#but it means that most places i visit i have previously visited with him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thischarmingmandalorian · 2 months

Text

I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship

Couple, Bar Chapter 1

Summary: After you help Joel with a work project, he takes you out for drinks. When the bartender mistakes you for a couple, his brain short circuits.

Pairing: Single Dad Neighbor!Joel Miller X Reader

Warnings: Joel thinking being mean is flirting, alcohol, grinding on strangers, getting groped in public, no-no words. In my mind there's an age gap (10 years max) and I envision a mid-40s Joel, but I don't think it'll ever become apparent.

Word Count: 2.3k

Notes: Formatting on mobile is not for the weak, y'all, so if this looks like ass I'm sorry. I don't know what a contractor does. Song mentioned is Jenny (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship) by Studio Killers. Full playlist is linked on the master post for this series (which I'll learn to link all together soon I promise I'M OLD, OK?!) Also I promise I have an English degree but if I read this one more time I'll lose the nerve to post it so ignore any mistakes I missed. Anyway love you bye.

While you weren't on your neighbor Joel's payroll, every now and then he'd knock on your door and sheepishly ask to borrow your "eye for design," which was Joel talk for "I need help knowing what handles look good on these cabinets I'm building and every other person in my life is busy."

You and Joel had been neighbors for the better part of 5 years and had become relatively close in that time. If you were being honest with yourself, the first day you met you might have fallen in love, but since immediately jumping into a relationship with a newly-divorced single father wasn't on your five-year plan, those feelings were buried, albeit not always successfully.

Joel was charming, kind, and... Southern. And while these were all things that made you head over heels for him, they were exactly what made it difficult to interpret his feelings for you. Were he and Sarah baking you Christmas cookies and hand delivering them to your door because he too had a crush, or was he just being neighborly? Was he grinning every time he said hello to you because he was a nice guy? What were you supposed to make of that one time, on his couch for movie night, when his hand lingered a little longer than normal on your thigh? You had no idea, and for the sake of your friendship, you were content not knowing.

On this particular day, Joel needed help matching paint colors to flooring samples and might as well have been color blind. He was building a house for a newlywed couple and their wishes for, as Joel put it, "some 1960s Brady Bunch bullshit" aesthetic meant nothing to him. You had spent the better part of an hour helping Joel match swatches of green and orange in ways that he had previously thought impossible, and as a thank you, he offered to buy you a drink at the first bar you spotted on the way home.

The first bar you spotted happened to be an almost-literal hole in the wall, but the packed parking lot indicated it was a place worth visiting. Joel opened the door, beckoning you through the threshold ahead of him, and you're hit with a wall of smoke and the bump of a local dj working through his set.

Luckily most of the people at the bar had already started drinking and were congregated in the middle of the tiny dance floor, making it easy to find two seats. Joel flagged the bartender over and ordered for the both of you, handing his card over to start a tab.

"Got you a beer, this place doesn't look like they'd make a good margarita," Joel shouts over the music.

You smile, leaning in close to thank Joel. "I appreciate the forethought! Send me a Venmo request for what I end up owing you," you gesture to the frosty bottles that get put in front of you.

Joel tuts and waves his hand between you two in a noncommittal gesture. He leans in close to your ear instead of shouting this time, "consider it payment for your help today. When that couple told me they wanted their house to be 'midcentury Palm Springs chic' I knew you'd know what they meant. The wife kept sending me links to her Pinterest board, whatever the fuck that is. I was too scared to click them because..."

"Because you're fucking old," you finish, barking out a laugh at the frown that Joel gives you.

After one beer turned into three, Joel starts to open up. Despite his gruff exterior, you know he cares and is interested in your life, even if it takes some alcohol to get him asking about it.

"Have you started dating yet?" The question catches you off guard, your eyes growing wide. "What? You've been in town for five years now, it's high time you start putting yourself out there. A pretty girl like you should have no trouble finding a man."

There it is again. Is Joel just being nice calling you pretty? Or is he fishing for something more?

"Have you started dating?" you counter, raising an eyebrow, nodding when Joel shakes his head. "I'm too busy, Joel. I'm…"

"'Focusing on my career,'" Joel finishes for you, having heard it all before.

You roll your eyes. "Why are we talking about this?"

Joel smirks and cocks his head to your beer, the label in the process of being peeled completely off. "You've peeled the label off every drink you've had tonight."

"Oh…kay?"

Joel shrugs, "if Tommy were here he'd say you're pulling the labels off because you're sexually frustrated." He makes a face as if to say 'but what do I know?'

You raised an eyebrow at Joel. "You of all people should know not to take what Tommy says as fact. And you're one to talk; you live across the street, I'd notice if women were coming over. And they're not. You're going through a dry spell, Miller, same as me." You empty your bottle, stuffing the label down the neck and waving the bartender over for you and Joel to order one more round. Joel tries to think of a witty comeback, but he knows you're right.

You watch the bartender open your tab on the till behind the bar and chuckle when you notice what she's titled it: at the top of the screen, in bold letters, "COUPLE BAR."

You tap Joel's bicep, pointing to the screen, "look at that, Miller," you shout over the music, "she thinks you and I are a couple."

Joel looks at the screen himself, eyes suddenly going wide. You raise an eyebrow at him, confused as to why he isn't just chuckling at the bartender's misunderstanding, but your expression turns to one of anger once Joel regains use of his brain and the only thing he can think to say is, "... ew?"

You hope you just misheard him over the loud music, but as Joel started to sputter out an apology, looking horrified at what he had said, you realize - a stranger thought you two were dating, and Joel thinks that's gross. You weren't interested in hearing him trip over his words while he tried to backtrack, and you desperately needed a distraction so you didn't start to cry. You wave your hand in front of Joel's face, telling him to save it as you grab your beer and push past him to the dance floor.

This is definitely not your scene, the middle of a smoke-filled bar on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, but you make the most of it, taking a swig from your bottle as you push through the crowd. Once you've made your way to the center of the crowd, you assume the position - eyes closed, bottle raised above your head, swinging your hips to whatever top 40 hit the dj decides to bleed into the last one he played. You don't have to wait long before you feel a body push up behind you and you welcome the distraction. You don't open your eyes or lower your hand except to drink from your near empty bottle, but you do back your ass up against the stranger behind you. It's definitely not Joel. This person behind you is way too lanky; when his arms encircle your waist they lack definition, his thighs aren't nearly as beefy as Joel's, and… you get frustrated with yourself. Joel just insinuated dating you would be gross and all you can do is think about how hot he is?

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts and enjoy the moment. The guy behind you is getting handsy, and normally that would bother you, but Joel was right about that dry spell. One song bleeds into another as you gyrate against this stranger who now has his hand splayed across your stomach under your shirt.

You're ripped unceremoniously from your mindless grinding by a large hand on your shoulder. You wink one eye open though you knew it was Joel. You're not interested in hearing him out, especially not with this stranger's hand gliding slowly up your torso, boldly inching closer to your chest.

"Darlin'" you hear Joel shout over the music, "'m sorry. I didn't mean…"

You put your palm in front of Joel's face before moving your hand on top of the stranger's, whose fingers are teasing the hem of your bra. Joel can be sorry, but he's also going to see how decidedly not-ew the thought of being with you is.

"Whatever, Joel. You can think being my boyfriend is gross. This is fine!" You open your eyes and the look on Joel's face is one you've never seen before. At this point he isn't looking at you, he's staring daggers at the man behind you. Whoever he is seems blissfully unaware.

"Honey, I'm out of touch. I'm fucking old, you said it yourself! I don't know how to - hey, buddy, do you fucking mind?" The hand under your shirt loses its grip on you as Joel shoves the shoulder of the guy behind you. Suddenly his body unglues itself from your back.

"My bad, man. Didn't know she had a boyfriend," he shouts over the music as he disappears back into the crowd. You groan and roll your eyes.

"So sorry, Joel! Turns out when you look and act like my boyfriend, people think you really are! How embarrassing for you," you ramble into Joel's ear. You turn to walk off the dance floor, embarrassed, but before you're out of his reach Joel grabs your forearm, pulling gently until you're flush with his body. He towers over you, his eyes bore into yours.

"Please listen," he bends to speak quietly into your ear, "I'm sorry, and I mean it. We're friends, and I value that. I thought I was bantering, bein' funny. I know you don't want to be a couple at this bar. I know you want to be friends, nothing more, with me. But…" he trails off, pulling away to look at your face.

The atmosphere changes in a way that you swear is straight out of a movie. The lights pulsing and flashing are hitting Joel's face in a way that makes him even more handsome, which you'd thought previously impossible. While your beer bottle is empty, clutched into your hand that hangs limply at your side, Joel's drink is nearly full, still frosty, and dripping condensation through your shirt, soaking your lower back. Joel's eyebrows are raised, waiting for you to do or say anything.

And then the dj changes the song. You are… intimately familiar with what begins to play and you shake your head, chuckling. What divine intervention drove the dj to start playing a song about ruining a friendship at this very moment? You have no idea, but you make a mental note to thank the universe as you smile at Joel. You push away from him for just a second, long enough to rip the label off your empty beer bottle. Joel looks confused watching you ball up the damp paper.

You chuckle as you toss the label at Joel, it pinging off his temple before you spin your body so your back is plastered against Joel's front.

You'll show him sexually frustrated.

Joel seems to take a second to read the situation because his body doesn't move. In fact, it goes rigid. Your hips sway against him anyway. Joel only breaks out of his spell when your arm snakes around his neck and you bury your fingers in his hair. Tugging gently on his curls seems to awaken something in him and his hands are on you in seconds. The hand clutching his beer comes to rest on your hip as the other picks up where your previous dance partner left off, creeping under your shirt and splaying across your stomach.

"What are we doin' here, baby?" Joel rasps into your ear, his voice deeper and more strained than you're used to. "I guess I deserve you teasin' me, but two can play this game." Joel's nose prods at a spot behind your ear as he peels one cup of your bra away from your body, replacing it with his hand. Your eyes fly open to ensure no one notices, but everyone on the dance floor is busy paying attention to their own partners. Joel rolls your nipple between two fingers before giving it a flick; you try and suppress a moan.

Not to be outdone, you reach for the beer bottle in Joel's hand. You make sure Joel's eyes are locked on you as you lick a stripe up the neck of the bottle, taking a generous sip before handing it back. Joel's eyes widen and he smirks, bringing his mouth back to your ear.

"Think it goes without sayin' now, but I really don't hate the idea of people thinking you're mine," Joel accentuates his last word with a gentle nip at your earlobe that makes your head loll back onto his shoulder.

"Are you listening to the song, Joel?" You reach up to place your hand on Joel's cheek, turning his face gently so your eyes meet. He looks confused, but you can tell he's training his ear onto the chorus of what's playing.

