract organic stuff. I have the necklace and the mala, I have the skull, I have the digital piece I'm working on... I even have the Be Here Now sign, but that's more for me... but the big thing that caught me was the series I was doing of ink drawings. That could easily be a series in a gallery. BUT... (there's always a but, isn't there...) they are all very deliberately drawn with the holes in the paper in mind, meaning... they are intended to be kept in the sketchbook they are in, and viewed as a series that is flipped through. And that's just not gonna fly in a gallery. I can't have strangers flipping through my sketchbook with their sweaty oily sausage fingers. It's just not gonna happen. So... I don't know, I could crop them. It's possible. But the second part to that thought was... they were intended to be viewed as a series and the series is supposed to be the entire sketchbook. I did 10 drawings, they took about 2 days average apiece. The sketchbook is over 45 pages long. It's doable, but it's gonna take time. The third part of the thought was... ooo, I could combine the mitosis idea with this "flipbook" series idea... and just do this pattern as one big bubble... then 2 on the next page... then 4... then 8... I just.. I don't know if that's too... boring. I feel like the transformation and movement of it is really the most engaging part. Not just seeing the effect of growth, but seeing the growth itself.

But yeah, that's kinda where I'm at right now. Kinda floundering and not sure what to do with myself. Very deep in impostor syndrome. Feeling like a complete waste of space that just sits around and makes crappy art that no one cares about, that has no rhyme or reason. On the flip side, though... I have an established business account and a way to process direct payments for anything now... art lessons, music lessons, tarot readings, jewelry. If I want to do the farmer's market shit, I can just order a card reader, they're like... $60 I think?

So... at the end of the night, I decided to work on some beads. At very least I have that.

I'm gonna chill on this work talk because it's really fucking with the existential dread shit. And I've been going for hours now. Tarot and then bed.

Past - Ten of Swords, inverted (The death of a way of thinking, or a state of mind. An ending that has been forced upon you causing mental anguish; illness, betrayal. ) Present - Knight of Wands, inverted (Creative potential, vivacious, not afraid of a challenge, he is naturally disarming and uses it to his advantage. Passionate, complete dedication to anything enrapturing. When in extreme, he can be a daredevil; reckless and potentially dangerous.) Future - Page of Cups (Pure emotion. Innocence, wearing one’s heart on their sleeve. Channeling one’s inner child.)

It's baaaack. This one starts with inverted Ten of Swords. This being... the death of a way of thinking. A mindset, paradigm or world view. And the inversion here kinda feels like... stuck.

This is connected to inverted Knight of Wands. I'm still shaky on my face cards, but Knight of Wands is the bearer of the flame. The beginning of the creative fire. He's energetic and creative and enthusiastic. Inverted here I would read as either... difficulty connecting with this rogue-like personality... or being stuck in some of the more unsavory aspects when that personality is out of balance. Like being a daredevil or taking unnecessary risks. (I dunno about that one... XD)

The conclusion is Page of Cups. Page of Cups is the young, eager, brave, childlike navigator. He guides the ship through stormy seas by following the guidance of his heart.

Hey, I just did a reading without even opening my reference doc. How cool is that? :) Time to fill in definitions and connect some dots here.

Alright, Ten of Swords I did recently. In this chain of events, I guess... honestly, I'm not sure. I want to say clinging to a way of thinking that... is past its prime, that has elapsed. That I should be moving on and I'm just sorta laying on the ground suffering. I'm just not sure which state of mind it's referring to. I've changed so much. This is leading me to what could be a really big creative breakthrough... but something is off with it. Something is out of whack, unbalanced. In my notes, I likened Knight of Wands to a moment when I called a friend over to watch me snowskate because I had a gut feeling I was getting close with my first varial flip and I wanted someone to witness it. And I had this... suave confidence to me, and I was just like... "watch this"... and I went and did it first try, probably the smoothest varial flip I've ever done. Because I was confident and I full committed to it. That's the vibe I get from Knight of Wands, full-commit with creative endeavors. Which - just like with skating - is legendary when it lands, but if it's unbalanced... it can be a bit dangerous. That's why I get a little... off-put when I see inverted Knight of Wands. It makes me think of when I went kayaking in a river with a friend the day after a hurricane, and the river was super flooded and all whitewater, and we both almost died. It was flat-out stupid and I still get fucking haunting chills just thinking about it. Ugh... horrible feeling. Like "I am so fucking lucky, I shouldn't be alive." So... I get a little spooked when I see inverted Knight of Wands, but that's just how I'm reading it and it might not be as severe as I fear. Maybe it's just that my confidence and cavalier nature with setting my art prices lost me the commission. Idk. Either way, this leads to a potential future of... Learning from this and... connecting with my emotions more. Purely. Innocently. Following my heart and allowing myself to be a bit clumsy, be a bit naïve, but all passion, all play, all from the heart.

I guess I just don't really know what my heart wants.

My heart is lonely. That feels like a given. It wants friends, it wants to play, it wants to joke and laugh and goof off. I just don't know what it wants... career-wise. And that's been the big struggle the past two days. And god fucking damn do I need a mentor to just talk to about this. Someone who can be patient with the perpetual push-and-pull tug-of-war in my head, and help me find a place in life where my passions and drive and really fucking abnormal lifestyle can flourish rather than be a hinderance. There's gotta be a way.

Instead of linger on that, I'm going to look at the placeholder card. A new one!!! Six of Wands, inverted. Ha! Six of Wands is... praise and recognition. Inverted, blocked or dysfunctional, not working, out of balance, presenting itself but I can't connect with it functionally. Yep. That's a tough one. As I regularly read Stream Summaries that average less than 1 viewer.

But looking on the bright side? A guy approached me after a year and a half, he remembered my owl drawing streams from 2021. He specifically commissioned me based on my skill, when I had like... 1 viewer, if that. He said it was specifically because he wanted to support me as an artist. That meant a lot to me, and still does. Even though he can't afford this, regardless of whether I made the price too high, he still appreciates my art. He still thinks my work is so good that he wants it inked into his dermis for the rest of his life. I can't let that sentiment slip away, I can't let shit block me from engaging with that praise. Because that's a really big compliment.

I have no idea where things are going to go from here. But for right now, I'm just going to take it one day at a time.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

0 notes

iwaizumis-bitch · 4 years ago

Note

Pervert ushiwaka please!! omg I love your works!!

notes: yes YES I LOVE THIS CONCEPT and thank u so much <333 also yall literally make my day when u say anything in my inbox please do i promise u ill reply

part two

ushijima wakatoshi x female reader (timeskip)

content warnings: nsfw mdni, flashing, non con groping, stalking tendencies, non con voice recording, oral; m receiving

word count: 797

pervert!ushijima who wasn’t a pervert. he always respected women and never dared to look at them in an obscene way, until you came along. you in your tight shirt, buttons almost popping off at how tight the shirt was taut around your chest. his eyes couldn’t help but find their way back onto your tits every time he looked away. not to mention the way they almost fell out when you’d bend over.

pervert!ushijima who, as the teams starting outside hitter, was eager to get to know you, always lending a helping hand. he lived for when your fingertips would brush when you pass him a bottle. such a good little manager, you were. always bending yourself over to pick up a stray volleyball, giving all the boys more motivation to keep practicing with a flash of your panties.

pervert!ushijima who always sat next to you on the bus to games. he knew you preferred the window seat, and he was happy that way nobody except him was close to you. and when you fell asleep on his shoulder, he wasn’t going to miss the opportunity of feeling up for sexy body. especially when nobody could see. his hand would graze over your cunt through the track pants, feeling your throbbing core ache at his touch as you snored.

pervert!ushijima who noticed how flustered you got over everything. when fukuro’s eyes would wink at you after admiring your figure, or when kageyama when bite his lip whenever you talked to him, staring at your own. you always had the same reaction. your cheeks turned pink as you pulled you lips into a thin line, trying to calm yourself.

pervert!ushijima who always offered to drive you home after practice. he knew you loved his car, and loved seeing you blush. he had written in his notes which apartment was yours, and often sent flowers or other gifts anonymously. of course he wouldn’t send you such gifts without a win for him, so he did occasionally (every time) slip in a little voice recorder so he could just hear your voice. whether you were just talking on the phone, or desperately rubbing on your clit and moaning, wakatoshi was on the other side with his cock in his hand.

pervert!ushijima who stayed late to practice his serves, and you were such a good manager offering to help him by passing him the stray balls. he insisted you wait in his car whilst he showers so he can drive you home after, so you did. you quickly realised you forgot your phone, which was now out of your bag and sat on the bleachers. you quickly fetched it, when you heard a door open next to you. your eyes shot up, as you thought the gym was locked.

your mouth dropped open at the sight of naked ushijima. standing there, water dripping from his hair onto his toned chest, down his prominent v line to his...

his cock. you gulped at it, blinking rapidly. he was a got 8 inches, and thick too. and he was hard. it was slapped up against his stomach, red and veiny.

your eyes flicked up to his own, which were already on yours, a small smirk playing on his lips.

‘will you help me, y/n?’,

you gasped as his tip hit the side of your face, pre cum oozing out. you shuffled your knees to get more comfortable. you moved your pupils to look at him, breathing in sharply at his look of desperation.

he shuffled forward, guiding his cock to your lips as he painted the pre cum on your lips like lipgloss.

‘pretty’, he muttered lowly as you looked up at him, tongue poking out between your lips.

you felt a large hand caress the back of your head harshly, and that was your signal to move your head forward, taking wakatoshi’s thick cock into your warm mouth.

you squeezed your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look up at the man sitting in front of you. you heard soft groans leaving his lips as you bobbed your head forward, his tip hitting the back of your mouth.

your throat instinctively clenched around the foreign object as choking noises came out of your mouth.

‘that’s my girl’, you heard wakatoshi mutter from above you.

you peered up at him through your lashes as you brought your head forward more until most of his cock was down your throat.

your eyes were still on his when you started to slowly bob your head back and forth, hearing the deep-voiced man groan so highly above you

your cheeks were hollowed as you felt his hips stutter. your looked up, eyes half lidded as you felt him cum down your throat.

‘what a good fucking manager’

i honestly didnt like this but its been in my drafts for a while and i wanted to post so hope u like it

reblogs and likes are always appreciated <3333 my inbox is open for requests!!

#haikyuu smut #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

2K notes · View notes

generallybrontidefeelings · 3 years ago

Text

Honey will see the Art

Rating: mature

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader, Marcus Pike x you, Marcus Pike x 3rd person voice

Warnings: bribery but no cigar, a yearning desire to see stolen art, big hands, um...there's no smut it's just cute

A/N: this has been sitting in my draft box for over a year so I decided to put it out in the world because I miss Marcus and Honey and they're silly little romance <3

Honey knows about the secret storage facility all the recovered pieces go to for holding and processing. She doesn't know where it is, but she knows when he's been, because he comes home smelling like turpentine and pencil shavings.

Honey has asked if she can go see it, because she's a curious woman, and she wants to. And he looks awkward and says he isn't supposed to take anyone. Yes, he's the boss, but he has to set a good example.

Does this stop Honey from trying? Nope.

She will see that facility. She's determined.

Over two weeks she accumulates the goods necessary to loosen Marcus up. A bottle of his favorite rye. A plain, white body suit that hugs her curves. She even learns how to make scampi and it only takes two failed attempts.

Marcus wonders why there is so much shrimp in the fridge, and eyes her suspiciously.

Honey pulls all the stops - cleans, cooks, gets a sugar waxing, she will see the stolen art. She must. She grumbles it to herself while trying her silk robe around the bodysuit.

She's just browning the butter for the shrimp when she hears Marcus hang his jingly keys up at the front door of his townhouse. She bites her lip when he clasps her waist in his big hands and holds himself along her back.

"Did you know," he murmurs in her ear, tickling her with his scruff, "that when you were my student-" her cheeks warm up "-whenever you asked for a favor, you would bring me a pastry from the café?"

Honey stop moving the butter around in the pan. Marcus buries his face in her neck.

"I did?"

He sets his chin on her shoulder. "You did."

She turn the burner off but continues holding the spatula.

Does she feel silly standing there with her hair done in her barefeet and bathrobe, looking like a housewife? Yes. Does she regret it? No.

"Well," she says, finding her courage and turning the burner back on, "if you're so observant let's see you guess what I'm going to ask for."

"You want to see the art storage facility."

She drops the spatula on the counter and turns in his arms, crossing her own.

"baby," Marcus says, placatingly, "I'm a detective. It wasn't hard to figure out." He kisses down her cheek to your neck. She stands stock still, unaffected by his affection. However nice it is.

"I put so much work into this bribe," she whines, with his face in her neck. Arms still crossed.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says, genuinely apologetic. "Would it make a difference if I said I got you this?" From his other hand, the one not holding her back, he dangles a little clip-on badge that says 'consultant' and has her name in Marcus's neat, all caps print.

Honey squeaks. She reaches for the badge, looking at Marcus to make sure its' real.

"I'm a consultant?"

"For exactly ninety minutes on Thursday afternoon you're a consultant," he says, all smiles. Honey runs her fingers over the laminated surface. She clips it onto her silk robe.

"What's my specialty?" she says and picks the spatula back up, absolutely content in her new status as temporary consultant.

Marcus keeps staring at where the little metal clip has dragged the silk to show the curve of your chest.

"Art recovery and negotiation."

Honey stops adding the minced garlic half scoop. "That isn't an art form."

Marcus gestures vaguely toward her and the kitchen with all the goods for shrimp scampi prepared on the counter. Honey's face heats up, and she wiggles her painted toes.

#marcus and martinus #stressed #an interlude #marcus pike fanfiction #fluff

16 notes · View notes

alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

Text

Heartbreak Ave.

When they’re in love with you but you have feelings for a different member (Hyung line)

→ tags/warnings: SFW, angstyyyyy (like, I’m sorry but at the same time I wanted to write something sad), no, there’s not a happy ending really idk so read at your own heart’s risk, but like really. I was listening to “Manos de Tijera” while writing this so it’s a wee bit heartbreaking

→ a/n: I don’t really write reactions very often but this seemed fun when @sierra-fics brought it up! I actually have one of your suggestions in my drafts, just haven’t finished it up yet. Thanks for the push, though! I love exploring different styles!

read the maknae line version here!

Kim Seokjin

he’s not surprised

it’s probably the worst part for him, the fact that he’s not surprised when your eyes light up as Taehyung waltzes in the room.

he had been in the middle of plucking up the courage to invite you to try out that new Thai restaurant you’d been chattering about when Tae walked in

and you tried - you really did - to pay attention to what Jin had been saying, but you faltered a bit as Tae greeted you warmly and plopped down beside Jin

and Jin just watched, not surprised.

although what does surprise him is how much it hurts

that pain where your heart literally, physically hurts? it’s an exquisite pain, one that takes his breath away

and it doesn’t go away

it doesn’t fade

so he ends up in Namjoon’s studio later that night, and Namjoon knows to wait for him to open up

Jin just stares for a while, blankly at the wall

“Does Tae like her?”

Namjoon already knows who he’s referring to. He’s known about Jin’s helpless crush on you for ages, he knew before Jin himself figured it out

but it’s the way that Jin asks the question so softly, so carefully, that Namjoon realizes with a start that this is so much more than a crush

and Jin looks at him, misery clear in his eyes but also clear resolve visible even as unshed tears glimmer

“Would you really let her go?” Namjoon counters gently. Because he knows. He knows that if Tae got the green light, you'd be swept up in a matter of seconds.

and it’s the way that Jin stares down at his feet, and the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, that has Namjoon sick to his stomach

Jin nods, and when he speaks, his voice shakes but he sounds so earnest that it breaks Namjoon’s heart

“I’d do anything for her.”

no words are exchanged after that for a long, heart-wrenching moment. it’s just Jin, staring down at his feet and quietly sobbing, and Namjoon, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

it’s surprising to Jin, just how much that soft phrase cuts through him. It sounds so final.

because at the end of the day, it’s the only solace that can be offered to him.

he lost.

he loved, and he lost.

Min Yoongi

you’re sitting beside him in his studio when the realization hits him like a freight train

sprawled sideways in your designated swivel chair while you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, Yoongi wonders when he let his emotions get so out of hand

because you’re offering him a shy smile and asking him a question that he numbly answers, but on the inside he’s a total clueless mess

when did he fall in love with you?

it’s something that will haunt him long after you leave that night, rushing out when you get a call from Hobi

for the second time that night, he’s hit with another realization

he’s still reeling from the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you, so when you gasp and grin when your phone light up with a call, he falters

it’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water, the way you whisper, “oh, it’s Hobi!” and politely ask if you can take the call before rushing out into the hallway

“oh,” he mumbles to himself as the door closes. “it’s Hobi.”

and he laughs.

quietly, darkly. he laughs to himself, at himself, whatever.

because of course it’s Hobi. his best friend, his vitamin. you two deserve each other. of that much he’s certain.

he doesn’t waste too much time feeling sorry for himself; he’s logical enough to see that you two are probably a better match. it’s nothing personal.

so why does he stay in his studio all night, ignoring any calls or messages sent his way?

he’s not sure when he fell asleep, but next thing he knows he’s sprawled out on his little couch and you’re gently shaking him awake

“Yoongo? Did you stay here last night?”

his eyes crack open at the sound of your voice, just enough to be met with your sweet smile

and he, in his half-asleep state, smiles back. he reaches one hand up to gently brush back a strand of your hair, and he swears you lean into his touch

and when you mumble something about Hobi bringing breakfast up, Yoongi is hit with the third realization in less that twenty-four hours.

it’s startlingly simple:

he wants to cry.

so he excuses himself to the bathroom, and cries. sets a five minute timer so nobody gets worried and comes looking for him, and allows himself that time to cry.

then, with machine-like precision, he washes his face and puts some eyedrops in, and goes back out to pretend like everything is fine.

and whenever Jin or Taehyung bring up acting, Yoongi knows. He knows, deep down, that he’s the best actor of all.

because he still loves you

and you will never know.

Jung Hoseok

hobi has never been the most forthcoming with his emotions

he keeps them on lockdown

monitors them with military-like focus

so he knows the exact moment he begins developing feelings for you

(it’s when you brought Bang PD a bouquet for valentine’s day, just to make him blush)

and he knows the exact second when he fell in love

(it was when, after a grueling day at work, you silently walked through his door with his favorite goodies and left without a single word)

(you were wearing a yellow cardigan that day)

(he’s never looked at the color yellow the same way)

if he’s completely honest, he’s sometimes trying so hard to stay on top of his own feelings that he forgets to watch out for where your attention may be drifting

to be fair, you kept your own little crush on Jimin a secret

so when Hobi decides to get over himself and just shoot his shot, he decides he’s all in

and when you arrive at his apartment that night for a movie, you’re shocked to see a bouquet of yellow flowers in Hobi’s shaking hands

“hey” he breathes

you stare at the flowers, then at him

“hello...?” then, with a sinking felling, you point at the flowers. “are those for me?”

hobi smiles broadly. “yeah, they are.” and he hands them to you, allowing his fingers to brush up against yours

it’s electrifying, that small touch

and again, he’s so focused on how electrifying it is that he misses the way you look like you might be sick

pale face, concerned expression

he misses it all, because he’s so nervous but so stupidly in love that he’s just barreling ahead.

gotta get this out of the way

ugh, feelings

and so when he leads you to sit with him out on the balcony, he takes a deep breath and looks at you with wonder in his eyes

and that’s when he notices the way you’re fiddling with your bracelet

not a problem, except for the fact that it’s the one he saw Jimin carefully choosing from an online collection

so when you keep fiddling with the bracelet and avoiding Hobi’s eye contact, he gets it

he takes a long look at all those emotions he keeps in check, and allows himself a moment of self-pity before reaching out and laying a hand atop your own

you immediately stop fidgeting and look at him with wide eyes. he can see with a pang how you’re trying to come up with the best way to let him down easy

so he does the job for you

“I just wanted to say thank you for the other day,” he says, forcing a light tone. “when you brought me those goodies after work. It really meant a lot.”

you blink, confused. “Oh. uh, you’re welcome.”

“and,” he drawls, a well-rehearsed smile clawing its way onto his face, “I wanted to snoop and get the inside scoop about Jiminie. I know he got you that bracelet. did he finally cave and confess to you?”

you look shocked, but you burst out into relieved laughter. “how did you know?”

he didn’t. “how could I not? he’s absolutely whipped.”

and you blush under the stars and begin to ramble, lost in your excitement and joy.

and Hobi watches. smiling. supportive. laughing at the right spots and asking all the right questions.

later, when you give him a tight hug and thank him for the fun night, he lets the words sting as you call him “such a great friend.” he lets them sting, relishing in the pain.

he reminds you to take your flowers home, and you begrudgingly admit that they’re your favorite type of flower.

he didn’t know. but that hurts, too. the fact that he got it right.

Hobi never looks at the color yellow the same way again.

Kim Namjoon

he’s told you he loves you a million times now

every night, in every dream, he tells you how much he loves you

adores you with everything he is

you manage to find your way into his music, his musings, every piece of artwork he comes across

he's never been like this before

never, he’s sure of it

and everyone knows, except for you.

it becomes a strange game for the boys to play, dropping hints at every opportunity, laughing at your confused expression

Jungkook and Taehyung especially enjoy the chaos that they create, making Namjoon groan and grow embarrassed

but you have no idea

or are you just willfully ignorant?

all Namjoon knows is that he’s swimming in his feelings for you, completely lost and on the verge of drowning

but, oh, what a way to die

he’s never been able to stop himself when it comes to you

and he considers himself rather disciplined, but the way you make him feel he could throw caution to the wind and give it all up

so when you end up staying late one night at the apartment, the boys manage to convince you to stay

“there’s plenty of room” Jungkook muses, feigning deep thought. “besides, it’s too late for you to drive back tonight. just stay.”

and while Namjoon wants to kill them all for the way they offer up his bed to you, he thinks he might actually die when you reluctantly agree with a yawn

he knows he should offer to take the couch, but something stops him

it’s like he physically can’t

“I don’t mind sharing the bed” you state, squinting at him while wearing his basketball shorts and oversized t-shirt.

you look adorable. he’s unsure of how he’s even functioning right now, to be honest. he’s melting.

“just keep your snoring in check, loser”

and he’s back to laughing, turning off the light and hopping into bed

you’re so far away

why are you so far away?

“hey” he whispers, the sound so loud in the quiet. the only other sound is the muffled voices of the other members, no doubt down in the kitchen gossiping about the events of the night

“hey yourself” you whisper back, turning to face him

he can see you in the moonlight, his eyes having adjusted just enough.

and he wants to kiss you so badly

so he smiles, heart leaping when you smile back

and he reaches out, gently tracing your jawline.

you say nothing, heart thundering in your chest

because to be honest, you’re confused

why is he looking at you like that?

but you don’t ask as Namjoon takes a deep breath, steadying himself before propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at you with an adoring expression

your eyes flutter closed as he brushes his thumb against your cheek, and he can feel your heartbeat racing

your reaction gives him all the courage he needs as he leans down, lips capturing your own in a long, sweet kiss

and he’s going out of his mind because he finally kissed you, didn’t he?! finally!!

but those are your hands on his chest, and instead of pulling him in closer you’re gently pushing him away

“namjoon.”

he’s never hated his name so much.

“I’m so sorry- I- I thought that maybe-” he stutters, pulling himself upright as you do the same, and he launches out of bed, hands in his hair “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“Namjoon.” you repeat, and he notices now how utterly distraught you look.

because you’re still confused, but there’s one name rolling around in your head even as you can still taste namjoon on your lips.

“I...” you shake your head, unsure of what to say. “It’s just...”

and he’s looking at you with big eyes, taking in every single word you say. and you want to take it all back, want to let him kiss you until you’re breathless, but your heart won’t let you.

“Just what?” he asks quietly, afraid of the answer. so afraid

“...Jungkook.”

two syllables, and his world comes crashing down around him.

namjoon is silent, avoiding your gaze as he grabs one of the pillows off of the bed and a spare blanket, heading toward the door.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m sorry.”

and he’s gone before you can utter another word.

sure enough, the boys are still downstairs, and they all fall silent as Namjoon appears, throwing the pillow down on the couch.

“Hyung!” Jungkook asks, scrambling over. “Hyung, what happened? What are you doing down here?”

Namjoon can’t bring himself to look at the maknae, not when he can still picture how it felt to kiss you. not when those few seconds of paradise are still on his lips.

“Didn’t wanna wake her up with my snoring.”

because how could he ever be angry at the boy that looks at him like he’s his savior?

m.list || buy me an orange juice?

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so other people can read it! 💖

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi@knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall@miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine@hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi @yoontaethings @sunshinejunghoseokie @delacyrose224@jiminiesmagicshop @hitsussi @fanfictonreader05 @hyungieyoongi @lolalee24

#bts reactions #namjoon reaction #jin reaction #yoongi reaction #suga reaction #hobi reaction #bts hyung line #bts angst #bts maknae line #bts x reader #this is seriously a bummer of a post lol #bts fanfic #bts scenarios

283 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 4 years ago

Text

Tired Feet and Nimble Fingers

Sooo.....