I wanna ruin our friendship

We should be lovers instead

I don't know how to say this

'Cause you're really my dearest friend

Joel lowers his eyes back down to meet yours and smirks. "You an' me both, darlin'." His hand around your waist pulls you impossibly closer and you feel him grow hard against your ass.

"Know where I last heard this song?" The final notes start to dissipate, melding seamlessly with the next song. Joel shakes his head and asks where. You smirk, nuzzling into Joel's neck before you lick a stripe up to his ear. "It's on my sex playlist."

Joel stills. You grin, giggling as he pushes you away gently. "I've gotta close out the tab," he says once he remembers how to form thoughts into words. "Meet me at the truck. And think about what song you're gonna put on once I get you home."

#joel miller smut #fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou smut #couple bar #neighbor!joel

493 notes · View notes

xavieryaa · 1 year

Text

The Reddit Blackout, #196, And Being New to Tumblr

okay i've seen a lot of people in the past ~24 hours or so confused by everything going on with Reddit & Tumblr from both sides - people new to tumblr who don't know how to use it, and tumblr users who don't know what's going on with reddit and why many of its users have joined up here i know this isn't really related to my blog but fun fact about me: i was up until recently a very active reddit user and even mod a subreddit, but I've also been on tumblr for about 3 years now on different accounts, so I think I can see pretty well from both sides of this and explain what's going on this post will be split in 2 sections: what happened with reddit (and what #196 means), and a guide for new users

1. What The Hell Is Going On With Reddit?

The thing that's caused all this ruckus is a major change to Reddit's API, which is what Reddit provides to people so they can pull directly from Reddit to make third-party apps or tools.

The change is that Reddit is changing its previously free API to be paid. Which on its own kinda sucks for developers, but it's not unexpected. They need to make money somehow, right?

The problem is that the API pricing is WAY TOO FUCKING EXPENSIVE. The developer of the most popular 3rd party Reddit app, Apollo, says it will cost him $20 million a year to continue running the app as normal.

Essentially, this pricing forces almost everything third-party to shut down, which causes 3 major problems:

Third-party apps cannot keep running, which sucks for normal users because Reddit's official app is awful. It's slow, its video player is a thing of nightmares, it doesn't have many useful features third-party developers have made.

It sucks even more for visually impaired users because they can't use the official Reddit app at all. Reddit's official app does not work with iOS's native text-to-speech function. Third party apps, on the other hand, often do. So Reddit is forcing blind users away.

Third-party moderator tools cannot keep running, which sucks for moderators because many rely on these tools to properly moderate their subreddits. And moderators are often necessary, because without them subreddits get banned and hate speech and even CSA can often run rampant.

So you see why this change is bad.

Reddit users were PISSED.

So over the past week and a half or so, they have been working on organizing a site-wide blackout. The majority of the most active subreddits have now gone private. Some are only doing it for 48 hours, others (such as r/196) are doing it indefinitely.

That's why you can't access most of Reddit right now, and that's why many users have come here.

You're probably still wondering, though - what is this #196?

Well, as you may guess, it's connected to that subreddit r/196 I just mentioned. r/196 is a subreddit which only has one rule: every time you visit, you must post before you leave.

That's it, that's the subreddit.

The thing about r/196 that set it apart from most other subreddits - and what lends the subreddit's users perfectly to Tumblr - is that it was dominated by queer and leftist users.

So now they've come here and set up shop in #196 and r/196 so they can continue their merry little shitposting.

There's a ton of lore related to r/196, actually, but this is already a long tumblr post and quite frankly I cannot be bothered to write about it at the moment.

2. I'm Here From Reddit, What Now?

Hello there, random new user. As a double-citizen of Reddit and Tumblr, let me show you around this place.

First off, there are some other people who are better at explaining that I am who have made some really helpful things. Watch this Strange Aeons video as a guide to Tumblr culture and functionality and read this post which directly compares Reddit and Tumblr.

Assuming you've done that, here's some additional advice of my own:

Do you miss sorting subreddits by top of all time/the year/the month? Well, you can do something very similar with tags! If you go to a tag at the top of the screen you can select top, and then at the dropdown that says "all time" you can select different time periods! Even 6 months, which Reddit hasn't ever had.

Tumblr has a lot of cool customization features! Even outside your icon/banner/bio, you can change you blog colors and on desktop you can have an html theme (which has its own thriving community here). That customization is part of what sets Tumblr apart from everywhere else - I think you'll enjoy playing with it.

Notes will probably confuse you at first. Unlike the different numbers for upvotes and comments, notes combines the total number of likes, reblogs, and replies into the same number.

Outside of organizing your own blog, when making your own posts tags are what help other people find your post. Use them! But don't abuse them, because then people will just block you.

There are three ways of people finding your post: if someone follows you, if someone follows the tag(s) assigned to your post, and if someone is just scrolling through the tag(s) assigned to your post (and also the secret 4th way no one uses, which is finding it on the trending page, but even if people did use it no one will find your post initially that way)

tumblr is no longer The Discourse Website. And unlike what Reddit wants you to believe for some reason, it is very much alive still. Most of the people seeking fights have moved to Twitter (though some have also moved back here again). You will not get any brownie points for being a dipshit like you do on some subreddits.

So there, welcome to the hellsite (affectionate), you'll pick up on all the in-jokes eventually, for now just try not to be a nuisance and soon enough this'll be your new internet home.

#reddit #reddit blackout #reddit migration #196 #r/196 #reddit refugee #new to tumblr #long post #text post #xavi.txt

2K notes · View notes

btsmosphere · 5 months

Text

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 4: We Aren't Heroes, Honey

prev | masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens?~ 🗲this chapter: A chaotic arrival turns everything on its head, and the boys are ready to let you in on their real game.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader, side established vmin 🗲word count: 5.9k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, found family 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, injury, blood, weapons

a/n: if you hadn't already noticed, vmin is a side pairing in this fic! I probably won't add that in every chapter description tho, since they don't really have a plot revolving around them, but they are together as side characters because I love them mwahahaha🤩while we will learn more about them, they have an entire backstory, one of the many things I know about this universe that never made it "on screen"👀 I also just want to say how thrilled I am that people are enjoying this fic! To those of you who have left me comments, reblogged with sweet and supportive tags or sent in asks, it means the absolute world and I love you all💜💜

(previously)

“I did exactly what I’m training to do.”

“Like scare him half to death?”

Dropping your head, you gazed at your hands, wishing anew that you didn’t have this complicated curse that drove people away. That made you into a danger.

But you didn’t have the words or the will to explain this to the obstinate Jungkook.

“See you at training,” you spoke flatly, and stepped away.

See him at training you did. Not that he was any more helpful than normal.

As always, you gritted your teeth and tried to run through the same actions, still getting used to them. Over the course of the next few sessions, you certainly noticed an improvement, your powers coming more and more naturally to you than you had thought possible at first.

Still, Jungkook clearly disagreed.

You stood in the centre of the training space, arm raised. Just as you had been doing for the past half hour, you shot a bolt, expecting to hear the rattle of the target when you met it. And beyond that, the same heavy silence that always filled your practises.

Instead, your training ‘partner’ stepped nonchalantly in front of the shot.

Eyes widening, you closed your fist, shutting off the flow of power as fast as possible. But as you gawped in outrage, Jungkook raised a hand, easily deflecting the jet of blue electricity that had escaped with a quick burst of his own gold lightning.

Lowering his hand as if he hadn’t just placed himself in front of something deadly, he stuffed it into his pocket and smirked.

“What are you-” you spluttered, “you- you should be careful!”

“If I’m really expected to babysit you, I would hope to see more improvement than that,” he replied easily, “I mean, great, you can shoot, but attacking isn’t what this is all about.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching as he slowly walked towards you.

“Imagine I was someone else,” he continued.

“I wish,” you muttered, adding in an exaggerated eye roll. Jungkook didn’t comment on that, but you saw his gaze harden.

“Someone without my powers,” he drawled, “I would be dead.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to walk across while I was training!”

“You’re not supposed to expect it,” he shot back.

“And when exactly do you forsee me shooting lightning bolts out in public?”

At last, he seemed surprised by your response. Really, he thought you were raring to go out and terrorise the streets? You scoffed, ready to return to your usual mutual silence, but he recovered himself.

“You should control them in here as well,” he spoke, though there was less malice behind it this time. “You’ve already scared V shitless once.”

Arms folded, he turned his back on you, abandoning the conversation.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” you muttered, not really caring whether he decided to pay attention or not, “I’m trying.”

But if his step faltered a little, you didn’t notice. He kept his back to you and walked away.

You had been doing a steady amount of work each day with your powers. It didn’t take long for the others to be proven right as you noticed it got easier both in and out of the training rooms as time stretched on. With your powers in use so frequently, they didn’t often try to break out when you least expected it anymore.

And though it hadn’t been long, you were getting a sense of the motions of this unconventional household.

On your way to training, you would pass the others at work, with or without their powers. It made sense that superheroes (it felt strange thinking of them as superheroes, but you supposed that was what you all were, in a way) needed to work out physically as well, to give them the upper hand in any fights.

Not that you could imagine them fighting... Most of the time. Sometimes you would see the power inherent in Jimin’s stance when he threw weights heavier than you could lift across the room with a flick of a finger. Or the deadly speed and precision as Hoseok darted around impossible obstacles.

But then they would huddle around the tv with you in the evening, cradling steaming bowls of food prepared by Jin or Yoongi, usually. The sight of V bundled in a fluffy blanket, laughing at Jimin more than the film, made it hard to believe he was some supernatural force of nature.

Namjoon, though. That, you could believe. He was the rarest sight in the house, even above the enigmatically quiet V.

However, if he caught you and Jungkook on your way out of practise, he would always beam like you were his children, ignoring the scowls that no doubt adorned your faces. Jin did the same, always clapping Jungkook on the shoulder in praise.

If only the others knew how Jungkook neglected the job they believed he was doing.

But as much as you wondered how different it would be if Namjoon had continued teaching you, you understood it couldn’t be that way. Not when he was constantly holed up in his office, or staring at a tablet and tugging his hands through his hair. His job seemed to be important, always moving with hurried purpose.

So then, with all the people and noise you were surrounded by now, it was a shock when things turned quiet.

Before this, you had lived on your own. Woken up each day just to head to work, Kuyang and the lab workers the only faces you saw before returning back to empty space.

So why was it this hard to get used to again?

Sometimes, the house emptied. Not totally, but since it was usually Jungkook that remained with you, it may as well have been. Each time you came from practice to find the house deserted, a scowl would etch itself into his face and he would retreat back to the gym, or somewhere. You never bothered to follow him.

When this happened, you kept your eyes on the news. If they were superheroes – which they must be, what other job could a bunch of powered people have? – then surely they would show up?

But without fail, the news stayed quiet. Either that, or heroes like Bolt or Monsoon (another worshipped figure in your city) instead had stamped out some threat and were being celebrated as always.