I wrote more Ravio fics. This is one of two, the second one still needs to be reread and checked for errors, but rest assured to whomever requested a fic for Ravio getting some fussing, I nearly killed the kid for you :)

Mr. Hero had nice hands.

Oh sure, they were rather thin, and a bit knobby at the knuckles, aged in a way most people their age would not understand for decades yet, but they were nimble, quick, and forever flitting from one thing to another with the easy grace of a person who’s done everything with their life except sit still and rest.

Mr. Hero’s hands were worn and aged but feather light in their touch and still impossibly firm when he’d grab Ravio by the scarf and pull him down the one inch that was between the two of them so he could glare at him for one thing or another. Honestly, he rarely really did anything questionable, but the ever irritated “Why?” that Mr. Hero always shot at him when he raised the price of an item or tacked on another fee, be it emotional repercussions charges for tending his wounds, or a petty increase when he’d been made to actually worry for someone else, or even in the rare instance when Mr. Hero managed to actually make him angry. Either way, soft or firm, Mr. Hero had nice hands, and on the rare instance Ravio had actually seen him remove his rings (Mr. Hero had complained of swelling, and had nearly had to pry them off) he always smiled at the sight of them.

Was that weird? Probably. But there was a lot you could tell about a person by their hands, and Mr. Hero’s told the story of someone who gave and fought for others since he’d been able, and even if the caring person hid behind the shadows of his bangs or the icy pain in his eyes, Ravio knew that person was still in there.

And at times like this, he got to actually see it.

“What are you doing?” The merchant shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at the other end of the couch where Mr. Hero had been sitting since he’d stumbled through the door with a tired groan. He’d collapsed onto the couch not long after, drenched and covered in mud, and it had been all Ravio could do to convince him to shed his extra layers and change into something clean, at least. Sure, he’d had to actually dig through the scant wardrobe in the bedroom to find something, but once the over-sized tunic had been shoved in the veteran hero’s face, he’d agreed to strip off his wet things, and Ravio had given him the space to do so while he’d made some warm cocoa for the two of them.

He would have preferred cider, but Mr. Hero still refused to share the recipe with him.

Now, however, he’d flopped onto the couch himself, uncaring for the fact that he’d had to settle his legs in the lap of his friend. After all, if Mr. Hero minded, he would have pushed him off. As was though, the pink-haired teen was staring at his feet with no small amount of displeasure, and Ravio was half considering pulling them back to himself and resigning himself to just curling up on the couch into one corner so he could give the other boy his space.

Firm hands latched around his boot, tugging with a small grunt and surprising the merchant greatly. “Mr. Hero, I just-”

“No shoes.” The pink-haired hero huffed. “Not on the couch.”

“Says the one who trudges dirt all over my freshly cleaned floors!” Ravio huffed, trying not to wiggle too much as Mr. Hero not only pulled off his shoes but, after making a disgusted face at the smell of his feet, had also yanked his socks off, throwing them over to the pile of sopping laundry on the floor. Ravio made a note to pick that up and help wash it later.

“My floors.” Mr. Hero corrected him, tugging the towel Ravio had given him earlier off of his shoulders and wiping its wet ends over the merchant’s feet, making him stiffen. “It’s my house I’ll have you know.”

“Mr. Hero, are you- are you cleaning my feet?”

“It’s not like you ever do it, when’s the last time you bathed, you filthy bunny?”

“Two days ago.” Ravio huffed into his cocoa, savoring the taste and the thrum of warmth that bloomed in his chest both at the drink and the sensation of Mr. Hero’s nimble fingers helping to clean the grime from his, admittedly, filthy feet. “More recently than you, I daresay, Mr. Hero.”

“I just showered.” Violet eyes flitted up to meet his as Mr. Hero motioned to the door ad likely the stormy weather outside.

“That doesn’t count!”

“It does for me.”

“When did you last bathe? With soap?”

Mr. Hero didn’t answer, instead continuing to rub the dirt and dust off the bottoms of his house-mate's feet with the wet towel. Ravio hmphed. A fight for another day then, it isn’t as if he had the energy to draw a bath and push his friend into it anyways.

A delightful, rough sensation rubbed over the base of his foot, firm and still somehow incredibly relaxing, and the bunny merchant found himself torn between sinking into the cushions with a sigh as some of the pain in his limbs faded and staring down at Mr. Hero to see what had been done. In the end, he’d sunk into the cushions of the couch, lids fluttering as a heavy sigh pulled itself from his lungs. “What-”

“You’re as tight-string as my gran’s horses.” Mr. Hero drawled, and the sensation repeated itself, warm pressure sliding across the ridge of his foot. “This used to work on my uncle, relax.”

It took longer than necessary to actually realize that his friend was rubbing his feet, but Ravio was too warm and comfortable to really care, especially with how sore the appendages in question had been with scurrying here and there over the last few days tending to the shop.

Mr. Hero’s hands were miracle workers, and Ravio was hardly even awake when the veteran hero had finally stopped with his self-assigned task, pushing himself up and leaving Ravio to stretch out over the length of the couch. All the merchant could register was the increase of weight on top of him, the clinking of two empty mugs being placed in the kitchen sink, and the door creaking open.

He never felt the draft when Mr. Hero left back into the outside world to continue his quest, but when he woke the next morning, it was to find the hero’s favorite blanket spread out over the top of him and a fresh pair of fuzzy socks slipped over his clean and no longer painfully tense feet.

“Ravio, sit.” Mr. Hero groaned, leaning back on the couch and pinned in place by the sailor using his legs as a back rest. “If you don’t, I swear I’m going to have Twilight throw you at the couch!”

The merchant in question pouted, he’d been trying his best to tidy the living room, after all, Mr. Hero and his family had been quite unexpected that evening and the place was, unfortunately, a mess. One had to take inventory now and again, and the sad fact of it was that that required pulling everything off the shelves and out of storage and from around the house to count it up and figure out if he should risk attempting to return to Lorule or attempting to work Mr. Hero’s small smithy out back in order to restock his items.

He’d only counted up everything and had been working on cleaning and polishing his various items when the heroes had come knocking at the front door, and then he’d been so busy helping them warm up from the chill (they were all wearing the scarves he’d given them and it pleased him to no end) and making a meal with Mr. Hero that he’d been left unable to finish gathering the things that had been scattered across the floor. Of course, after dinner was finished, he’d set right to it, but now that everyone was settled around the fire with warm mugs in hand and fluffy scarves around their necks, Mr. Hero seemed to only be agitated by his puttering about and moving everything again.

To be fair, he hadn’t stopped moving for the last thirty minutes since the others had helped gather his things back up so they could sit, but there was so much to put away!

“Mr. Hero, I still-”

“Sit.” Mr. Hero squeaked grouchily, earning a few giggles as Mr. Rancher and Mr. Chosen Hero exchanged glances, smiles wide. “My feet hurt just from looking at you.”

Like it or not, Ravio’s ears were already pricking up at those words.

Since that first time, Mr. Hero had done him the favor of massaging his feet after a hard day many times, and as much as Ravio didn’t want to expect it of him, it was incredibly nice to have someone fuss over him, if only for a little bit, and if there was even a chance that it would happen again, well...

It was entirely intentional that he flopped onto the couch, feet resting easily in Mr. Hero’s lap as he stretched out. He could have sat down, he really could, but the fact of it was that he simply didn’t want to. Fortunately, Mr. Hero didn’t seem to mind, and too the merchants delight his friend immediately started pulling off his shoes with the same old familiar huff and wrinkling of his button nose, tossing the shoes as far away as possible to avoid having to remain in contact with them for long.

It was a practiced and much appreciated ritual that was Mr. Hero helping him relax after a long day. Just as cocoa or cider was prepared when either was having a particularly long or difficult day, or how Ravio always made sure Mr. Hero ate three meals a day and slept for at least four hours, taking care that his friend wasn’t positioned too uncomfortably wherever it was that he finally passed out. Mr. Hero touching his feet was normal, just like him playing with Mr. Hero’s hair once the other boy had settled down at last.

Perhaps though, it wasn’t all that common for the others.

“Vet?”

Mr. Hero blinked up from his work, violet eyes meeting the midnight blue of Mr. Rancher impassively.

“What in Ordonia are ya doin’?”

The veteran hero cocked a brow. “Foot massage, he won’t relax otherwise, and foot pains a-” Captain Hero Sir Jr. shot a look their way and Mr. Hero quickly amended what he’d been about to say. “Foot pain sucks.”

“You are touching feet.” Mr. Rancher wrinkled his nose. “Isn’t that a bit... gross?”

“Says the man who eats bee larva.” Came the quipped reply. “I wash them first, pities sakes.”

“By my head!?!?!?” Tune started jumping up and away and shooting Mr. Hero a hurt look. “Like, yeah, sure, I help Granny on bad days too, but warn a fellow if you’re gonna be having feet by his head.”

“Don’t sit on my legs.”

Ravio chuckled, letting the noise and chatter wash over him.

Mr. Hero’s hands never failed to sooth the pains of the day.

The heroes had stumbled in time and again over the months, and Ravio had grown quite used to their presence. Time passed differently on both ends of things, but he’d since learned when abouts to expect that they'd appear, and the house was, thankfully, stocked fully for each visit.

Autumn had brought about harvest, and the heroes had darted in and out, occasionally offering help and other times only crashing wearily in the living room and Mr. Hero’s bedroom for the night before they had to return to chasing the monsters. Today was one of the longer stays, especially if how Mr. Captain Hero Sir was moving so stiffly was any indication.

“Do you need me to step on you again?” Mr. Smithy asked worriedly as Mr. Captain Hero Sir eased his way down onto the couch, earning a few looks both from the merchant and the other heroes while Sheerow flitted about the man's head, chirruping worriedly and earning a gentle word or so from the captain.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir was in quite the state, stiff as a board and moving as poorly as the old pump in the village. It made him worried, and try as he might, he couldn’t think of any of his items that would help.

Mr. Hero appeared to already have an answer though. “Tunic off, Cap, and on the couch.”

Sharp blue blinked over in confusion to where Mr. Hero was already shedding his boots and rolling up his sleeves with a purpose. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Massage. Works wonders for back pain. Hop to it or I’m rescinding my offer.”

It was one thing to be on the receiving end of matters, but another entirely to be one of those who watched. Mr. Hero put his full weight into his hands as he worked, kneading out the knots in his friend's muscles while Mr. Captain Hero Sir melted into the couch with little relieved noises.

Maybe it took the others realizing that the vet didn’t just help him, but after that it wasn’t at all uncommon for him to carry in his attempts at cider or his wonderful cocoa and see Mr. Hero standing over one of the others and putting his clever hands to work in soothing tensed muscles back into place, the heroes under his hands melting under his touch.

The first time he heard Mr. Hero humming under his breath while he worked, the other heroes had all looked incredibly surprised, but not upset in the slightest. It was a lovely tune after all, and Tune himself started playing with his baton in time the gentle music, swaying in his seat and waving the instrument while the others continued working on repairing and tending their various items and clothing articles.

There was a pattern. For Mr. Captain Hero Sir it was his back, although rather rarely, and the same went for Mr. Chosen Hero.

For Captain Hero Sir Jr. It was his neck and shoulders.

Mr. Smithy got stress headaches that seemed to ease when someone helped message his temples.

Mr. Rancher had problems with his left wrist specifically.

Ravio of course had poor feet, and while Tune and Wild seemed to be mostly left unscathed from the repetitive pains that the others did, they took every opportunity to cling to Mr. Hero with their whole bodies when they felt that they wanted pets or attention when their mentor’s/brothers were too busy.

He’d attempted to return the favor all of one time. The black eye and bloody nose he got out of it weren’t even made better with the nearly tearful apologies of his best friend as Mr. Hero had jumped to his feet and dashed outside to get some ice for the injury.

Once the blood was cleaned up, the vet had sat in shame as Ravio had joined the others in teasing him for his “killer reflexes”.

“I can’t help it! People touching my feet- It-” Mr. Hero tugged at his hair frustratedly, eyes turning to the sky hopelessly. “I’m sorry, Ravio. It was an accident, I swear.”

“I know, Mr. Hero, I know.” He’d giggled out the reassurance, but from that day on he avoided touching Mr. Hero’s feet in any way possible.

(Oddly enough though, that didn’t stop a few of the others from trying, and Mr. Hero’s sleep was interrupted many times by heroes that had been kicked in the nose or even the mouth because they’d dared each other to touch the teen’s feet while he slept. Mr. Captain Hero Sir had complained for days until his own black eye healed, and Mr. Hero hadn’t even bother apologizing, stating that the others shouldn’t have tempted fat so foolishly.)

He felt a bit guilty for not returning the favor, but he knew better than to try again where so many others had failed.