You weren’t sure what it was, but something made you shut off the tv when the rest returned, not wanting them to see what you had been looking for.

Generally, though, they didn’t leave you alone for too long, which was nice. You were nearly always in the communal spaces, since you had nothing to do in your room, bare as it was.

So it was when you heard hissed voices that you realised maybe you should let them have more time without you.

“She’s not more important! I don’t get why I have to, of all of us-“

Still hidden in the corridor, you froze when you heard Jungkook’s hushed voice in the living room.

“We’re fine to be down one, it’s not particularly risky,” someone replied.

“Please, can’t one of you stay for once? I already have to spend half my time with her!”

Gulping, you retreated the way you had come. You shouldn’t be hearing this, you knew that. Above all, you couldn’t stand the flicker of hurt that bled through you at the venomous words, though you ought to be used to them by now.

Sitting in your room, you idly played around, forming a ball of blue static that hovered above your palm. You sighed as you tossed it from hand to hand. This should be impressive, but you knew you were still incredibly clumsy with your powers compared to the others: Jungkook made sure you knew it.

But you stayed there, enjoying being able to use your powers without purpose or judgment.

After a while, a tap on your door heralded Yoongi calling you for dinner. Any tension you had sensed earlier when they didn’t know you were listening had dissipated.

Of course, Jungkook was ignoring you, but it was better that way. He was battling Hobi with chopsticks instead, trying to score a piece of meat from his plate as his opponent shrieked in protest. Jimin was falling onto the table with laughter, Yoongi groaning as he took a seat and slid a bowl to you.

Quietly thanking him, you began to eat without trying to muscle into the conversation. It was clear how comfortable these boys were together, having been arguing not long before and now joking around with the air free of bad feelings.

Even though you had never predicted your life going in this direction, you found yourself grateful. Despite the obvious Jungkook issue, having these vibrant people around you was such a stark contrast to your lonely state before Bolt had tried to kill you.

You were only reminded of the frosty conversation you had accidentally eavesdropped when, a few days later, you got the afternoon free of Jungkook.

As usual, that morning the two of you occupied the same room, training by yourselves. Today, Jungkook never offered so much as a word, and almost sprinted away after the hour was up. You couldn’t bring yourself to complain, instead taking the time to rest and return lazily upstairs at your own pace.

When you arrived, the unfortunately familiar sight of an empty apartment waited for you.

Funny, though. You hadn’t seen Jungkook come back downstairs as he normally did when the others went out.

Shrugging it off, you headed for the shower. It had almost slipped your mind by the time you emerged, but confusion instantly resurfaced when you were faced with the back of Jin’s head.

Stepping around the sofa and into the main space, you caught his attention.

“Ah, Y/N,” he greeted, turning away from the tv show he had quietly in the background.

“Jin,” you smiled, “where’s Jungkook?”

A smirk bloomed on his face before you had the chance to realise how that might have sounded.

“I didn’t realise you would miss him,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you sunk onto the other sofa.

“I’m not sorry to see him gone,” you quickly backpedalled, “but I just… thought you had all gone out again.”

“Well, Kook was feeling left out,” Jin explained, “I know you two aren’t exactly the best of friends but he’s still been helping you out, so we thought it was fair he doesn’t have to do that all the time and miss out on our… stuff.”

You nodded along as you understood the situation. As if to distract from his strangely vague ending statement, Jin jumped straight in again with a chipper voice.

“But I heard you’re getting much better! Jungkook says he can trust you to work independently, so maybe you won’t have to endure each other’s company as much!”

Now that made you laugh. Loudly. Jungkook had better trust you to work independently – he forced you to do it half the time anyway with his reluctance to teach you.

Jin seemed pleased with your reaction, and you two carried on chatting. It took you a while to even notice his quick glances at the door, the slight jittering leg, the distracted way he watched the show with glazed eyes, not fully taking it in.

When he suggested dinner, he all but sprang from the sofa. With a light frown, you followed him. What was giving him so much nervous energy?

Outside was dark by now, but that didn’t stop Jin’s eyes straying to the black sky visible through the window.

For once, you actually acquiesced to him rejecting your offer to help in the kitchen. He seemed pleased to have his hands busy, even if his knife occasionally clattered too loudly on the counter or oil splatted out of the slightly too-hot pan.

But all that was forgotten when a commotion suddenly shocked the air. The main door must be fully soundproof: that was the only explanation for the way it was silent one second, and the next raised voices were almost at the top of the stairs.

Whipping around to face the sudden interruption, Jin brandished his spatula in panic for a moment. You jumped from your seat.

Then Namjoon swept into the room, long coat swishing as he marched across the room, face set. Looking first at him in panic, your eyes returned to the others following him in and your jaw dropped.

Between Jimin and Jungkook, they were supporting V, whose head drooped alarmingly, legs barely making purchase on the floor. You were frozen on the spot as they hauled him past you. You hadn’t even noticed Yoongi come in until items were being shoved roughly from the counter to the floor to make space to lay V down there.

Swallowing, you staggered back a step, watching with wide eyes at his collapsed form. Sweat beaded on his furrowed brow, feverish spasms weakly shaking his body.

“What happened?” Jin exclaimed, panic shaking his voice.

A storminess brewed in Namjoon’s eyes, which glowed a little red though you weren’t sure if he noticed he was doing that. Turning to Jin with a serious expression, all he said was:

“Our suspicions were true.”

His words meant nothing to you, but the way Jin’s face paled struck fear through you.

Closest to the table, Jimin’s eyes glistened with tears as he clutched V’s hand, murmuring to him. You couldn’t hear him, but you had the feeling it wasn’t for you to hear and turned your eyes away.

Not a moment later, a harsh shove had you stumbling to the side, Jungkook barging past. You couldn’t even spite him for it. The panic spiralling through you at the state of your friend was painful enough, but these boys were his family. You couldn’t imagine the depth of their worry right now.

“What do we do?” Jungkook demanded, stopping in front of Namjoon and Jin. His frame was taught, nearly shaking as he looked to his hyungs for answers.

They always seemed to know what to do, but the uncertainty on Jin’s face as he stepped closer to the unconscious V was concerning.

“W-what happened?” he asked.

Hope was wringing his hands beside him, but spoke up.

“It was like we thought, when we showed up. We knew we had to get out, but B- he caught us, right at the end. We were just going, but V freaked, and-and then he- then- I don’t know what it was hyung, but he shot something…”

Hobi’s voice was bordering on hysterical, and as he trailed away, he leant forwards to pull V’s jacket aside. Jimin whimpered, turning his face away to bury it further against V’s arm.

There, on V’s torso, a section of his shirt was mangled, a bloodied shape seemingly etched into his side. Though the bloodstained shirt made it difficult to see, you couldn’t mistake that. It was no gunshot wound – you had seen something like this before.

The injury was fairly large, shaped something like a star. A familiar shape instantly sprung into your imagination, metal that spit sparks as it flew across the room, latching onto the wall at the other end.

Except, this time it had certainly not been used in lab conditions.

“I- I don’t know,” Jin was stuttering, “I’ve never seen something like this before…”

The silence was totally stifling, Jin’s admission met with disbelief. Namjoon ran hands roughly through his hair, biting at his cheek.

“We have to DO SOMETHING!”

Jungkook’s yell made you flinch a little. He moved forcefully, returning to the table with a handful of tea towels and thrusting one at Hope.

“Let’s just- stop the bleeding, at least-”

“He has powers, the bleeding isn’t the issue, Jungkook-”

“Do you have any better ideas?!”

His eyes flickered a blazing gold as he spun to yell at Jin, something he would never normally do. But right now, that was the least of his worries. He trembled from head to toe with tension, and you could see the shine of tears he was unable to will away from his eyes.

“Right, yes,” Jin swallowed, taking the towel and pressing it to the wound, as Hobi was already doing.

At the no doubt painful contact, though, V jerked a little, purple flame shooting from his hands. It was brief, but you all jumped back from the sudden heat.

“Why’s he doing that?” Jimin’s voice thrummed with underlying fear, “he hasn’t had an outburst in…”

The others only looked between themselves, equally lost.

After a moment, V hadn’t moved again, and Jimin was the first to gravitate back to his side.

Frowning at the ground, you willed your memory to work faster. Jimin’s heartbreaking calls for V, hand pressed desperately to his cheek though he was met with no response, had you racing through your memories.

Kuyang had had you in charge of all his safety files back at the lab, but right now you didn’t have access to the computer with them all stored on. It was at the tip of your tongue, just out of reach. You frantically grasped for any hint of memory about this particular weapon.

“Iodine,” you muttered. Your eyes widened as it dawned on you.

No one heard.

“Iodine,” you repeated, louder this time, “do you have iodine?”

Heads turned towards you, as if they had forgotten you were there at all. Jimin’s tearful face emerged, tentatively hopeful as you spoke.

“That wound is radioactive, it’s what’s messing with his powers. We need to give him some before it gets too far into his bloodstream.”

You spoke with a calm urgency, grateful you could keep your voice from wavering. Trusting your firm tone, Jin hurriedly nodded, darting away down the corridor without a look back.

As you watched him go, you caught Namjoon’s gaze. You stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself, and his piercing stare startled you. A frown tightened his features and you had the odd sensation that he was calculating you.

Still, he said nothing. But it seemed someone else was less afraid to breach the silence.

“Who put you in charge?”

Only Jungkook had the sense to question you, glaring from where he had taken over pressing on V’s wound.

“This weapon, it uses radiation-“ you began.

“How do you know?” He cut you off. “Isn’t iodine toxic? You’re trying to kill him-”

“It’s the only way-”

“I won’t let you touch him!”

Tentatively stepping forward, you fixed Jungkook with a level gaze. His eyes narrowed, distrustful.

“It’s only toxic if we give too much,” you explained, forcing your voice to stay calm, “he has powers, he should be able to take it. Like Jin said, with powers, you can withstand more bleeding than others. It’s the radiation poisoning that’s hurting him, not the wound.”

Though his teeth were gritted and his glare lost none of its ferocity, he kept quiet.

“We need to stop it,” you spoke with finality.

Just then, Jin dashed back into the room, bottles and packets nearly spilling from his arms before he deposited them on the counter. Rushing forwards to meet him, you spotted some other bottles too.

“Pentetic acid? Where did you get-“

“It helps, doesn’t it?” Jin supplied, and you left it at that. It was another agent Kuyang had had on the safety files as a radiation blocker, but you had never expected to see it outside a lab.

You didn’t complain, though. V needed all the help he could get.

Jin’s fingers fumbled with a small needle as he pulled it out and filled it, looking to you for confirmation.

Nodding, you hastily stepped out of his way, planting yourself beside Jungkook. He watched warily, though you were sure it helped that it was Jin applying the remedy and not you.