And then winter had sprung up. Winter with its harsh gales that blew in half frozen heroes that tracked ice and snow across the floor as they bundled in front of the fire, wrapped head to toe for the weather. Winter when he’d brew hot cocoa to warm them all up, letting Mr. Hero tug down blankets to wrap around their on-and-off house-mates (guests no longer applied at this point). The mugs offered were warm, and Ravio smiled as each hero offered him a word of thanks as his tray grew lighter and lighter until he only had the two mugs left.

Mr. Hero had pulled together his usual nest before the fire. His huge blanket and a few spare pillows all bundled together into a comfortable place to sit for the younger heroes in order to make up for the lack of a second couch, and the vet sat in its center, still working to arrange the cushions with stiff fingers and chattering teeth until Ravio had pulled on his friend’s tunic and urged him to sit down.

When he offered the mug though, Mr. Hero had fumbled it and nearly dropped it, a hiss of irritation whishing from between his teeth and he glared down at his stiff digits. “Blast! Din’s sake, why does the freaking cold always freaking-”

Warm hands, worn from housekeeping and smithy work, wrapped around the vet’s as Ravio gently rubbed some warmth back into the stiff fingers. Mr. Hero started slightly at the touch, but didn’t complain as the merchant continued to press his into the rises and against the bones of his friend’s gnarled hands, offering warmth and relief against the pain and the cold both for a few short minutes, and Mr. Hero melted into the touch, as he always inevitably did, letting Ravio have his way for the moment and leaning to sit back-to-back with Wild while the merchant worked.

When he’d released his housemate, it’d only been to press a mug into the vet’s hands, but then he’d been settling across from him on the blanket nest, stockinged feet coming to rest in his friend’s lap as he’d pulled his own mug close for a sip. Violet eyes offered a begrudging smile that was returned in rupee green, but no words were spoken between the two as they enjoyed their cocoa.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir however wasn’t about to let it pass. “So, hand holding now, uh? Should I be talking to Fable about a wedding day?”

Ravio was certain that the only thing keeping some very rude signs from being exchanged as the fact that Mr. Hero wasn’t willing to stress his hands further or release the warmth that he held in them. The pink-haired hero did shoot a very disappointed look towards the captain though.

#do not tag as ravio/i #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu legend #lu ravio #fluffics #ketto's cottagecore collection #idiot writes fluff #idiot writes cottagecore

77 notes · View notes

twelfth-harbinger · 5 years ago

Note

Hello, I hope you're doing great! ^^ Could I request a Kaeya x male Reader, where the reader is a thief and Kaeya cathes him and teaches him a lesson (nsfw)

A/n: I live for this shit. This is...kind of kinky so.. & I wrote this at 4am. Listening to: Throat babyyyyyy

Mentions: Blowjobs, Denial, Teasing... blowjobs.

Warnings: Nsfw Face fucking at its finest, A very dominant Kaeya.

The King of Thieves

Kaeya left Angel’s Share for the night. Dark cheeks tinted a dusty deep red from a night of indulgence. Diluc was there, tending the bar coincidentally.

“There have been a plethora of incidents revolving around thieves as of late. I suggest you be mindful when leaving for the night Kaeya.”

His younger brother’s light warning drifted back into the depths of his mind as he strolled the nearly vacant streets of Monstadt’s city. Of course, on his way back to headquarters; the Knight took the long way around. Cutting through a specific alleyway that lead to a patch of grassy plains above a stone stair case. Out the corner of his eye he saw a shadow zip by and over the short roof top of someone’s home. As he moved to take a precautionary step backwards the shadow figure landed behind him. Assuming Kaeya was drunk enough to one up, the figure moved in to grab Kaeya’s shoulder in efforts to flip him onto his back and steal his vision. Kaeya, in a rebuttal too quick for this thief’s skill set. Side stepped and ducked, only to elbow his assailant in the chest cavity and then reappear behind them with his sword drawn.

“Why is Diluc always right?” Kaeya sighed, a frown on his face as he stared at the person in front of him, whom he had knocked the wind right out of. He wasn’t sure who the person was, given they were covered from head fo toe in all black. When Kaeya saw that they were recovering he twirled his sword, knocking them unconscious with the hilt of his blade. When the thief dropped, Kaeya looked down at them. He moved to uncover their face and saw a young man. He saw, you? His eye went wide, you were not much older than Diluc. The young Knight couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see such wasted potential resort to something of a scoundrel at best. He threw your arm over his shoulder, picking you up with a deep exhale. Effortlessly carrying you off back to one of the empty confinement cells within the knights headquarters. The one he picked out had been out of use for quite some time, given Klee had blown it up rendering the cell unlivable (for her). — It was a perfect place for a thief, especially one that tried to steal his vision.

Kaeya sat on the edge of a small table in the corner of the room, arms crossed and a light frown on his face. He waited until you had come through and regained consciousness. In a panic, your dark eyes darted across the room. Something Kaeya found quite amusing.

“Where..am I?” You huffed out, there was a draft in the room and you visibly shivered. Kaeya stayed seated looking at you.

“In the Knights of Favonius’ HQ, a confinement cell to be more precise.” He replied nonchalantly and as you tried to move, chains rattled against your wrists and ankles.

“Let me out of here, else you’ll be sorry—“

You were cut off by Kaeya’s abrupt laugh, it made you frown and your brow crease. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?” Kaeya’s chuckle faded into a sigh, his finger tapping idly on the bicep of his crossed arms.

“Nothing, it’s just you are in no position to talk. In fact, I bet if I did away with you right here I could get away with it.” His smile may have been playful but his eye hinted at something much darker.

“You.. can’t do that, you’re an honor bound knight it would be a disgrace—“ Kaeya smiled, this time it wasn’t playful but it still held amusement.

“Relax I’m not a barbarian. Why don’t you tell me why you tried to rob me in the middle of an alleyway and most interestingly... try to take my vision.” After Kaeya stated his questions there was a stagnant silence that sat in the stale air of the confinement cell. Kaeya looked down at you, who shifted uncomfortably. “Oh? No answer? Are you sure that’s what you wish to do?” Your eyes drifted over to look up at Kaeya. Who moved from his spot on the table to walk towards you. In the dim light of the cell his features illuminated, it may have been the full moon that peeked through the barred window that made him look so appealing. The sound of his boots tapping down on the stone floors of the cell sent a slight chill down your spine. He towered over you as you sat on the floor. A light smirk threatened the corner of his lips, as he stared down at you with a quizzical eye. The air around him was cool and it seemed to get even colder as he knelt down to eye level. “I think I’ll give you until the count of say- three.” He held up three fingers before putting them down.

“What?”

“One.” He moved his hand behind your head almost as if he was cradling you. Unbeknownst to you his sword appeared in his palm. Your side profile reflected off the blade as it drew near your head. “Two.” His voice was deep and melodic and his tone evermore serious as he counted down. He wasn’t smiling anymore, seeing him this serious started giving you second thoughts about keeping your mouth shut. He was so close you could smell him, eye half lidded as he stared down at you and a crease in his brow. Against the back of your neck your hair brushed against the blade that dangerously kissed the skin of the nape of your neck. He leaned in and as he drew near, a light grin forming at his lips. Was he enjoying the reaction he was getting out of you? Or the interrogation process? Your hand pressed against his chest to try and move him back you couldn’t stand to have him that close. He paused for a split second, his eye dropping down to your hand, it was warm. “Thre-“

“Wait!” You say, your dark eyes shifting up to peer into his. Staring at him this closely, being able to smell him. It was hard not to think about the things you wanted him to do to you while sitting helpless on the cell floor. He was ridiculously attractive and equally as intimidating when he wished to be.

“Hm? Did you change your mind?” He asked, flashing a cold smile. Your cheeks flushed, he smelled like the first snow fall of winter, shamelessly it made blood rush to where you didn’t need it to. His eyes drifted down briefly before he looked at you more closely. “Or maybe you didn’t?” He purred lightly and a smile crossed his face again.

“I-I..I was just.. curious as to what it’s like to have a vision I don’t have one.” You spoke out, Kaeya didn’t sense a lie from you. Even as you continued to try and make him feel sorry for you. “I haven’t been blessed by the Archons. I’m poor and I...I can’t do much of anything let alone use a vision. Being a thief is all I’ve ever known. The only way I know to survive. I wasn’t going to hurt you.” His brow creased as you babbled that last part, you caught yourself and spoke sheepishly. “Not..that I could’ve anyway—“ Kaeya laughed again, he moved back but not very far. His sword disappeared in one swift movement and he took a minute to look at you. Your hands moved over to your lap, you didn’t think he noticed.

“What am I going to do with you hm?” He pondered aloud as he stood up, a hand resting on his hip. He stared down at you, “You assaulted me in an alleyway, tried to rob me and now..” You couldn’t help but think it wasn’t much of an assault, you were the one who got hit square in the chest and knocked unconscious after all.

“Kaeya-“

“And you know who I am? You’re quite the bold thief. Tell me if I let you go, how do I know you won’t do it again?” You shifted uncomfortably, nothing he was saying was arousing but, truthfully you fell victim to his charm the moment he began questioning you, not to mention the count down and intimidation attempt. Kaeya noticed, he was quite observant but he was doing his job- for the most part.

“I won’t.” You lied, he saw right through it. Kaeya crossed his arms again, if he felt any remorse for you before it was gone now. You avoided eye contact with him even as he stared down at you.

“Do you like being chained up in a cell, you’re excited.” He asked genuinely, his voice was soft and curious. It made you twitch uncomfortably. You shook your head and Kaeya tilted his. “Really? Your as hard as this stone floor, I wasn’t going to tease you about it but it only...fed into every words I’ve said to you thus far.” You could hear him smile, you made the mistake of looking up at him. He was gorgeous and the blush that crossed your face made his smile widen.

“I..can’t help how you’re making me feel. You’re just-“

“I’m just what?” He cut you off, moving his hand to rest on the top of your head. He gently ran his fingers through your hair with his gloved palm. Idly moving his hand down to the back of your head before gripping the ends of your hair between his fingers. “Were you going to say charming? Sexy, hot?” He asked, his grip on your hair wasn’t that tight or painful it aroused a light whimper to fall from your lips. Kaeya noticed your hand palming your growing erection — your pants were growing tighter you couldn’t help it. With his boot he kicked your hand away and stepped on the back of your hand, causing the restraints he had you in to rattle against the stone floor. “You did something bad why should you gain pleasure after committing a crime? As I see it I’m the victim here. You assaulted me in an alleyway.” His grin was wide and with his free hand he moved to unzip his pants. Immediately your mouth began to water as he slipped his hand inside to touch himself right before your very eyes.

“I-I won’t do it again..” You lied once again and he saw through it yet again. His grin only widened, he was going to enjoy this.

“I don’t believe you, therefore...” His grip tightened in your hair and he pulled your head back. “I think I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget.” The weight he had on your hand increased when he saw you try to move your other hand to slip inside your own pants, it was a warning not to try and relieve yourself. You moved your hand away with a whine as Kaeya freed himself from the tight confines of his trousers. His thick member prodded against your cheek before he let it rest on your lips. He let out a light and playful hum as he stared down at you, almost as if he was beckoning you to open your mouth.

“Kaeya I-“ As soon as you opened your mouth he pushed himself inside, the taste of his pre made you shudder and your eyes flutter. He held your hair and head firmly in place as he thrusted deeper into your mouth. He was genuinely surprised that you were able to take him all the way to the back of your throat.

“It’s not polite to speak with your mouth full.” He teased. “Go on, keep stuffing your face thief.” As you struggled to swallow his cock, you couldn’t stop your hand from reaching down to palm the hard tent in your pants. Kaeya caught wind of your actions and knocked your forearm to the side with his other boot. The deep groan you let out reverberated against his shaft, Kaeya had to bite back his own moan as he pulled your hair again which inevitably moved your head back so your lips wrapped around his tip. “If you do it again you’ll regret it.” He wasn’t smiling when he spoke, it was a threat you weren’t going to see through to the end. Kaeya chuckled lightly and moved his free hand down to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing sweetly against your cheekbone. “You’re so obedient...”

He mumbled, his touch was gentle as he moved his hands up to tangle in your hair. It was almost too gentle and had you questioning his motives. You made eye contact with him and a sly grin spread across his face like wildfire. Without warning his grip tightened to hold your head in place. He slammed hips against your face, bottoming out completely in the back of your tight throat. He groaned out quietly and under his breath, as the ridges of your throat and mouth constricted against his thick shaft. Your soft lips tickled the underside of the base of his cock. His pants sagged and his balls pressed against the stubble of your chin, which only edged him on and reflexively urged his hips to thrust against your face. He exhaled with a light chuckle that sifted through the quiet air of the confinement cell.