A stony silence fell once Jin pulled away. Of course, it wouldn’t work instantly, but you hoped with all your might that some change would be visible. These chemicals were dangerous, the cure to this weapon difficult to apply for good reason. It was a weapon after all.

The bin opened and closed, the room so quiet you could hear the used needle falling inside it.

Hope sunk weakly into a chair, eyes still fixed on his injured brother. Jimin remained close to V, gripping his hand despite the threat of the fire that could burst from them at any moment.

Your eyes slid to Jungkook at your side. Of course he didn’t look away from V.

It felt as if your heart was squeezing its way up your throat, the longer V remained motionless. He had been seriously hurt, and though you were confident in your cure, having learned it from the weapon’s creator, the nagging worry that you might have made it worse refused to go away.

V could be hurt. He could – you didn’t even dare to think it.

The others would never forgive you. Jungkook would never forgive you. You would never be able to forgive yourself if you caused something like this.

And beyond all that, your mind was running frantic laps trying to figure out how Kuyang’s prototypes had ended up being fired at your new friends. Kuyang may have been unhinged, and more than a little shady, but to commit such violence?

But there must have been a reason for him making the things he did in that lab…

The memory of his face the last time you saw him assaulted you then; the way his normally pleasant demeanour left no trace on his fearsome expression when he had found Bolt inside his lab.

Guilt sat heavily inside you as you gazed down at V.

“Taetae?”

Jimin’s voice was quiet, nervous, but still sweet. Despite the low volume, as the only sound in the room it caught everyone’s attention.

A laugh bubbled out of Jimin as the younger boy stirred with a low groan.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Jimin cooed, “you’re okay, we’re home, I’m here.”

Gently, him and Jin helped the boy to sit, and though he seemed tired, the flush had faded from his cheeks. He was no longer sweating and his breathing was even, but his hair was left sticking in places to his forehead.

Jimin took his hands.

“Can you feel your powers, baby? Are-are they there?”

Slowly, V nodded. Turning a hand over, he summoned a single flame, livid purple, to dance on his palm.

“Okay, okay,” Jin closed his fist, “don’t tire yourself out.”

But you could tell he was as relieved as the others that V could still control his powers. Even if you had only just learned what they were, you now understood Jungkook’s outburst when you had come across V at night before. If not controlled, fire was certainly a lethal force to have at your fingertips.

They left, disappearing to get V settled and cleaned up. Even though having powers gave you higher tolerance to injuries, it was still unwise to leave them untreated.

Casting your eyes across the rest of the room, you saw Jungkook duck away from your gaze.

You let him.

The remnants of adrenaline in your body were fizzling out and you understood the temptation to collapse into a seat.

However, as Yoongi moved across to the stove, you joined him without a word needing to be exchanged. The cold beginnings of Jin’s meal from earlier were sitting in pans and chopping boards, and you simply picked up where he left off.

The two of you cooked with minimal movement and noise, not disrupting the stillness of the kitchen as everyone soaked in what had just happened. At some point Namjoon had disappeared.

Though only four of you remained, you ate nonetheless and boxed the rest up. No one said much, and you didn’t try to change that. In fact, you hardly looked up from your plate, preferring to leave the others to their thoughts. They didn’t need you intruding right now.

Of course, that did nothing to stop the onslaught of questions filling your mind.

You still didn’t really know what the boys got up to on their mysterious excursions, and V coming home so badly injured – by one of your old boss’ experiments, no less – only made you more lost. And intrigued.

Still, you held your tongue.

It was only when you collected everyone’s plates that you caught Jungkook’s eyes boring into the side of your head. Looking up at last, you found him staring at you with a confused frown etched across his brow. He held your gaze though, the ever present intensity of his own making you shrink away towards the basin to distract yourself with washing up.

Just as you thought you would have to endure a silent room without the distraction of food to alleviate the tension, Namjoon returned.

At first, only seeing a shadowy figure in the hall, you thought perhaps V had come back, or at least Jin or Jimin to give an update. Perhaps that was entirely too optimistic. Nonetheless, even the stressed-looking Namjoon was a welcome distraction.

You had begun to scoop some more food into a bowl for him when he spoke. He hadn’t come any further into the room, still hovering in the shadows of the hallway.

“I’m sure you have questions.”

Pausing in your movements, you lifted your head. The others all turned their heads to you as well, leaving you like an animal stuck in headlights.

“Uh-” you stuttered once you eventually caught up with yourself, “I mean, I guess…”

Glancing around you, you found Yoongi and Hope looked a little nervous, some doubt in their faces. Jungkook, on the other hand, was smirking.

Not knowing what to make of that, you decided not to keep Namjoon waiting. He seemed fairly expectant, his not entering the room making it clear that you should follow, so you picked up some chopsticks and brought the food along with you.

Namjoon may have seemed a little surprised when you handed him his dinner, but he took it anyway. Once you were in his office, he started eating without complaint.

“Am I right to presume,” he began between mouthfuls, though he was preparing the next already, “that you knew about the weapon used on V because of your work for Kuyang?”

You quickly confirmed, but you could no longer hold back further questions.

“Yes, but how did it end up- I mean, why was it used? Did Kuyang-?”

Shaking his head, Namjoon cut you off with a wave of his chopsticks. He swallowed and continued perfectly calmly.

“It wasn’t Kuyang that used it.”

Already, your shoulders slumped in relief. But still-

“Then how…?”

Sighing, Namjoon set his cutlery down and sat back.

“Kuyang is one of our… associates,” he began to explain. “After the attack, he escaped, as you know, and went into hiding. Only, we found his lab totally empty soon after.”

At this he sighed, raking a hand through his hair as he always seemed to do without noticing. You could empathise with his stress; the news had you shuffling closer to the edge of your seat. The stuff Kuyang worked with was dangerous, it shouldn’t just… go missing.

“We weren’t sure what to think at first, and we investigated for a while. Other, similar cases have cropped up too, others among our allies being raided. It became too difficult to deny what we feared… Bolt was the only connection.”

Without noticing, your mouth was gaping open, eyes widening. You blinked as Namjoon’s words sunk in. But surely you were misunderstanding? It couldn’t be…

Slowly, you were able to form words.

“Bolt fired at V? At all of you?”

Namjoon nodded.

Shutting your mouth, you swallowed. Your mind may have been whirling at a hundred miles an hour, but nothing made it as far as to form a sentence. Fragments flitted past, telling a story you were afraid to believe.

Bolt was the city’s superhero… a hero… everyone knew that.

He protected the city from harm.

Yet he had shot you… and now V…

The silence stretched out, Namjoon pausing in his meal as he watched you. When you eventually spoke, your voice was small.

“You were fighting… against Bolt?”

A wry chuckle left his lips. Cocking his head, he clasped his hands.

“Villains, one might say. Many do.”

You simply blinked at him. Meanwhile, Namjoon stared evenly at you, gauging your reaction.

“What else has Bolt done?” you ventured.

Namjoon’s eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?”

Stammering slightly, you tried to explain.

“Well, I already know Bolt isn’t exactly as… innocent, as most people think. He- I mean, at Kuyang’s- when Bolt was there, he had no reason to shoot me? But I hadn’t really thought about… why he was at Kuyang’s lab. What’s going on?”

As you spoke, a faint smile quirked Namjoon’s mouth. As you trailed off, he nodded. It seemed he was finally willing to indulge you.

“It’s true that Kuyang had set his latest experiment on Bolt already. To the media, it would simply seem that Bolt was retaliating, or eradicating the threat they perceive people like Kuyang to be. But today confirmed what we feared. Bolt is collecting.”

“He’s not destroying those weapons?”

Before Namjoon’s confirming shake of the head, you already knew the answer.

Though many of your questions had now been answered, it felt like you had opened up a whole new realm of possibilities that you couldn’t wrap your head around. But Namjoon didn’t allow you time to spiral into further confusion.

“I had hoped this would have to come later,” he spoke carefully, chewing on his cheek as he sat back once more. “we’ve taken in a few people before, helped them control their powers and then proceed to leave this life behind…

“You clearly know that this world isn’t as black and white as the city media wants us to think. But you should also know we aren’t many people’s idea of heroes. We fight against this society. We use violence, we support developers like Kuyang, who are…”

A wave of his hand was all that was needed. You both knew the kind of person it took to create the things Kuyang spent his time working on.

“People don’t agree with us,” he continued seriously, “which is why I’m offering you the chance to leave. As I said, we normally wait until someone has full control of their powers. Out there, the world isn’t exactly… kind to people like us. Bolt, Monsoon, heroes from tv – they’re the exceptions. People don’t like those who are different. They see our powers as a threat, and they do twisted things to gain power over people they fear. If you choose to go, we want you to at least be safe.”

Breathing deeply, you sat reeling.

Everything that had been presented to you should have flipped this whole thing on its head. Your new friends were by no means superheroes, as you previously thought. There was a reason you never saw their names in glowing lights on tv like Bolt.

But really… did it change anything?

Breaking through the silence, the click of the door handle. Since the new arrival hadn’t even knocked, you were certain who it was before they even entered your line of sight.

“Hey,” Jin spoke. Then he paused, looking between the two of you in the sombre silence. Cautiously raising a brow, he turned towards Namjoon. “You told her?”

Namjoon nodded.

“How’s V?” Namjoon then asked nearly straight away. That was a relief; you were wondering the same thing yourself.

Wiping his brow, Jin perched himself against the desk. Though his sigh was tired, he nodded.

“He’ll be fine. He’s already annoying poor Jiminie again, so that should tell you enough.” After a brief hesitation, he continued, eyes shifting to you. “That was a close one though… if Y/N hadn’t been there…”

With the room’s attention on you once again, you gulped. But somehow, what you said next didn’t take you much thought.

“I want to stay.”

Namjoon kept his infuriating poker face on as he appraised you, but Jin cracked a smile.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he grinned, clapping you on the shoulder. Turning to Namjoon, he cried a smug “I told you!”

Encouraged, you nodded with more certainty.

“I agree with you guys – Bolt goes unquestioned, he’s practically worshipped. But whatever he’s doing, I want to help stop him. And he did try to kill me after all – you guys are the ones who've helped me. I trust you.”

“Good,” Namjoon spoke, digging back in to his food, “I wanted to offer you a position in the team, if you said yes. With Bolt on the move like this, we need all the power we can get-”

As a smile was just blooming on your face, it was halted by his next words.

“But. You aren’t ready just yet. I want you out there with us, so I’m willing to send you out sooner than I have with others before. These are unusual times, and you have to understand this will be more dangerous than I normally send rookies to. There’s work to do, with your powers, but also…

“As much as I appreciate your trust in us, I know it doesn’t extend fully. I need my team to be able to trust each other. Every single one.”

Fixing you with a hard stare to accompany his last words, he was effective in making you shrink in your seat. You knew exactly who he was talking about.

And that person was waiting for you right outside.