You whimpered, drooling all over his cock as you squeezed your eyes shut, it took everything in you not to milk and pump your shaft. Your balls were heavy and full and you ached for a release that you didn’t think you’d get. Kaeya looked down on you to subconsciously check to see if you were okay and to see the sight of his dick disappearing down your throat. He pulled back by a few centimeters and you successfully breathed in through your nose. The taste of his pre on your tongue reminded you of a fermented apple wine. None too surprising to say the least and all the more enjoyable.

Kaeya rutted into your mouth again, you choked and he chuckled. He felt your tongue swirl around his shaft against a prominent vein that curved up from the base of his cock. Your leg twitched in need as he moved, beginning a rough and steady rhythm. He noticed the bulge in your throat, it only made him move faster. Kaeya let out deep exhale and a light moan that was simply music to your ears. His head tilted back as you took him, he glanced down at you for a moment and his lips curled into a smile seeing you hard at work.

“If your mouth is this tight, I wonder how your ass must feel.” He teased you, moving one hand down to wipe away that inevitable tears that formed in your eyes. His other hand loosened in your hair but still rested in place idly. He pulled back completely, giving you a chance to breathe. As you caught your breath Kaeya looked down at you, the blush that stained your cheeks inflated his ego a bit. He arched a brow, waiting for you to keep going.

You gave into that cute, suggestive stare and moved your hand up to stroke him; something you wanted to do for yourself since he started fucking talking. You dragged your tongue along the thick length of his member before taking him into your mouth. What you didn’t choke down, you pumped with your hand. Kaeya finally let out a proper moan it was deep and breathy, he started throbbing in your mouth and palm; biting down on his lower lip in ecstasy. In the midst of milking him dry he took hold of your hair again, only to push himself right back down your throat, he needed that tight fit to finish him off. You were going to swallow it all, not that you minded; he was as inebriating as Everclear. As he filled your throat and mouth, he pulled back his warm cum dripping down your chin. He watched you reach up to wipe it away and lick the back of your hand.

His eye drifted down to your continually throbbing erection, he noticed a dark spot where your own pre had ruined your trousers. He stepped back and moved his hand away from your hair, shifting as he pulled his pants up only to zip them up. Your expression was absolutely priceless in his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak to find that your jaw was already sore from his earlier actions. Kaeya moved to sit on the edge of the table again with a light smile on his face.

“What?” He says like he didn’t just pump his seed down your throat. He made an ‘O’ with his mouth as he looked at your disheveled and needy appearance as if he had forgotten. He didn’t. He moved to toss you a key to the restraints you were in. “You’re free to go and...do something about that.” He smiled with a teasing glint in his eye, you looked at the key in front of you. Picking it up with a frown on your face as your freed yourself. “I told you I’d teach you lesson you wouldn’t forget.” He chuckled moving to cross his arms over his chest. You looked at him and he smirked.

“Asshole.” You mumbled, moving to stand up, Kaeya looked your way not feeling remorseful in the slightest.

“You do realize you tried to assault me and steal my vision. I think I let you off rather easy if you ask me. Going straight to Jean just didn’t feel right.” He quipped, and stood to walk over to the door opening it up for you to go. “I don’t want to see you here again, I’d rather the Cat’s Tail or Angel share preferably. Maybe then you’d get a proper..reward and the aftercare I so graciously give to those who listen.” He said, completely insinuating he wanted to see you again under the right circumstances. With a pout you exited the cell, there wasn’t really much you could say to that. You were indeed happy you didn’t have to spend the night in a dingy unlivable cell. Kaeya leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms. “Till we meet again King of Thieves.”

Bonus

A week went by, you were at Sara’s sitting down to a late night meal before heading off to Springvale for a few days to visit family. You poked at the fisherman’s toast you ordered, thinking about the Knight who left you thoroughly frustrated. You wanted to beat his ass in all honesty but, apart of you just wanted to—

“Well if it isn’t The King of Thieves.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x male reader #genshin kaeya #gi kaeya #genshin impact imagines #kaeya imagines #kaeya genshin impact #kaeya x reader #kaeyagenshinimpact #I love Kaeya lmao #sooo I’m writing something called the contract with Zhongli anddddddd 👀

638 notes · View notes

moonlit-imagines · 4 years ago

Text

The Doctor Is Out

Stephen Strange x reader

warnings:

a/n: wrote this a while ago and its been sitting in my drafts. part 1/2

prompt:

In (2)

Without opening your eyes, you stretched your stiffened body against the silk sheets and rolled over to face your husband.

“Good morning, dear.” You whispered through a yawn, which led into a smile. Stephen was already awake and reading one of the many books he kept at his bedside.

“And good morning to you, too.” He leaned over and gave you a kiss on the temple, letting your eyes flutter open. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’d say so.” You reluctantly sat up on your side of the bed, pushing the covers away. “Any plans for today?”

“Not in particular.” Stephen decided to get out of bed with you and get ready for the day, although he was in a gray jacket and blue jeans in the blink of an eye. “We don’t have very much to eat, I might go run out for lunch.”

“Lunch?” You asked as you pulled on a pair of pants.

“Yes, well, you seem to have gotten a late start on the day.” Your husband explained. “I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so content with your dreams.” You took Stephen’s wrist to take a look at the time.

“It’s half past eleven?” You stared in shock at your husband’s watch. “You just waited for me?” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, but Stephen rarely ever let himself lag behind, it was truly sweet of him to keep you company while you drifted through the peace of your head, thoughts you’d already forgotten. “It seems the odds were in our favor when our paths first crossed, huh?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, my dear.” Stephen’s barely shaking hands cupped your face and right before he leaned in for a refreshing kiss to the lips, he whispered, “I’m not as great a man as you make me out to be.”

You hummed into the kiss he gave you and pulled back just a tad. “Oh, you’re right. You’re just the worst.” Sarcasm failed to escape you in moments like these, it was more entertaining than anything else in the eyes of your husband. “Now, I’m starving. Want to go to the deli around the block?”

“That’ll work. We should ask Wong if he’s hungry, too.”

—————

“You don’t have any money?” Stephen asked as the three of you walked through the Sanctum in a fixed line.

“Attachment to the material is detachment from the spiritual.” Wong’s wise words rung in your mind as you tried to figure out what he did before the two of you had moved in with him.

“I’ll tell the guys at the deli.” Stephen snarked. “Maybe they’ll make you a metaphysical ham on rye.”

“It’s fine, we’ll pay for your lunch.” You interjected after hearing enough of that. Somehow, the trip down the stairs was unsuccessful since your steps from only a few seconds ago were nothing but rubble. You fell to the floor as Stephen and Wong took defensive positions.

“Thanos is coming.” An unfamiliar voice spoke as you lay on the cold floor. Were you able to get up on your own? Probably, but that fall would definitely leave a mark. After a moment’s time of your lonely visit with the floor, your partner rushed over to you.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” He crouched beside you and helped you back up, lightly brushing your cheek as he checked for any injuries.

“I think I’m okay.” You nodded. “Hit my head on the way down.” Peering over his shoulder while he checked your head for any bumps, you saw Dr. Bruce Banner crawl from the rubble. “Do I have a concussion or was it a gamma scientist that just crashed into the Sanctum?”

“Hi, I’m Doctor—” He waved just before you cut him off.

“I know who you are, Doctor Banner.” You replied with a smirk. “I’m Dr. L/N-Strange, specializing in neuroscience, but formerly gamma research.” Stephen smiled himself when he heard you say your name and just a little more when you described your profession. Maybe he was just proud to be near someone so accomplished.

“I don’t think you have a concussion.” A kiss on your forehead was the best medicine he could give, but you knew that it also meant he needed to get to work.

“‘Formerly gamma?’ Why’s that?” Bruce asked, somehow ignoring the big picture here. I mean, you were just happy to get some visitors, I suppose. You’d answer anything.

“For a while, they went hand-in-hand for me. You’d be surprised at what could be accomplished when you put them together...” You explained, Stephen patiently listening beside you.

“But?” Bruce pried a little more.

“But then I heard about your little ‘accident,’ decided to take a break just in case. Refocus my research.” You felt your partner’s hand rest on your shoulder and slide down your arm as you watched Dr. Banner’s guilty expression surface. It wasn’t your intention to offend, you were just obliging to his curiosity.

“As much as I love hearing you talk about your career, darling,” Stephen finally stepped in, “I think we need to talk about the threat to our planet?”

“I was wondering when you’d stop me.” You chuckled. “That’s alright, I’ll just go pick up lunch for you three. Dr. Banner, do you like sandwiches?”

“I...yes? I guess so. Turkey and swiss is...I haven’t had that in a while.” He stammered, leaving you to peer over at your husband and have him give you a near-identical look. Sometimes, the two of you just thought that same exact things, no words needed.

“Will you two stop doing that weird thing where you stare at each other in silence? We have work to do!” Wong interrupted and you decided it was about time to head out.

“Love you, Stephen.” You said with an amused shake of your head, giving him a quick peck in the lips.

“Love you, too. Don’t be too long if you can help it, Dr. Banner seems to have a pretty good idea of dangers to come.” He told you as his cloak gave you a quick pat on the arm. You didn’t know whether to say goodbye to his outerwear, as well.

“I’ll see what I can do.” You winked and pat the red cloak back, heading for the door that your bag was hung beside. Now was the time for a walk to clear your mind, no “Thanos” or whatever the hell that was. Just the music to your ears that was Bleeker Street traffic and insufferable pedestrians. You just kept your eyes front and went on walking, you’d walk straight through crowds if you had to.

A few block’s worth of steps and you’d reached the deli that was so dear to your husband, now it was time to wait in line, a pretty long one, nonetheless. Maybe it was time to shoot Stephen a text.

Just made it to the deli ;) Anything I should be worried about out here?

Tony Stark is here. Outlook not so good.

Did you just magic 8-ball me?

“Dude, are you texting right now?” Tony asked in disbelief of the wizard looking down at his phone. It wasn’t very typical of him to check it in times like these, but you had a specific ringtone. Once he hears that ringtone, he replies. No matter what.

“I always answer my s/o.” He cleared his throat and stashed his phone away.

“At least we have something in common.”

—————

The line at the deli took so long that you got caught in the crossfire of an alien attack. Was it unbelievably amazing? Of course. Was it one of the most terrifying days of your life? You bet.

You could no longer get ahold of your husband and you soon knew why when he flew overhead in an attempt of offense. You’re guessing that these people were looking for the Time Stone.

Desperately hoping for one of your wizard “pals” to come and save you, maybe have you fall through a portal and back into Sanctum, you just hid in an alley. This may be one of the lows in your life, but you’d see worse days soon enough.

And the invasion was over just like that. You, like many other New Yorkers, stepped from the crevices of the streets to witness the damage firsthand.

“Uh, Dr. L/N!” That same voice from earlier spoke, causing you to swivel your head and see Bruce waving you down. Since he was the first person you recognized out here, it’d be best for you to head his way. It was a maze of cars, bricks, and broken glass before you’d made it over to him.

“Where’s Stephen? Or Wong? Tony Stark?” You bombarded him as if he weren’t stressed enough, but scientists always wanted answers. He knew that from experience.

“The aliens have your husband.” A line you never thought you’d have to hear. This better be a sick dream. “Wong said he was going back to the ‘Sanctum’ to protect it, and Tony is also with the aliens.”

“At least my husband has backup.” You sighed with a slight hint of relief, but your stomach was still turning just thinking about what they might do to Stephen. If they wanted that Stone, they’d do whatever they could to get it. Stephen was as smart as he was stubborn, it’d take a lot to get him to hand it over.

“Are you going back home?” He asked as he snagged a phone from the rubble.

“I figure you have a plan, I’m coming with you.” You watched him freeze for a moment with a name on the phone highlighted. “Trying to reassemble the Avengers, huh?”

“Are you sure you want to do this? I mean, it’s going to be dangerous.” Way to state the obvious. You didn’t know if you could handle it, but...

“I have to get my husband back, I can’t just wait around.” You wouldn’t back down, but it was a little comforting to have someone backing him up. “Don’t worry, I’ll try to put myself to good use.”

—————

It has been...twenty days since the disappearance of several Earth-based heroes. Among them was Spider-Man, Tony Stark, and your husband. But today was the day you’d know the truth.

Half the population had vanished into thin air. It was hard to tell if anyone had survived the trip to space. You’d been staring out the window all day, just trying to spot the cosmic wonder that was “Captain Marvel.” If anyone could find them, it was her.

Just as you were about to nod off, a bright glare intruded in the sky.

“Guy? Guys! She’s back!” Everyone had been on edge today, so they were ready to dash outside. Your heart was beating out of your chest, this was the moment of truth.

Carol landed a beat-up spaceship onto the open field and out stumbled Tony Stark and what looked to be an alien. You stared at the ship’s door, waiting for one more person. Just one more.

Everyone was staring at you now, waiting for you to realize that your husband wasn’t in there. Once Tony caught sight of you, he pieced together who you were.

“You must be the wizard’s s/o?” He leaned against his fiancée and Captain America, struggling to look you in the eye. “He wanted me to give you a message. Uh...sorry, I’m going blank, rough ride.” He rubbed his forehead as you stood there in tears. “‘This will make sense later.’ Oh, and he loves you.”

“I...” Everyone was still looking at you with pity in their eyes. Yes, they all lost people, but you were still clinging onto hope. All of your optimism had been destroyed in these past few moments, you didn’t even know how you were supposed to take this. “I need a minute. I’m sorry.” You stormed off into the guest bedroom of Avengers HQ, leaving everyone around you worried. You didn’t know them long, but it was easy to bond through a trauma like this.

“Y/N?” Bruce knocked on the door. “Got a minute?”

“Sure.” You reluctantly answered and Bruce let himself in.

“I brought you carrots.” He offered the bowl. “It was all we had in the fridge, sorry.”

“We have to find Thanos.” You grumbled though tears. “I won’t give up until we fix what he did.” Bruce stayed silent out of fear, he knew what could happen to someone in mourning. People can get...crazy.

“We’ll do the best we can. We’re working on it.” Bruce explained as he set the food down on your end table.

“Take me with you. I have to be there this time.” You were in no way qualified to face an intergalactic being capable of that much destruction.

“Y/N, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” He shyly countered you, using this calm tone was an exercise he learned during “anger management,” maybe it could help.

“I wasn’t asking.”

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @rorybutnotgilmore // @locke-writes // @sweetheartliz07 // @queen-destenie // @natasha-danvers // @lokihiddles // @frostedficrecs // @lotsoffandomrecs // @johnmurphyisqueer // @teenwaywardasgardian // @pappydaddy // @captainshazamerica // @freya-xo // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @ofthedewthesunlight // @canarypoint // @zoeyserpentluck // @randomawesomeperson102 // @spideyandtheboys // @ghost-bich // @wonderful-writer // @of-a-chaotic-mind // @groovyfluxie // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @lxncelot // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @blizzardbabe // @agentshortstacc // @rosadiaz-sarayvargas-harleyquinn //

#stephen strange imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #dr strange x reader #dr strange imagine #dr strange #bruce banner imagine #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner #hulk #hulk x reader #hulk imagine #marvel #avengers #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine

312 notes · View notes

plant-flwrs · 5 years ago

Note

hi! could you do a draco x reader imagine where it’s enemies to lovers and one night at a party draco gets drunk and confesses his feelings?

drunk // draco malfoy

masterlist!

a/n: i literally had an idea exactly like this n my drafts omg but it was smut :0 wut r the odds. n e way, hope u like it, thanks for the request anon!!

summary: You and Draco are enemies until one drunken night leads to a confession of secret feelings.

(4.4k)

----------

It was no secret that the Slytherin house was plagued by Draco Malfoy. The house was split; people who went along with Malfoy’s bullying and those who hated the boy. You were proud to say you definitely did not get along with Draco.

Over the many years of mutual torment between the two of you, you had both improved on your ways you made the other’s life a living hell.

This week, you had decided to casually mention to Ron that in his sleep, Draco sucked his thumb. You had no idea if this was true, of course, but you knew Ron would tell everyone he knew.

In retort, Draco had been stealing any of your school work you left out in the common room. He would return it a few days later with all your work erased.

This was typical. It would have been unusual if you didn’t have the added stress Draco gave you.

The worst part was the classes you shared. You shared a fair amount of them, being in the same house and finding a lot of your courses to be the same. The both of you were fairly smart, proving to be good competition.

Charms was your least favorite. You had an awful memory, and when you had to remember the physical movements with the vocal spell, you struggled miserably. Draco did fine in Charms, which made it even worse.

Today was particularly difficult, having to memorize at least ten spells, each with different movements and verbal aspects. You sulked out of the room, loosening your green tie in frustration.

“Finding Charms a little hard today?” Draco mocked, raising his voice so it mimicked that of a baby’s.

“Not as hard as that Transfiguration test was for you last week. How much like a tea pot did your poor little mouse look like? I seem to recall it still had its tail,” you retorted, feeling better already about Charms as you looked at Draco’s sour expression.

“So what? What good will a mouse teapot do me? At least I can cast a gouging charm without nearly killing half the class,” Draco shot back, taking an intimidating step closer to you.

The two of you stood off in the middle of the hallway. This often happened after Charms, for it was the last class of the day and neither of you had anything better to do than shout at each other.

You rolled your eyes at the boy and crossed your arms over your chest.

“I didn’t even come close to killing anyone, Draco. Your such a drama queen,” you teased him, enjoying the flush on his cheeks.

“Oh shut up,” he managed to still sound fierce, even with the pink hint on his face.

“Gonna cry about it?” you teased further, hoping to rile him up more.

He squinted his eyes at you and gave you one last critical look. He lifted his lip in a sneer and stalked off, Goyle and Crabbe following after him.

That was how you and Draco interacted. You would tease him, press his buttons, and he would get incredibly angry. It either ended with his storming off, or him saying something hurtful enough that actually made you sink to his level. He didn’t do it very frequently, because usually it resulted in him having a bruised eye for a few weeks.

You were happy to stand up to Draco, because not many other people did it. He was often too favored by Snape to ever get too badly hurt by Harry, and everyone else was too scared of him. Snape didn’t often interfere with the interactions between you and Draco, and you assumed he simply did not care.

You left Charms for the day feeling significantly more confident than when you had entered. You failed miserably at the assignments, and that upset you, but your little victory over Draco made up for it. You walked with Pansy to the Black Lake, books clutched tight to your chest as shields against the cold air nipping your skin. Your scarf clung to your neck and did its best to defend your vulnerable lips.

“You really can’t go?” you asked again, adding a slight whine to your voice.

“I can’t,” Pansy replied regretfully, “I’ve got loads of work to do, and my mum’s been on me about it recently.”

Pansy had fallen behind in more than a few of her courses. You supposed you could blame yourself a little, but didn’t like to think that hard about it. You and Pansy had been fast and loose recently, attending almost any and every party you could find, and spending a little more money than usual on certain substances. You justified it, though, thinking you’d be spending just as much at Hogsmeade every weekend.

“It won’t be any fun without you, though,” you said, still hoping she would change her mind.

“You’ll have Daphne,” Pansy said teasingly, “give her enough firewhisky and she’s a hoot.”

You giggled with Pansy, thinking back to the last time Daphne got drunk at a party. She had climbed on almost every elevated surface to dance, and when she ran out of tables to stand on, she had tried walking on the heads of the nearest first years.

“Can I help you on some of your work? Get it out of the way?” you offered, practically desperate at this point.

“Would you? That might actually work,” Pansy exclaimed, rushing to the nearest tree to sit against with her school things.

You trailed after her, sitting next to her and pulling out some of your quills. You looked dutifully at Pansy’s Ancient Runes work, starting to write in your best attempt at your best friend’s handwriting.

You knew there was an ulterior motive in wanting Pansy at the party, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. She was usually the only person who could effectively stop you from drunkenly interacting with Draco. She was the only one who could keep you two separate. As much as you hated Draco, something in your drunk subconscious always made you drawn to him. You needed her at that party.

Pansy stole a glance from her Potions work, looking at you. She smiled thankfully, tucking her short hair behind her ear and returning to her work.

The two of your worked silently for as long as you could, but the sun was against you. It crept away, hiding behind trees and clouds. The two of you began to collect Pansy’s scattered books in the dusk, some faint and lingering sunlight peaking through trees branches lighting the ground. You pulled your robes closer to you, feeling the air get colder as the sun was no longer there to warm you. You and Pansy struggled back to the castle, avoiding stray tree roots carefully.

The both of you heard leaves crunching from a few feet away. You ignored it, figuring it was just some other students making their way up to the castle for dinner, too. The light was fading more and more, and you and Pansy were just about to clamber out of the heavily forested area when something hard knocked into your shoulder from behind. Draco had come from the left of you, walking past you and throwing his shoulder into yours. You stumbled forwards, but Pansy’s vigilant hand was quick to steady you before you could fall forwards.

“Merlin!” you said out of surprise, before you realized who it was.

His hair looked white in the moonlight that now illuminated the field. The bottom half of his face was shadowed by a tree, but you could tell by the glint in his eyes that he was smirking. You rolled your eyes, feeling your feet firmly planted on the ground again, and began walking past Draco with Pansy’s arm looped in yours.

“Scare ya?” Draco snarled, taking a few long strides to walk in pace with you and Pansy.

“The only thing about you that scares me, Draco, is your nasty breath,” you said, pretending to sound sweet.

Draco scoffed, and you made a disgusted face, pretending to smell his breath from the few feet you were away from him.

“Honestly Draco,” Pansy said from beside you, struggling to hide her smile but going along with your joke and lifting her hand to cover her nose, “you’d think some of your daddy’s money would go towards toothpaste.”

You laughed earnestly, looking to Draco so you wouldn’t miss the offended face you knew he always made. He wasn’t doing it though, his brows weren’t furrowed and his lips weren’t curled. He looked off. His eyes narrowed but his lips were spread into some sort of crooked grin.

You narrowed your eyes back at him in suspicion, which he noticed. He quickly snapped out of whatever he was in, and his usual sneer was directed towards you and Pansy as he sulked off to the castle.

You and Pansy sat at the Slytherin table in your usual spots. Draco was a few people away from the both of you, as he usually was, but you both ignored him. It was easy to do, especially recently. Blaise had taken a peculiar interest in Pansy, and wherever Blaise went followed his friend Klein.

Blaise was busy fawning over Pansy, watching her with a dazed look as she brushed her hair from her face. Klein kept his eyes locked on you, something you did not mind.

The boy was a year ahead of you, and he was the interest of just about every Slytherin girl. His green eyes were piercing, especially against the black hair that fell onto his forehead. He always kept his tie remarkably straight, and you often found yourself twirling it in your fingers to tease him.

Tonight, he and Blaise walked with you and Pansy around the grounds before curfew.

“Are you going to the party on Saturday?” Blaise asked Pansy, bringing his arm up to wrap around her shoulders.

“I don’t know yet,” she said, and upon seeing your pitiful face she continued, “I’ll try, but no guarantees.”

“Are you going?” Klein asked you, pulling a hand from his pocket to adjust his green tie.

“Of course,” you smirked, “I would never miss a party.”

Klein stared at you for a moment longer, and aware of his gaze, you bit your lip. You liked to mess with him, he was always so uptight and serious, it was fun to see him unwind just at your little actions.

You and Pansy said goodnight to the boys as you went to the girls dorms.

The next day was odd, for as you came down the stairs to the common room, you saw Draco. It was not odd to see Draco in the common room, but it was odd for him to not immediately find you in a room and insult you. Instead, he merely locked his eyes with yours and stared at you. When you crinkled your face in confusion, he looked away, turning his attention back down to the book perched in his lap.

“Ready for breakfast?” Pansy asked, coming from behind you on the stairs.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, still looking at Draco as you followed her out of the common room.

In Potions, Draco didn’t torment you. In Transfiguration, he only stared at you, no sneer or grimace present. Most strangely, in Charms, he didn’t even bat an eye when your wand movement was off and your spell rebounded and hit Hannah Abbot.

You apologized to Hannah profusely, even offering to walk her to the infirmary as her hand began to swell two times its normal size. She blushed, obviously embarrassed by the affliction, but insisted she could go by herself. She made sure you knew she forgave you, smiling politely as you followed her to the door and watched her go down the hallway. You shouted one last apology at her as she turned the corner, and she lifted her swelled hand in a friendly wave.

Draco watched the entire interaction from his seat, his eyes following you as you held Hannah’s large hand in yours to look at the damage you caused. He looked at the guilty expression on your face, the red tint in your cheeks. He felt two things bubbling in his stomach: adoration and rage. He felt adoration, as he had been feeling for you for a while, and felt rage because he felt this way.

He swallowed hard as your eyes met his. In your flustered and guilty state, you shot him an annoyed look. He widened his eyes, embarrassed to be caught staring, and plunged his face downward to look back into his Charms textbook.

Draco had been weird lately, you noticed. For it was the third day, Friday by now, of no loud arguments in the hall, no insults in the common room, and not even a stray dinner roll being launched at your head during dinner (yes, he did that often). You and Pansy, however, were too busy doing her late work to do anything about Draco. She really was behind, and it was hard for you to do her late work as you had new assignments to do yourself. Pansy found a similar difficulty, leading you both to spend your Friday night poured over textbooks in the common room.