On leaving the office, you found Jungkook leaning up against the wall. Jin and Namjoon had hung back, leaving you alone as you emerged, and you instantly rolled your eyes. Determined not to be deterred, you kept walking down the corridor, trying to fix your eyes ahead – firmly away from the infuriating man that watched your approach.

“Scared yet?” his smirk bled through his words. You were almost upon him at this point, and he pushed away from the wall, blocking the way with his black-clad body.

Eyes flicking up to him, unimpressed, you tapped your foot.

“Why would I be scared?”

One corner of his mouth curved up, looking you in the eye as he leaned a little closer.

“We aren’t heroes, honey.”

“Thanks for spelling that out, Jungkook,” you drawled, making to step past him.

His laughter followed you while you started walking away.

“Need help packing?” he called.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Jin’s stern voice joined him, “no need. She’s not going anywhere.”

Jungkook’s silence spoke volumes.

Glancing back as you reached the end of the corridor, you were met with the livid expression that seemed so familiar. Jungkook’s eyes bulged with shock. You were sure that Jin’s hand on his shoulder was all that was holding him back.

Making the most of his eyes on you, you flashed a serene smile and walked away.

But though an (admittedly large) part of you took satisfaction in Jungkook’s shock and rage, you knew you would be expected to work with him. Properly work with him, not the frosty silence he currently counted as work.

With the impossibility of this steadily creeping over you, you climbed the stairs heavily.

As you returned to the wary stares of your friends and dispelled their trepidation, assuring them you were staying and trying to settle down to a relatively normal evening, it remained in the back of your mind.

But you could deal with Jungkook tomorrow. For now, you let yourself be reminded of the reasons you wanted to stay here with them.

Thank you for reading!!💜comments, questions etc. are always welcome! Fanfiction is all about community and if you wanted a sign that it's ok to participate, you are invited!!💞

Let me know if you want to join the taglist!

taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine @written-in-flowers @taegularities @dvalities

@parapiop7 @taiwan0618 @11thenightwemet11 @junniesoleilkth @doctorquack

@oddinary4bts @svnbangtansworld @ktownshizzle @minisugakoobies @jksusawife

@kokoandkookie @veemegatron @kookxin @seokout @jkayy

@peaaachpit @stxrrielle @welcometomyworld13

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook series #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x you #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au #bts series #jungkook fanfic #jeongguk angst #jeongguk imagine #jungkook scenario #superhero bts #supervillain bts #jungkook e2l #jungkook enemies to lovers

156 notes · View notes

yyawnjun · 1 month

Text

THEO AS TATTOO ARTIST

from my serie: P1HARMONY STUDIO

A tattoo of water lilies, an attractive and talented tattoo artist, a phone number that is seemingly impossible to obtain, and certain feelings that are hard to hide. What could ever happen? a.n.: first part! hope y'all appreciate the lil connection between the stories ndaja (you will understand reading the other stories when they will be out <3) ; 2,5k wc ; fluff !!; no warnings ; theo being a tattoo artist makes so much sense. ; shootout for this beautiful banner AND for proofreading this to my favorite girl ever @gfnextdoor @sobun1est (GO TO FOLLOW HER RN) ; writing this to find all of the few p1eces on this app!!

event taglist : @tkooooop (send an ask to be added)

Soon the receptionist found your name on the appointment list and led you down a hallway to room 11 where you would speak for the first time with your tattoo artist about your first tattoo. You had been thinking about getting it for years, and you were looking for the right place and the right time in your life. So one day, after moving alone to a new city to continue your studies, you decided to celebrate the new beginning with a tattoo.

After a long search for the perfect shop, you were lucky to come across "P1HARMONY," a shop with great reviews despite being little known. You had previously decided what you wanted tattooed, where on your body, and in what style. After seeing some tattoos on the Instagram page, you decided to visit the place. In particular, the amazing and simple style of a specific Theo caught your eye. Unfortunately, the tattoo artist you wanted wasn't available when you first visited. However, you were able to schedule a meeting for the next day so you could talk to him face-to-face about your tattoo.

It was around 10 am when you entered room number 11. When you walked in, you saw that the blinds were still a touch low so the light was reflected enough to illuminate the room without being overly blinding or annoying. You immediately saw the boy who introduced himself as Choi Taeyang, your tattoo artist seated on the chair next to a desk. His pale skin provided a pleasing contrast to accentuate his reddish lips, and his jet-black hair matched the color of his eyes. His expression seemed calm and even his glazed eyes were softened by a small smile. He didn't have any tattoos on his arms as you expected, but you could see one on his chest because of the shirt's neckline.

“I heard this will be your first tattoo. What were you thinking of doing?” He asked you after you walked in and sat down in the chair across from him. Even though a whole desk between you two, you could still feel your heart pound as his black eyes remained to gaze at yours. His calm attitude quickly made you feel comfortable, to the point where you began discussing your desired tattoo design. You clarified that you wanted a water lily to be placed on the inside of your arm. To ensure that his style was appropriate for you, he got up to display his collection of tattoos.

He got up and took a big notebook from a shelf that had sketches and pictures of tattoos he had done. As you reviewed that type of portfolio, you grew to admire his lovely line and the numerous incredibly accurate details that accompanied it. You saw that, although focusing more on the medium-sized tattoos, he had no trouble applying color and that the size of his tattoos was the most different.

As soon as you finished looking at his notebook. You looked up, convinced now more than ever that he would be the one to give you your first tattoo. You started to look at him, but he was already looking at you. You looked away for a moment while he kept his gaze. “Okay, I’m convinced”

“Perfect, then by this evening I will send you some ideas of your tattoo, both colored and not. Once you have seen them, we can discuss the price together.”

“Thank you. Do I need to leave my email or my number to the secretary?”

“Yes… I mean, no, don’t worry. If it’s okay with you, you can leave it with me and I will contact you,” all his confidence seemed to waver as he said that. His voice sounded halting, and his cheeks were flushed. You didn’t pay much attention and gave your number to him.

“So, water-lily girl, what’s your name?”

You chuckled at the funny nickname "Yn, my name is Yn," to which he responded with a smile and a firm handshake.

In contrast to your hand, his hand felt quite warm and had a firm hold. You got up to go a little while later, and he got up right away to open the door.

A quick nod and you were out of room number eleven. You walked towards the main exit where you ran into two boys, one tall with red hair and lip piercings, and one with black hair and a temporary henna tattoo on his arm.

“And you know that, even though I’ve known Theo for a week now, I still haven’t managed to get his number!” said the red-haired boy. Suddenly, their conversation took on a more intriguing tone. I mean, because you already had his number…

"Of all the people I know, very few have his number." the other boy replied. And after that sentence, you lost a heartbeat skip and an involuntary smile. Why did they ask for your number? Or was it all just your imagination? The truth is that you had to move from your hiding spot to get out. You did this by lightly smiling at the two boys.

“And she didn’t leave her contacts at the secretary’s office,” the receptionist told the two boys that were still looking at the girl that just left the shop.

“Either Theo scared her, or Theo took her contacts,” the henna boy replied.

“She was really cute, I don’t know whether to hope that he scared her or that he thought she was cute,” the redhead added.

“The second option,” said Theo, who had just joined in the discussion. No one had noticed his arrival, and everyone was slightly scared by his sudden comment.

“You did well, I’ll be rooting for you. You should give me your number so you can keep me updated.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Jiung,” Theo chuckled before going back to his studio to take care of your tattoo.

It was 8 pm and you had just finished taking a shower when your phone rang. It was a message from an unknown number. But you immediately recognized who it was from the profile picture, and his introduction in the message; it was Theo, the tattoo artist. For a little while you felt the emotion rise, even if he hadn't written you anything so crazy... but you could still hear the voices of those two boys talking about how rare it was to have his phone number. And you got it right away... that boy blushed and stammered when he asked you for it. Oh, how all those romantic Kdramas are starting to bring out your delusional side…

“Hey, I'm Theo, the tattoo artist at p1harmony. We met today and I texted you to show you some tattoo ideas. Sorry, there are a lot, I ended up getting carried away. I hope you like at least one. Let me know so I can fill a spot for you starting tomorrow if you're available.

Have a good evening Yn”

You grinned at the message and began glancing through the pictures. Every one of them was more beautiful than the last.

The style was similar in all of them, and yet they were so different. You fell in love in particular with a water lily colored in a reddish pink with green petals. It had little stars around it that lit up the water lily, giving it a fairy-like tone-

You stood alone thinking about the tattoos and imagining the boy doing them. As he worked on his graphics tablet, you could picture him focused, with his eyes half closed and his forehead slightly furrowed. After a while, you responded to him, telling him which one was your favorite and asking if you could have an appointment the next day.

“A date tomorrow. Sure, see you at 10 am.” he sent the message shortly after your confirmation.

“Of course, I meant for your tattoo.” at 1 am, when you were still awake watching your favorite TV series.

You smiled and replied with a funny emoji to let him understand that you knew it.

“...unless” was the message he sent you at 1.54 am, which you saw fleetingly - because you were still absorbed in watching the series - and which he deleted a minute later.

You wanted to scream because that message had caught you off guard. Unless what? You were fantasizing a little too much about a boy you had met the day before…

Shortly after you fell asleep lulled by those sweet thoughts.

“Welcome,” he said to you as soon as you returned to room number eleven. You found him standing next to the armchair where you were supposed to lie down. He was wearing black gloves and a white shirt that highlighted his hair, which was particularly neat, pulled back by a light layer of gel.

He had a warm smile that lit up his face, and his eyes shone with the light that came in from the windows.

“Come and sit here, so we can try the stencil,” he told you.

You sat down while he went to print the stencil of the tattoo you had chosen. You had time to admire his studio. Everything was clean, and the predominant colors were black and white. On the walls hung some of his tattoos and sometimes certifications.

You smiled when you saw a print of a painting by Monet, of water lilies that stood out next to his desk. It seems like he did some research for your tattoo. He appeared so young, yet so skilled; the room featured a few bookcases filled with different tattoo manuals and journals containing pictures and sketches of his tattoos.

You took a moment to lean over and check the year he had won the competition, so you could figure out how old he was.

Just as you were checking he came back and stopped your train of thought. “I was born in 2001, and now I’m 23.” he smiled at you as you shyly sat back down.

“Oh okay..thanks,” you said blushing.

“Here’s the print, stay still while I try to position it on you.”

He was able to place the print on top with extreme delicacy since you sat down and stretched your arm. "Are you ready, Yn?" and you gave a nod.

"Alright. I've already prepared everything I need; we can get started."

Suddenly your arm contracted at the contact with his hands, the fear of the needle of that machine mixed with the delicacy of your body gave you shivers all over your body.

Your arm suddenly tightened at the touch of his fingers; the combination of your body's sensitivity and your fear of the machine's needle sent shivers down your spine.

"Is everything okay?" he asked you, stopping before even touching you with the needle.

"Yes."

"They won't hurt; they'll be like tiny pinches, I swear. - he said - tell me a little about yourself so you can distract yourself in the meantime."

The proposal seemed acceptable to you, so you started to talk about your recent move. He nodded in silence and added a few questions. You noticed that the pain had become bearable, and you took your time observing the boy so concentrated while he tattooed you. His eyes were half-closed, and his head was scrunched up, just as you had imagined. His mouth was slightly open, and he was carefully holding your arm while he tattooed you. With more time to focus on him, you became aware of how near your face was to his, and you made an effort to glance aside to keep your eyes from meeting.

“And would you like to tell me something about yourself?” you asked him bravely. You were used to listening, but you had been pleased to be able to talk to someone. He also spoke a little bit about himself, saying that he had moved into the studio a year before and was gradually getting to know all the people who worked there. He cherished that work environment, and they were all wonderful people. He spoke and you listened to him; he and he remained focused. He was so attractive that even if you tried not to get lost in his words, you found yourself missing a few sentences.

You had lost a few heartbeats, your sense of time, and now even your shred of dignity when you decided to ask him if he was dating someone.

He looked up for a moment, shook his head, and asked you the same question again.

“No, I’m not,” you told him.

Theo and you both began to smile, but you hardly noticed his as you felt his heartbeat quicken due to your posture allowing your palm to lightly feel his heartbeat.

Before you knew it, the tattoo was finished.

“It’s so beautiful,” you said

“Yes.. beautiful.” he said looking into your eyes, and then added “Yes, the tattoo. I’m proud of it.” he continued pretending as if nothing had happened.

Shortly after he placed a specific wrap around your tattoo, to prevent it from getting ruined or infected. You quickly paid for the tattoo and stood up to go.

“It was nice meeting you, you can text me if you need anything. You already have my number anyway”

“Thanks again, Theo.”

“Unless…” he said to you when you were at the door with your back turned.

You connected to the deleted message right away. Was that cryptic method he was asking you out? Instead, you chose to be naive and pretended to be confused.

You turned around and found him standing a few meters away from you.

“We can see each other again tonight, you and I. But not for your tattoo. I mean, would you go on a date with me?” he asked you.

Your heart started to beat wildly.

“Sure Theo, I’d love it.” and immediately your gazes moved. “I’ll text you the details then,” he said to you.

Out of excitement, you turned around and tried to push the door to leave…even though it said “PULL” in large letters.

He smiled and tried to open it for you, but you managed to be quicker.

When you opened the door intending to listen in on your conversation, you found two boys outside the room you saw the first day.

We are even now, you thought, recalling the first time you overheard their chat...

But Theo didn’t see it that way and started chasing while the two tried to escape.

“INTAK, JIUNG STOP NOW.”

You smiled and greeted them, then tried to leave while giggling at the funny scene.

At the entrance, you find a boy with platinum blonde hair who has just arrived. You noticed from his bags that he was probably a make-up artist who worked there.

“Hey, you must be Yn,” he said to you

“Uhm yes, who are you?”

“ Oh sorry, I’m Keeho. I work here as a make-up artist, and Theo told me about you. Just tell me if that dork dared to ask you out.”

“He did.” you smiled.

“Let's go, Jongseob owes me 10 euros… may I ask you again if you accepted?” And you nodded.

“YES! Thank you. Now Soul also owes me 10 euros. One day, I will offer you free makeup.”

You laughed at the amusing interaction, nodded, and walked out, your thoughts still wandering as you imagined the upcoming date with Theo.

#k labels #k - labels #p1harmony #p1h #choi taeyang #choi taeyang x reader #p1harmony x reader #p1harmony fluff #p1harmony imagines #p1h x reader #p1h fluff #theo p1harmony #choi tayang fluff #keeho fluff #theo fluff

60 notes · View notes

nuggetofthesea · 4 months

Text

Iris and Animal HRT Part 2

EDIT: Part 1 is Ashe's comic linked below. Sorry for any confusion. I wrote this as a sequel to that comic.

Content Warning: Mentions of Death and heavy themes.

The doc closes the door, his last patient having left again. He looks discouraged as he had to sign off on a bunch more "crossroads" patients. He is tired, and as he closes the door he lets out a long sigh.

"You know… I have a door for a reason." He says before turning around.

A clear distress in his voice. He looks over to the back of the room. There he sees the witch, hat as big ever and looking through her notes. Her name is Iris.

Iris previously visited Dr. Erian in regards to her notes. Warning the doc to not tamper with the spells used for animal HRT.

Iris continues to read the notes. Not looking up at the doc or even giving any form of acknowledgement.

The doc speaks up again, saying "So what, here to threaten me again?"

Iris barely looks up at Dr. Erian. Her expression unchanging. And answers "No."

The calmness in her voice sending chills down the doc's spine. But the lack of acknowledgement and clarity get to the doc. He starts to get angry and shouts at Iris.

"Your friends… They are losing years of their life to your spells! I know as a medical professional you need me to distribute them. But I also have to follow procedure! And you keep threatening me if I don't sign off on this for them!"

The anger rising in his voice as he continues

"Do you even care about the harm this is causing to them!? How many years are being taken away from them? Do you even-"

"OF COURSE I DO!" Iris interrupts. Shouting furiously back at him and scaring the doc into silence.

"How do you think you found my notes in the first place, Doc? I needed you for this. I knew the risks of introducing this system." Iris proceeds to calm down, taking a deep breath as she continues.

"In the case of some of my friends, it literally saved their lives." As she thinks of Sophie's conditions that led to her taking mouse HRT. "And this isn't without hardship. I know it is hard for them. I know it means potentially losing them…" Considering Eris and Sabine's directions.

Iris begins to choke up a bit.

"…But you should have seen how it was before. They weren't happy. They came to us at wits end not feeling like they were where they wanted."

Iris closes the book slamming it on the table next to her.

"They wanted me to do a transformation spell on them. But I couldn't. My transformation spells are superficial at best. Mind stays the same, and is no different from putting on a suit. It doesn't fix the problem. So, I wrote the formula for the tablets."

She looks at the notebook with a sadness on her face.

"But the city deemed that that was a magic induced medicine, so I needed a licensed doctor to distribute them. So left the notes here. With THAT supply of charged crystals."

Iris points to a storage crate filled with glowing gemstones and crystals illuminating a corner of the room, but slightly faded. And losing their charge, slowly.

Iris speaks up again.

"I know it isn't a perfect solution. I know they still suffer so much with trying to adjust, and with JERKS that feel they can look down on them for this choice." As she slams her fist on top of the book. An injury previously unnoticed on her hand. Bruised knuckles, looking like she had punched someone or something on the way over.

A deep breath again as she collects herself and calmly states

"But you should see when they leave this office. Some of them the very idea has them smiling for the first time in a while. First time I've seen a genuine smile from them in a long time.

And besides…"

She begins to visibly calm down as she reassures herself.

"…most stop before the point of cutting down their life. And even the ones that go the full way, the tablets are designed so that as long as they keep up taking care of themselves, once the changes are far enough their health will be peak for the species they've chosen. While there are complications in the transformation process, even if they go all the way and end up with a shorter life span, they'll be able to live that remaining life to the fullest."

Dr. Erian begins to show concern, but has calmed down. Hearing the witch out this whole time, and taking her words to heart.

"So why then are you here now? I haven't experimented with the quick versions, and haven't gone against your notes."

"Though I do wish people would stop breaking into my office" He grumbles under his breath.

Iris points back to the crystals required to charge her spells.

"Those crystals are losing charge. I'm here to help resupply. You're going to need it."

Iris begins walking over to the crystals.

"And hey, let's keep this chat between us. I don't want to jeopardize the progress My friends have been making towards their happiness. You understand?" Dr. Erian nods, a little nervously.

Iris holds her book and holds out her hand in front of her. Magic then spreading from her fingers into the crystals below. The crystals react by bursting with light once again.

-Part 2 End-

This is my first piece of writing and it was based on all the Animal HRT. I was seeing others comics on it, but all I can do is write and Ashe said she was stuck on how to continue. This was fun to write as a sequel to Ashe's comic involving Iris. (@iristhedarkwitch comic by @darkmagenugget)

Outside of this, I am probably going to do more transformation, cyberpunk, and fantasy stories. But just wanted to test write something. Feedback is appreciated. Glad to exist. ^-^

#Animal HRT #therian hrt #Iris the witch #short story #Dr. Theodore Hans Erian #DarkMage Nugget #Aqua stories #Aqua Story Nuggets #Plural #Plurality #Here's throwing myself out there.

109 notes · View notes

kissmetwicekissmedeadly · 2 months

Note

i'm bad at writing napoleon but i wanna write a oc x napo piece do you have any tips :(

GASP

I HAVE NOTHING BUT TIPS FOR YOU!!! I'm terribly sorry that it took me so long!! I struggled a bit because this kept turning into a character analysis, I hope that's alright 🙏

TIPS ABOUT WRITING NAPOLEON

Napoleon might seem hard to write! How is he both just some guy, but also the man who almost conquered the world at some point? How much does the latter play a part in how he is in his daily life? The short answer is, he appears to be the former at all times until something brings out the dramatic, intense side of him.

Napoleon ends up in the mansion one day seemingly out of the blue, reincarnated as a demi-vampire... Without any answers and any plans for his second life, the way he chooses to live day by day is surprisingly quickly established. He's only been there for a month upon MC's arrival and we already see him following a full schedule - he spares with Jean on a regular basis, tends to the stables, helps Sebastian, runs a whole "school" in the small streets of Paris, has hobbies like reading or visiting patisseries to eat his favorite crepes... This tells us he's very adaptive - and it comes by no surprise, really, the ex-emperor that he is, one that started from a nobody. And ironically ended up being a nobody again in his second life. Interestingly we do see him mop around, questioning his fate. He is in the habit of isolating sometimes - that's how he finds all these little places that he later takes MC to - the garret or the nature spots. He goes on rides often to clear his mind. It's like he tries to keep himself busy but simultaneously needs alone time to reflect on his feelings. In front of others, he's the one ready to take action and to protect, making him the big brother figure in the mansion. In private, and in front of the person he loves, he might become more vulnerable, but still puts their safety and wellbeing first. But this deeply emotional side of him only comes out when the moment predisposes him to. Otherwise, he carries himself rather casually. He'd joke around, tease, find an easy solution to everything - but still try and find that solution. He's always ready to lend a helping hand, to be the voice of reason if he could, to give advice. He's not exactly a workaholic. He's capable of working very hard, but seems to be trying to take it easy in his second life. This could be seen in his sleeping habits, as someone who previously slept 4 hours a night to sleeping a minimum of 7 now (both stated canonly) - and of course he's infamous for sleeping in in the mornings. He dislikes being treated as someone above the others, and on our first meeting with him he introduces himself as just a soldier.