“Hard at work, girls?” you and Pansy looked up to see Blaise and Klein.

They fell into the couch across form you where you sat at a wooden desk against the wall. You had pulled two large armchairs to the table, the leather giving you some sort of relief as you bent over the work. Klein’s long arms stretch the length of the two person couch, and his stalky fingers tapped against it. Blaise leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared at Pansy. Klein eyed you hungrily, obviously enjoying the sight of your tie undone and your skirt riding up as you sat with your legs tucked beneath you.

Normally, you and Pansy would have engaged the boys, entertained yourselves with their mindless presence, but you had real things to do. Blaise and Klein may have been handsome, but they definitely weren’t the company you wanted right now.

“Hello Blaise,” Pansy mumbled tiredly, not looking up from the Transfiguration essay she was about to finish, “how’re you?”

“I’m alright,” he said airily, leaning back into the couch and taking Pansy’s simple question as an invitation to stay and talk.

You fought the urge to groan, not looking up form the Arithmancy problems you scrawled over and over.

“How about we sneak to the kitchens tonight?” Klein suggested, and you heard the smirk in his voice without having to look at him.

“We’re busy,” you said curtly, clenching your jaw as you came across a difficult set of numbers.

Pansy looked up at you from her paper, flashing you a warning look. You rolled your eyes, giving her an exasperated look. She raised her eyebrows, her face becoming stern. You sighed, releasing the tight grip on your quill.

“I’m sorry boys,” you forced your sweetest voice, “we’ve got loads of homework to do before the party tomorrow. Another time?”

Blaise looked disappointed, but accepting. Klein stood to his full height, and your eyes followed him as he grew. He looked down at you with a playful smirk, licking his lips.

“Of course. We’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded and Pansy waved kindly to Blaise. You decided then that you were no longer interested in Klein. He had been fun when he got flustered just from a glance, but now he was becoming like every other teenage boy. His smirks made you want to gag, and his lingering looks were creepy. You figured you’d tell him tomorrow night, if you still cared that much by then.

You and Pansy continued to work until Pansy slouched back in her chair and groaned loudly.

“I can’t get it done tonight. I’ll have to work on it tomorrow,” she pouted, but looked resolute.

You didn’t bother to attempt another guilt trip, or convince her otherwise. Pansy’s mind was made up. You had to go to this party alone. Pansy wouldn’t let you stay in the dorm all night with her, either, so it’s not like you even had a choice. At least Klein wouldn’t bother you. He seemed to only have the guts to come up to you if Blaise did too, and he wouldn’t come up to you if you weren’t with Pansy. Now all you had to do was make sure not to get roped into an argument with Draco. You had to be the bigger person for one night and make sure you wouldn’t do anything you’d regret in the morning.

Pansy was right, she couldn’t get all her work done that night. She sat on her bed with books sprawled around her. You looked at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the clothe hugging your body. You looked good, you felt good.

“You’re going to be fine,” Pansy reassured you for the tenth time as you sat at the end of her bed, “you can go to parties without me.”

“Okay, but if I come back here tonight having lost a shoe or something, it’s your fault,” you joked, smiling as Pansy laughed.

You, Daphne, and Millicent stayed in your dorm for a little while longer. You moved some clothes around in your trunk, lifting a hidden compartment at the bottom. You retrieved two bottles of firewhisky, handing them to Daphne and Millicent. You closed your trunk, meeting the impressed expressions of the girls. Usually Fred and George Weasley provided alcohol for the school, known for their impressive parties. You and Pansy, however, had your own supply you liked to keep for rainy days. While this wasn’t a rainy day, you couldn’t help the need for a little liquid courage as you had to go to your first party without your best friend. You took the bottle from Millicent and Pansy giggled as she looked up from her Ancient Rune dictionary to watch you take a large swig of the drink.

You felt it burn as it traveled down your throat, and it spread through your body like a warm blanket. You handed the bottle back to Millicent, and the three of you finished off an entire bottle. You didn’t want to go downstairs until you heard the music become loud enough, and by the time you were putting the empty bottle back in your trunk, the party roared downstairs.

The three of you said goodbye to Pansy and went to the common room. The music became louder and louder as you got closer to the party. Soon, Daphne was dragging you and Millicent to a large table with assorted drinks. You watched a boy on the other side of the table pouring himself a heavy amount of a clear liquid. He met your eyes and handed you the bottle. You looked at the label but all that was there was a cartoon drawing of a witch with bubbles spouting from her mouth. You raised your eyebrow at the boy, and he smiled, taking a sip of his drink. You filled your own cup with the liquid, drinking it quickly. It burned more than the firewhisky did, but it was still enjoyable.

You felt your head feel lighter as Daphne clasped onto your hand to pull you out to the dance floor. You danced with her, and as you moved your cup slid from your hand. You and Daphne looked at it for a moment, the cup spilled over as a wet spot formed on the carpet. You looked back up at each other and fell into a fit of giggles.

You continued to dance, looking around the crowd with ease. You felt like someone was staring at you, but you couldn’t find anyone in particular. The music and alcohol coursed through your veins. You felt lighter than you had in months, no worrying thoughts of homework or boys, or even Draco Malfoy.

The second you thought about how you weren’t thinking about Malfoy, you were immediately thinking about him. Part of you missed the hateful sparks between you, the natural narrow of your eyes at the sight of him.

Your body tensed involuntarily, and your drunk subconscious was already hoping to see his blond hair in the crowd. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking of what to say so Draco’s stern face would devolve into a furious expression.

You slowed next to Daphne, a wicked look overtaking your dazed face.

“What is it?” Daphne shouted into your ear, pulling you closer by your arm.

“I’ve got to go find someone,” you shouted back, “I’ll be back in a second.”

You were moving through the crowd before Daphne could reach out and stop you. A small voice in the back of your head sounded a bit like Pansy, her familiars warnings from the last party you were at with Draco. She had found you as you were just about to pour your drink down his front, and her soothing words floated into your drunken mind like good-natured clouds.

“He’s not worth it, honestly. All the stress he causes you is going to give you wrinkles, you don’t want wrinkles. Leave him be,” Pansy was right then and she would have been right again. Alas, Pansy was not here and her words did not echo loud enough in your head as you finally found the blond.

He was draped across a leather couch. His legs dangled off the arm as his head was perched on a pile of blankets. At the floor, Crabbe and Goyle hunched over, goblets clutched loosely in their seemingly unconscious hands. Draco’s eyes were closed, his long eyelashes delicately hovering over his pink flushed cheeks. His hair was pushed off his forehead, falling in handsome tufts onto the blankets under him. You stood there for a moment, interchanging which leg to rest your weight on.

“Are you going to say something,” Draco suddenly drawled, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, “or are you content to sit in silence for once?”

You scoffed, taking a breath that made your chest rise. You walked towards him, curling your warm fingers around his legs and flinging them off the arm of the couch. His body twisted and his eyes opened at the touch. You sat next to him, at least a foot between the both of you.

“What do you want?” he asked, leaning over to take Crabbe and Goyle’s full goblets from them. He handed you Goyle’s as he drank from Crabbe’s.

“Just wanted to see if you had done anything embarrassing that I could tell the whole school about tomorrow,” you lied, taking a considerable sip from the goblet.

Draco scoffs next to you, “Not yet, darling.”

You gave Draco a glance. He seemed distressed about something. The way he cradled the goblet in his hands and drank with an urgency was the way someone drinks when their upset.

“What’s got your panties all tied up, Draco?” you asked teasingly, leaning in his direction slightly.

Draco looked at your lidded eyes, the natural smirk on your pretty lips, the outfit you wore that you looked absolutely amazing in; he couldn’t feel any rage as he looked at you that night.

“You,” he said softly, staying stiffly straight but turning his head to face you.

You felt your cheeks warm, looking at him with a curious smirk.

“Really?” you indulged, wondering what else Draco may drunkenly confess. His words weren’t slurring like yours, but the faint pink flush on his cheeks and his unseemly kindness told you he was not sober.

He nodded silently, looking down at the goblet in his lap.

“Draco,” you said, turning to rest your back against the arm of the couch as your legs spread on the cushions. Your feet were inches from touching Draco’s thighs, and he tensed as he looked at the lack of space, “You’ve been acting odd with me recently.”

Draco, if possible, tensed even more at your statement. He was not nearly as drunk as you thought he was, or as you were.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he stuttered, biting his bottom lip. This was the first time you had ever seen Draco Malfoy seem flustered.

“Draco?” you slurred, not speaking again until he turned his face to yours.

You moved forward, bending your legs so you still didn’t touch him, but so your face was close to his.

“Do you fancy me?” you drawled, intrigued.

Draco’s previously tense and stiff stature seemed to relax, as if a secret was released that he had been bottling up. He brought his goblet to his lips slowly, and you did the same, the both of you finishing off what Crabbe and Goyle had been drinking.

“If I’m going to be honest-” Draco had turned his head to you and began speaking, but you weren’t listening. His lips looked so soft and his eyes looked so kind, you couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him.

He was surprised at first, unmoving against your lips. You smiled, still against him, and it seemed to make him realize what was happening. Within seconds, one of his hands was on your waist as the other was on your cheek. You sighed into the kiss, tasting a cinnamon flavored alcohol on his tongue as he slid it into your mouth. Your brought your hands to his neck, unable to stop yourself from playing with his hair. You ran your fingernails across his scalp and down to the nape of his neck, smiling again as he moaned into your lips.

You pulled away when it felt like your lungs needed air, which they did, and kept your eyes closed. Your shoulder fell into the side of the couch, your forehead resting on Draco’s shoulder.

You felt yourself drifting off into a drunken sleep, your body feeling heavy as it slumped into Draco’s.

“I really like you, Y/n. I really do,” Draco confessed from beside you, stroking your hair, “I think you’re the most clever person I’ve ever met.”

You felt your heart swoon at his confession, wondering if he said it because he thought you were already asleep, or if the alcohol was affecting him as much as you. You shifted, bringing your legs to fall into his lap, to which Draco wrapped his slender fingers around your thigh and pulled your closer to his body.

“I hope you’re not too drunk to remember this,” he mumbled, his own eyes fluttering shut as the both of you fell asleep.

556 notes · View notes

miraculouscontent · 4 years ago

Photo

Kagami and Marinette deserve so much better.

Anyway, let’s just start literally where this episode starts, because it makes no sense. Remember back in my “Truth” critique where I basically said that the episode seemed like it’d been shoved through multiple drafts and no one checked the final one?

Same applies here.

Like--okay, ”Truth” and “Lies” take place at roughly the same time, which means that the same filler akuma/sentimonsters appear to interrupt Adrimi’s moments just as they did with Lukanette’s, giving its audience a clear timeline of how the episodes line up. The reason this is important is because the writers can’t even keep consistency within singular episodes and then honestly thought that they could do it within two.

“Lies” begins with Marinette talking to Tikki about the grimoire, because apparently she has the non-translated version and there’s a secret to figuring out the code that Tikki believes Marinette will discover eventually.

...Alright, I’m derailing here but I have to add how absolutely stupid Fu was when dealing with translating the grimoire. He was supposed to teach Marinette how to be guardian, yet he didn’t teach her how to read the grimoire (if there’s supposedly a “secret” to it, is he really going to bank on Marinette figuring it out herself eventually instead of just giving it to her and avoid the risk altogether??), kept the translated pages on his tablet without sending them to Marinette as he deciphered them, and took time to write a letter to her in “Miracle Queen” but left no guardian-centric advice for her to work off of, meaning that Tikki had to explain how the Miracle Box worked to Marinette back in “Truth.”

The show goes out of its way constantly to turn everything against Marinette even if it makes all the characters around her look either incompetent or cruel. It’s not that I’m not used to this by now but it’s just infuriating that it keeps trying to raise the stakes and tension when Marinette made such a tiny mistake to cause the issue in the first place, and now we find out that Fu had no back-up plan or strategy, apparently expecting this 14-year-old girl to act perfectly and cover for him.

And of course, instead of leaving the scene off on Marinette being encouraged by Tikki and Marinette showing confidence in herself (i.e: what would’ve been a nice scene), the kwami accidentally fumble with the keyboard in such a way to have Marinette’s computer bring up a news story about Adrien, which leads to Marinette leaning towards her computer and sighing over Adrien and his “amazing life.”

Can I just point out how annoying it is that all the Adrienette moments so far on Marinette’s end have been forced, not just in general (because we’re used to that), but literally forced by the plot so Marinette would talk about him or other characters would bring Adrien up?