A bit more about writing him being in love...

He's someone who proves his love through actions - surprises, most of all - he loves being spontaneous, taking MC's hand out of the blue and leading her somewhere without giving her a cue. He loves giving gifts, as we see him returning home with a random plushie that reminded him of her or in other cases buying her the jewelry showcased in a shop they passed by if it caught her eye. He's good at cooking and of course that means that he absolutely loves cooking for her. He claims to be bad with words, but that's a massive lie. Once he starts expressing his emotions verbally he can't stop. He says pretty intense things, often talking about the greater meaning behind their silly little romantic doings. He talks about finding the meaning of his life and how he believes in fate now that it has met him with her. That being said, he's quite bad with words but when he writes. His letters are a bit of a mess but he still manages to make them sound serious if he tries, it's just that they lack what makes him so animated, the feelings that normally radiate from his presence.

Writing him talking should look like... short, simple sentences. He laughs a lot (infamous for his prolonged laugh when he hears something funny), does this "snrk" noise, teases a lot... even sometimes uses bolder and harsher words. He's told the MC to straight up shut up before, and our favorite Nunuche sounds a lot more like "idiot" (or the slightly less harsh "fool") in Japanese... he has a short temper, quick to make this face - >:( - but still has great self-control. It takes something big like having MC's life at risk for him to throw himself headfirst into a deadly situation, but he'd still do it.

He contradicts himself in some ways, but that's a human trait. It highly depends on what you're writing! My advice is to not worry too much with him. He could behave like a very simple prototype of the perfect boyfriend, a prince charming. Or he could be covered in blood carrying MC out of a fire and talking about being a monster undeserving happiness. Use him for the story YOU want to write, and know that the people who love him will be happy to read it regardless!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon #ikemen vampire napoleon bonaparte #ikemen napoleon #ikemen series #ikeseries #cybird #otome

73 notes · View notes

arias-diaryy · 14 days

Text

Under New Management

Nobunaga x Reader

warnings: yandere, fem reader

synopsis: Following Uvo's death, Nobunaga decides to take you in.

3.2k words / this is a reupload of an older fic from my (now deleted) old account, so it probs looks familiar. i didn't have any new fic lined up for Nobu's birthday so ur gonna have to take this, sorry!

Nobunaga closes the door to Uvo’s place behind him. The place is familiar, and it’s as if Uvogin could come back at any moment. There are a few day-old beer cans on the living room coffee table and one of his large jackets thrown over the sofa, waiting to be worn again. If he was any less jaded, he might have thought Uvogin was still alive.

The house, alas, is empty. It’s an older building on the outskirts of its nearest town. It’s one of many slightly run-down homes that are left (mostly) unoccupied in the area. It’s not derelict by any means, but it's probably seen better days. He isn’t here to judge the foundations of the house though, how there are some cracks in the wall from where the door was slammed with too much force or how there are weak spots in the floor. No, he’s here for you.

You, who's down in the basement, are probably still waiting for Uvogin. You, whom he’s only met a handful of times, spoken to even less. He’s jerked off to you more times than he’d like to admit, something Nobunaga would have never admitted to Uvogin, not when the man was so finicky over you.

Nobunaga continues to walk through the home, a chapstick tube catching his eye on the counter. It was placed with some spare change, sunglasses that certainly belonged to Uvo and various keys. He pockets the keys, assuming he might need them later. Holding the chapstick in his hand, he examines it more closely. This was probably yours, based on the ‘Vanilla Apple” flavoring. With almost no shame and a mild sense of entitlement, he applies the chapstick to his lips. It’s like an indirect kiss. He puts that as well in his pocket.

His mind continues to linger on you as he takes his time looking around. He wonders how he’ll break the news to you, he isn’t sure what approach to take. He wonders if you’ll cry, or if you’d even believe him. You two have seldom spoken with each other, Uvo did most of the talking for you on the rare occasions you were present when Nobunaga visited. The longest conversation Nobunaga ever had with you probably didn’t even last ten minutes, and it consisted of him asking questions while you gave very short responses. Uvogin had always been in earshot. As if daring one of you (mostly Nobunaga) to say something out of line. It previously hadn’t been an issue if the two of them went after the same woman, but now all of a sudden Uvo was so uppity about if Nobu even looked at you for too long.

Nobunaga can remember feeling a sense of annoyance at your very existence in the beginning. It ebbed and flowed, but it was always consistent. The more time Uvogin spent with you, the less time Nobunaga got to spend with him. In addition to the fact that Nobu couldn’t make a suggestive joke about you without Uvogin snapping at him, it didn’t make Nobunaga particularly fond of you. He hadn’t even met you yet and already had a soured image of you. It didn’t help that it seemed like everyone else had someone to return home to, meanwhile, all Nobu had been his right hand.

The day Nobunaga did get to meet you, he still didn’t see what it was about you that had Uvogin so worked up. You were cute, sure, but he couldn’t point out anything remarkable, other than that you had particularly nice legs. Maybe whatever it was about you was something only Uvogin saw. You didn’t say anything to him, which he was fine with. You were probably just shy. Uvo joked later that you didn’t like him very much, which couldn’t have been true. Nobu hadn’t made that bad of a first impression, surely.

It was only in the coming weeks that his distaste for you would warp into something else. You were cute, and something much more tangible than the women in erotic magazines. A thought crossed his mind that he’d probably be as uptight as Uvo was about you if you were his. Maybe if Uvo wasn’t so strict about who you got to interact with, you’d give Nobunaga a chance.

He idles about for a few minutes, a strange suspense hanging in the air that only he can sense. He wonders if you’re still down there or if you somehow escaped. Maybe you’ve withered away. He wonders if you think about him or even remember him. As he stands in front of the heavy basement door, he supposes it’s time to see what all the fuss over you was about.

If you had to guess, you’d say it’s been about a week since you last saw Uvo.

The basement isn’t so bad. It’s got an old television to keep you entertained. It only works half of the time, but it’s the thought that counts. There are a few blankets and the mattress you sleep on is comfortable. Uvogin left you with some water bottles and food (mostly snacks) to keep you from starving to death, though he usually wasn’t gone for more than two weeks. Even then, you were only resigned to the basement if he was going somewhere far. You never knew where he went, and it all seemed to be pretty last minute when he did go, but he always told you when he’d come back. He should have come back days ago.

Part of you hopes to see him again. All things considered, he wasn’t the worst. If you can look past the obvious (the threats of violence if you ever stepped out of line, which you stopped doing months ago, and the kidnapping and the inability to ever leave), Uvo wasn’t so bad. He went out of his way to make sure you didn’t go hungry. He brought you gifts and anything you asked for. He made you happy.

Maybe being forced to be a violent man's live-in girlfriend for 11 months has taken a toll on your mental health. But you were alive. The few bruises he gave you were long faded. Uvogin was good to you, surely he wouldn’t abandon you in his basement now. Wouldn’t he have given you a heads-up? Had he gotten bored? Have you been too good? Maybe you should have acted out more. You haven’t been able to sleep much. Every noise would wake you up in the dead of night because of how much you wanted to see Uvogin again.

Your head perks up at the sound of the basement door slowly opening. It’s not Uvogin, it can’t be. You would have heard his heavy footsteps, and he would have announced himself somehow. Instead, you’re met with a man who is only faintly familiar to you. He’s tall with a face that’s on the gaunt side, though not outright unhealthy. His clothing doesn’t stand out, with beige pants and a green long sleeve. His most distinct feature is his hair, which is long and slightly greasy from what you can see.

“You’re still here, that’s good.” He says nonchalantly, as if you had anywhere else to go. Nobunaga’s eyes drift to the chains around your ankle. “You must have given him a lot of trouble if he had to chain you up.” He remarks, trying to ease up any tension with what was meant to be a joke. It isn’t working. You stare at him blankly, scanning his face. You’ve seen this guy before, but at the moment, his face isn’t recognizable to you. Nobunaga sighs, looking you over. You look sick, and he isn’t sure if you actually are or if it’s the unflattering lighting of the basement. Once locating the light switch, he flicks it on, and you don’t look much better. There are dark circles beneath your eyes, your lips are cracked, and your complexion is dull and lifeless.

Nobunaga comes closer, crouching down next to the mattress. He takes the chain into his hands, eyeing it over. It isn’t particularly thick or very heavy. It attaches to the wall, and there’s a cuff around your ankle to keep you from going far. He hadn’t found an obvious key in the basement, so he settles for using his strength (and nen) to simply break the metal chain without warning. The way you flinch doesn’t go unnoticed, but at least you’ll be able to walk out of here now. You scoot away from him, sitting up and against the wall rather than laying lethargically on your side.

“Hey, come on, we’ve met before,” Nobunaga says, the discontentment in his voice thinly veiled. He fishes your chapstick out of his pants pocket. “Look, here. This is yours, isn’t it?” After a few seconds of warily staring at him, it finally clicks. It’s your kidnapper's equally strange friend, whose name you barely remembered. You tentatively take the chapstick from him, untwisting the cap, and apply some of the chapstick liberally, and there’s an awful fluttering feeling in Nobunaga’s chest.

He wonders if you’d somehow notice that he just used it minutes earlier. He averts his gaze, suddenly remembering the key ring he pocketed away. Again, without warning, he grasps your ankle, holding you in place as he tries out the different keys on the cuff. After some trying, it eventually comes off. There's a slight imprint of the cuff on your skin, but it hasn’t torn or broken your skin.

“You’re Nobunaga.” You croak out, finally remembering his name. He grins, relief audible in his voice. “There you go, I knew you couldn’t have forgotten me.” You don’t smile back. Something must be wrong if Uvo was letting someone else get so close. Nobunaga’s gaze meets yours again, and he waits for you to speak. He’s expecting some sort of thanks for his good deeds. “Where’s Uvogin?” His expression falls slightly. Right, he forgot that you still think Uvogin is going to come home at some point.

“He’s dead.”

There’s a heavy pause after he speaks. Nobunaga stares at you, waiting for you to emote, but you only stare back. He had hoped, expected, that if anyone else were to outwardly share in his grief it would be you. He stifles a frustrated sigh. The other members of the Spider grieved for Uvogin, nobody was thrilled about his death, Nobunaga knows that yet he can’t ignore the feeling that none of them truly understood. He chalks it up to shock, surely you’ll properly react to Uvogin’s death in the coming days.

The man wastes little time, not wanting to sit around in the dusty basement any longer. Without warning, Nobunaga takes you by the wrist and pulls you up, forcing you to stand on wobbly legs. He’s all too eager to have you lean on him for support as you get used to walking again. The days of being chained to the ground hadn’t done your muscles any good. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Nobunaga’s words replay in your mind, yet they never truly stick. For half of a second, you’re relieved that your kidnapper is dead. Not arrested, dead. On the other hand, you’re now left with an equally dangerous man. What exactly was going to happen to you now? You weren’t clueless about Uvogin’s crimes, far from it. Uvogin boasted about the stealing and killing he did. At first, you thought it was a scare tactic, something to keep you from acting out, but he was truly proud of his proclivity for violence. Would you be killed? Surely the Troupe wouldn’t just let you go, it’d never be that easy.