“Truth” had Alya insult Marinette to her face over her Adrien crush because Marinette was freaking over something non-Adrien related that they couldn’t have known about, Luka was sent a no-context picture of Marinette’s Adrien wall which led to him lowkey teasing her about it, and then Truth was forced to listen to Marinette’s friends and Tom babble about Marinette’s supposed crush on Adrien even when Truth points out that it’s not a secret, making the “joke” fall absolutely flat.

And now “Lies” comes along and has the kwami drop things and step on the keyboard in the exact way to pull up Adrien stuff for Marinette to fawn over. It’s at this point I’m realizing that - had the kwami stayed inside the box or just not been around in general - Marinette literally wouldn’t have brought up Adrien at all in either “Truth” or “Lies” and now I’m sad. I really don’t want to have a counter for “episodes where Marinette wouldn’t have so much as breathed Adrien’s name if the kwami/someone else wasn’t there to force it.”

So yeah, the episode had to force Adrienette into its Adrimi episode because the show can’t go five minutes without reminding the audience that Adrien exists even though this episode is primarily from his point of view, made worse by this scene’s lack of ability to exist.

See, from the timeline in “Lies” lining up with “Truth,” there is no possible way for this opening scene with Marinette talking about guardian stuff and then fawning over Adrien to happen. There’s an akuma scene in “Lies” that literally is just copy-pasted from “Truth” (it actually does this again with another scene later but that’s not important right now), so that means anything that takes place before said scene in both “Truth” and “Lies” have to line up.

Except they can’t. The akuma scene in question interrupts Marinette’s movie date with Luka in “Truth,” and before that, she had just opened the Miracle Box, wrangled up the kwami, talked to the girl squad over video call, talked to Luka, and then immediately had to leave. There are no cuts or wiggle room anywhere in there.

Therefore, the scene in “Lies” is impossible. Either the scene is supposed to go elsewhere in the episode (we don’t actually know how many days it takes up so it’s hard to say on that front) which just makes the episode even more convoluted, or this means that one would have to pick between the scene in “Truth” and the scene in “Lies” because they literally cannot co-exist.

“Lies” was supposed to coincide with “Truth” and they messed it up in the first scene of the episode.

Then comes Adrien himself, who really shows the series’ clunkiness in focusing on other characters. It’s not that I’m against the show moving away from Marinette to show other people’s point-of-view (I definitely didn’t complain during the Couffaine sibling scene in “Reflekdoll”), but Adrien cannot carry his own episode.

In Marinette’s opening scene, we immediately got details on the grimoire and lore about how reading it actually worked. I didn’t like it and it wasn’t good, but it was new information.

Adrien, meanwhile, spends a large portion of the episode being sad (a very grand and unique plot, my dudes) and giving us information we already know. “Truth” has to come first because “Lies” is half of a follow-up on it, meaning that the audience is already aware that Ladybug has been forgetful and has had to miss out on patrols. It’s just that now we get to see Chat Noir sulking about it and--okay, I am just going to go off, alright?

Firstly, Chat Noir tells Ladybug later on that he “understands” her guardian duties, but he previously mocked her behind her back by using air quotes when he was talking to her answering machine (since she obviously wouldn’t see that). We saw in “Truth” where he admitted that he doesn’t mind her being guardian “as long as it doesn’t change their relationship,” and that’s on display right here with his comments.

Not only is it extremely disrespectful, but for someone who claims to be so loyal and understanding to Ladybug, he sure doesn’t show it.

Secondly, he leaves her a message about how he’ll take care of patrol, then proceeds to slack off because she’s not there to keep him in check. He sulks around Paris, mumbling about how Ladybug isn’t around and constantly checking his messages to see if she’s replied to him. Chat Noir has shown his “priorities” in terms of heroism before, but patrol isn’t supposed to be about getting time with “““his lady”““ yet that is clearly all he cares about. He even ends the patrol unprompted, either giving up or just generally having not finished, because I don’t believe that the “end” of patrol just happened to be at the place Kagami was.

Patrol is about protecting Paris and scoping things out. Ladybug is trusting him to pick up the slack when she’s not around and he should be picking up slack, yet he has completely failed on that front. This is made worse when considering that the Season 3 finale had Ladybug breaking down to him from guilt and we know that Marinette had a breakdown before that to Luka, yet Chat is doing nothing to lighten Ladybug’s burden, putting up a falsehood on Ladybug’s answering machine to make him look better than he actually is.

Then, thirdly and most importantly/infuriatingly, Chat Noir knows that Ladybug is busy and he knows that she’s taking on a new responsibility, yet he not only jabs at her for “how hurtful it is when she leaves him to patrol alone” (one, cry me a river, and two, I don’t care if it’s a joke, it’s insensitive), but before that scene, he was actively hoping for people to get akumatized so Ladybug would be forced to show up and he could spend time with her. He egged Xavier Ramier on, even asking him if he “missed being Mister Pigeon,” and then looked on with glee as Chloe bullied Sabrina because he thought that an akumatization might happen.

And this is on top of so many other issues with this whole scene. Adrien complains all the time about his schedule and how restrictive his father is, but suddenly - in the episode right after Marinette had to break up with her boyfriend due to her cramped schedule - is lounging around and wasting time. It hurts to see Marinette suffering from all of her responsibilities while Chat’s biggest problem is how little time he gets with Ladybug.

Also, another point on Mister Pigeon is that that’s the akuma that had interrupted Marinette’s movie date and kiss with Luka. I’m not suggesting that Chat egging Xavier on led to him getting akumatized, but I am saying that Chat wanting akuma to happen with no regard for Ladybug’s happiness is yet another point on the list of why I hate the love square. Marinette genuinely forgot about patrol with him - genuinely was forgetting about everything, really - and as a “punishment,” her own partner whined, didn’t patrol properly, and egged on an akumatization that eventually ended up happening which then broke up the little bit of happiness that the universe was allowing her to have.

Oh, and did I mention that he’s also dating Kagami at the time as well because here we freaking go.

Now, I did not get on Marinette’s case for her Adrien wall and stammering because Luka is largely aware of where she stands in the relationship and she only brought Adrien up when someone else did, even when Luka wasn’t around or being mentioned. Adrien, however, I have multiple bones to pick with, starting with how utterly needy he is for Ladybug’s attention.

This guy has tons of friends, all these fans, and could get people to flock to him whether in or out of the mask, but he wants Ladybug, and anyone not Ladybug isn’t good enough. There’s a scene later in the episode where Kagami - his girlfriend, mind you - is pouring her heart out to him, and he gets distracted by Ladybug instead of listening to her. Even when he excuses the distraction, he then gets distracted again even though Ladybug is no longer in the background.

Lying to protect his identity is one thing, but what Adrien does to Kagami goes beyond that. He’s pining after and flirting with another girl and Kagami has no idea. She’s speculated before that Adrien likes Marinette, but she’s mostly left in the dark because Adrien hasn’t told her anything, nor has he confirmed with her whether it’s okay or not for him to flirt with other girls so long as he’s not pursuing them. He could’ve admitted that he was in love with Ladybug but that he wants to try things with Kagami, but he refuses to open up to her or put himself out there.

Except, he technically does, once, when Kagami tells him to pose for her and he strikes his transformation stance, but he caught her completely off-guard and it’s no wonder why she was put off by it or thought it was unnatural. Not only that, but when Kagami tells him that he’s acting like a clown in that scene, we can see by jumping back to “Truth” that Chat Noir fished for Ladybug’s compliments which then led to a line about him talking about how Ladybug enjoyed him acting like a clown; a direct connection.

Kagami didn’t validate him, so he fished for Ladybug to do so because Ladybug was both forced to answer the question and wasn’t able to lie to him. The show has Ladybug state that her most preferred trait of his is his humor but I am certainly not laughing.

Chat Noir even goes further after the fight with Truth (so another copy-pasted scene) by saying that he has the most fun with Ladybug specifically, and this is all while he’s still dating.

Then this guy has the gall to talk during his break-up about how his fun times with Kagami weren’t lies after apologizing to her for his constant lying, as if he’s trying to earn her sympathy when we know that he’s been pining after Ladybug and flirting with her like she were his number one when he already had a girlfriend waiting for him (and who, by the way, had covered for him earlier and was sitting sadly on a staircase outside, feeling abandoned). The episode presents the break-up as if Adrien’s problem was the fact that he had to constantly lie to Kagami due to being busy with hero work (which is already dumb when we also saw him lounging around and complaining about how nothing was happening, meaning he was inadvertently supportive of the idea of having less time with Kagami and more time with Ladybug even if that means Paris is in danger), but the real problem ends up being that Adrien neglected Kagami emotionally and wasn’t able to give her the attention she wanted.

It’s both sad and annoying that Adrien has always sulked about his dad not paying attention to him and then we get Adrien not paying attention to Kagami, looking for Ladybug when Ladybug had already left and Kagami is trying to tell him something very important.

This is what I mean when I say that Adrien can’t carry an episode on his own. He’s incredibly selfish and most of his dialog just involves him complaining about Ladybug or making excuses. Kagami carried the episode more than he did because more details were revealed about her - specifically the fact that she likes drawing - and she’s active in making things happen (being the one to make the excuse to set up their fencing lessons, deciding what they’ll do with their hour of free time, etcetera).

And regardless of what girl he’s interacting with, Adrien can’t respect either of them. I just talked about Kagami and I’ve already talked about how he treats Ladybug when she’s not even around, but now we get to how he treats Ladybug when she is around.

During the climax of the fight with Lies, where Ladybug requires a distraction to safely pull off her lucky charm, Chat Noir decides - without Ladybug’s input - to sacrifice himself yet again.

I have to stress that Ladybug is stressed and Chat has always talked about her plans and listening to her, yet he has a horrible habit of making decisions all on his own and letting Ladybug deal with the fallout. Whenever he has the chance, he’ll throw himself in front of her and take the big hit, presumably with the mindset that Miraculous Ladybug will fix everything so it’s not like it matters.

Ladybug even shouts at him when he hints at what he’s about to do and there was absolutely time for them to talk about it, but Chat Noir just lets himself fall and be bait, even throwing out what is a clear confession (again, while he’s still dating someone else) before he’s knocked unconscious by Lies’ power.

And when Ladybug yells at him for it when everything’s said and done, pounding at his chest and looking absolutely upset over the whole thing? He not only brushes her off, but he boops her nose and talks about how “irresistable” her “angry little pout” is.

He might as well have just said, “you’re cute when you’re angry,” because that’s exactly what he’s implying; that Ladybug’s anger is something “amusing” to him and not something he takes seriously. We’ve already seen it before in “Reflekdoll” and “Oblivio” as well, so this is just a continuation of already-annoying behavior.

Then, instead of Ladybug getting even angrier for it, the episode has her smile at him, which not only isn’t a normal reaction compared to how she’s reacted before, but now gives the impression that she’s being conditioned by the narrative to accept Chat Noir’s behavior in whatever shape or form it takes.

Because think about it: regardless of how upset Ladybug gets over Chat Noir, it never works out for her and she’s forced to either make up with him quickly or just get over it because she can’t be fighting with her partner (meanwhile, like in “Glaciator,” Chat Noir can be as upset as he wants and she’ll apologize first). She presumably would now have the authority to take away his ring by virtue of being guardian, but he’s also been her partner from the beginning and he’s had so much time to get used to the cat. Most likely, she would sooner blame herself for failing to reign him in than blame him for failing as an adequate partner.

There’s nothing she can do. She has to deal with the hand that she’s been dealt and getting angry at him has done nothing; rejecting him has done nothing.

And of course the episode throws everything under the rug in the ending with an insulting LadyNoir scene where Ladybug and Chat Noir talk about the secrets their forced to keep but also how they can trust each other.

Meanwhile, Ladybug has no idea of all the things Chat Noir has done behind her back. She still has no clue about “Copycat,” nor “Syren,” nor any of the stuff he did in this episode that she’ll probably never know about. Factor it in with “Miraculous New York” (whether one considers it canon or not) where she rightfully shouted at him because he betrayed her trust, and here we are one and a half episodes later (since “Truth” and “Lies” take place at similar times) where suddenly they’re all buddy-buddy and Chat Noir doesn’t have to deal with any consequences to his selfishness.

I’m glad that Kagami didn’t forgive Adrien in the end (even if I’m upset that she doesn’t know how bad it really was) because she had every right to walk away and not want to be friends with him. I only wish that Ladybug could do the same thing and never look back, but due to the love square’s status as endgame, we know that can’t happen, and Ladybug will eventually be forced to fall in love with a guy who mocked her responsibilities behind her back, disrespected her authority by opting to tease/flirt with her, continued pursuing her despite her rejections, and hoped for Paris to be in danger just so he could see her.

And... yeah, that hurts. It really does.

#category: salt #episode: Lies #other: ask and answer #other: ml spoilers

169 notes · View notes