As if Nobunaga could see the cogs turning in your mind, he speaks up again. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you from now on.” His voice takes a softer tone, trying to be reassuring. Each step up and out of the basement only makes the pit in your stomach deeper, to the point where you’re starting to feel sick.

Nobunaga barely picks up on your inner turmoil past what’s written all over your face. In his mind, him coming for you should be a great relief (and in a way, it is. You might have withered away in the basement if nobody bothered to come for you). Aside from the obvious fact that he can't let you go free, he doubts you’d be okay on your own at this point.

You’ve been dependent on Uvogin for anything like food or attention for nearly a year. As far as Nobunaga is concerned, you wouldn’t do well if you were thrown back into the real world and forced to take care of yourself. You might as well be a bird that’s had its wings clipped. Besides, it’s not like anyone else in the Troupe was going to take you in. Some of the other members had their own partners to occupy themselves with, Feitan even suggested outright killing you since you probably knew too much about the Troupe. It was only right that Nobunaga got to have you, he was the only one who was willing to anyway.

Besides, Chrollo did say that he could make the final decision about what happens to you.

He gets lost in his own thoughts; so caught up in his fantasies about his soon-to-be domestic life with you, that he almost doesn’t notice the way you dig your heels into the ground once he’s got you out of the basement and back on floor level. Nobunaga looks back at you, the corners of his lips twitching downward.

“Come on, it’s fine. I told you that you’re safe with me.” He says, an impatient edge to his voice as he continues his firm hold of your wrist. “Do you want to bring some of your things with you?” Nobunaga says it as if he’s extending an olive branch. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you blink at him. “What?” “We aren’t going to be staying here.” Nobunaga says like it’s obvious. “You’re coming home with me.”

The apartment is quiet, save for the new pitter-patter of rain outside. You stand there idly, watching Nobunaga go through your and Uvogin’s belongings in the bedroom you used to share with Uvo. What right did he have to put his hands on your things? He shouldn’t be here, you think. You hold your tongue, the words not coming easy to you. You don’t attempt to help him or give any input on what clothes you want to take and what you want to leave behind.

“I don’t believe you.” You say abruptly, still standing in the doorway. Nobunaga goes through the closet with his back to you, looking for a backpack or spare luggage. For half of a second, he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “Are you sure he’s dead?” You ask, which answers the question that was on the tip of his tongue. His expression falters slightly, but he doesn’t turn to meet your gaze. “I’m positive.” Nobunaga says with a strange finality to his tone.

He’s found a decent backpack now, more focused on deciding what belongings of yours to bring and which to leave behind. As far as he’s concerned, you two will have all the time in the world to talk about Uvogin once Nobunaga just gets you back to his place. It doesn’t even cross his mind that you wouldn’t be 100% thrilled at the prospect of being transferred over to his care.

You aren’t willing to drop the conversation topic though. You don’t want to believe Uvogin is gone, but there’s no way he’d willingly hand you over to this guy, right? “How? How did he die?” You press for answers, wondering if this is some prank. Nobunaga sighs, still not bothering to turn back to face you. “We can talk about that later.”

He says, taking your clothes out of the room’s dresser and putting them in the backpack. “You’re probably hungry. Why don’t you go get yourself something to eat? I’ll finish up here.” He says dismissively, effectively shooing you off. You tentatively leave the bedroom doorway after about a minute of silence, surprised that Nobunaga is so easily letting you out of his sight.

Wandering over to the kitchen, you numbly go about making yourself something to eat. It feels like muscle memory at this point, you’re so used to fixing up a sandwich for Uvogin. Today, though, most of the ingredients you’d usually use aren’t at your disposal. The lunch meat that was in the refrigerator expired last week, and there’s no cheese left. All you’re able to come up with is a sandwich with mayonnaise and some tomato slices.

You eat slowly, your appetite diminished from the turn of events and from how bland your sandwich is. Your eyes shift to the front door, and you can just barely hear Nobunaga back in Uvo’s bedroom. Maybe if you timed it right, you could get out of here. God knew if the front door was locked, but if you didn’t at least try, then you’d never know. You can hear the rain outside more clearly now. You’d be risking getting sick by running out in the rain, but that’s a small price to pay for freedom.

What would you even do, though? Where could you go that the Troupe wouldn’t follow? By the time you gather the nerve to take a few steps out of the kitchen, Nobu’s finished packing. “Do you feel better after eating something?” He asks, his voice catching you by surprise. He doesn’t comment on the quality of your sandwich. You choose not to answer him.

The rain picks up, now it’s impossible to treat it as a soothing white noise. It’s loud and you can hear the roaring winds with it. “I guess we can just stay here until the rain dies down.” Nobunaga proposes, and he motions for you to follow him. He sits on one of the two couches in Uvo’s living room, expecting you to sit next to him. You take your seat on the second couch, and Nobunaga’s able to hide his disappointment well enough.

He takes the remote and turns the television on, keeping the volume low. The news channel only talks about the current storm, it seems like you’ll both be stuck here for at least a few more hours. You focus on the news reporter, not wanting to look at Nobunaga. You can feel his staring, you know he’s waiting for you to talk to him.

“What’s going to happen to me?” You finally break the silence, and Nobunaga seems just about amused at your inquiry. “I told you, I’m going to be taking care of you from now on.” He says it slowly, as if you didn’t understand him the first time.

His answer is too vague for you to do anything with, or maybe it’s the brain fog from not eating much in these past days. Nobunaga continues to look at you as if you were a beloved houseplant while you think over what he’s said. After a long pause, you finally respond. “I want to go home.” Once again, his smile falters and his voice returns to a more neutral one. “That isn’t going to happen. Your best option is to come just with me.”

Nobunaga waits for you to say something, to give any indication that you at least understand your circumstances. You don’t though, rather you choose to pretend that you’re invested in anything the news anchor is saying. He’s confident that you’ll come around, though; it’s not like you have anyone else to rely on.

#_hxhentry #yandere fic #yandere x reader #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere nobunaga #yandere nobunaga x reader #yandere blog

42 notes · View notes

devilfic · 9 months

Text

❝small favor❞

V. the christmas special.

parts: previously / next plot: it's the most beautiful time of the year. pairing: mcu!peter parker x gn!reader. cw: christmas shenanigans, alcohol mentions, harry gets drunk for norman osborn related reasons, peter is a little ball of anxiety because he likes you, can I share with you what jobs I think ned and mj got after graduation. words: 8.4k.

a/n: this was gonna be a two-parter but I thought. no. so instead it's just super long :D

Peter has started visiting more.

There were the surprise visits on weekends. Something was just too important to wait a week, and too important to give you a call, and you liked that he made a note of bringing you food for the trouble. Then he was popping in on Wednesday nights—sometimes Friday mornings—because he'd forgotten to tell you this or he just couldn't wait to tell you that.

And he has texting you more, too. Not super serious things either, and after a few days of it, you had worked the fight or flight reaction to his ringtone out of your system. At some point, you had started feeling like this was becoming... a genuine friendship.

"I mean... I... yeah. We talked about it, didn't we?" Peter stops pouring, brownie batter dribbling off the lip of the bowl, "Friends. I- I think of you as a friend. If you think of me... as a friend."

You gnaw on your pen as you study him. It's another weekend surprise visit, and this time he's brought you boxed brookie batter as an olive branch. You'd actually been busy this time, and so you'd put him to work baking it while you made your vacation list, "It's just... crazy. I mean, we went from being strangers to only seeing each other once a week—purely professionally—and now you bake me things. And we hang out."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing! It's just weird," he continues to pour as you talk, "I used to see you as this unattainable hero. I couldn't believe you trusted me, felt comfortable enough to tell me your name, to care enough that even EDITH knows who I am. And now we're friends."

Peter's nose scrunches at that, and you've never wished more than now that you could see the rest of his face. He starts placing balls of cookie dough in the batter, "You talk about me like I'm Beyoncé or something."

"You're the Beyoncé of superheroes."

"Hey, that is not true. That title goes to Captain Marvel."

"Not to me."

"Well, of course not to you. You're my biggest fan."

"Wow, demoted to a fan already."

Peter slides the pan into the oven, "You know what I mean. You're biased."

"You're starting to sound like Jameson now."

He kicks the oven door closed and hops up onto the kitchen counter next to you, nudging your knee with his knee, "Oh, you haven't heard my Jameson impression. Watch this." Peter clears his throat, clenches his fist, and shakes it in the air, "Spider-Man is a menace and should be charged with domestic terrorism!"

You giggle, "Do more."

"5G isn't giving your kids cancer, it's Spider-Man leaving his webs all over the city!"

"More!"

"Spider-Man is laying eggs in our city's sewers so that one day, all his freaky spider children will rise up and take over New York!"

"Please, keep going."

Peter groans. You see his head tilt toward the notepad in your lap, "How's the vacation going? Or vacation planning, I guess."

You sigh. Your list to pack kept getting longer, and yet, anytime you tried to focus on what to bring, you would just remember something else you needed to do before leaving New York. "How do you think, based on my utter lack of excitement?"

Peter raises a brow, "Whaaat? You're not excited for Miami?"

"I was, but... everything in the world is happening at the same time. Jameson wants me to get two more articles out before I leave and my family wanted me in Florida three days ago. At this rate, I'm just barely going to make it there before Christmas. Not to mention..." You trail off as you look to Peter, whose mask eyes have gone comically wide in interest, "I don't want to leave you all alone."

"You know I've been Spider-Manning since I was like, 14, right?"

"Well, yeah, but- wait, 14?" Peter grimaces. You gloss over it before he can worry himself about it, "Anyway, I just worry. I mean, with Fisk turning the PR tide and God knows what he's planning, I don't wanna just fly to the other side of the country. It feels wrong."

Peter smirks, "Nah, nah. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Don't make me remind you about how all of this," you gesture between Peter and the oven, "started." He looks away from you, sheepish. "You know what I mean, right? Maybe I'm overestimating my worth to you, but-"

"You're definitely not. You have no idea how much you mean to me." That stuns you. It stuns both of you, clearly, if Peter's frantic peek at your face was anything to go by. His mouth gapes like a fish out of water for a moment, "I just mean that... you've made being Spidey... easier on me. It's nice knowing someone's actually on my side in this city. So yeah, it will feel really weird without you being just a swing away."

"You can still call, Peter. I won't mind."

"And when your family asks who's bothering you while you're sunbathing on the beach?"

"I mean, my little cousins will be impressed if I name drop Spider-Man."

He smiles. He kicks his feet out, heels bumping the cabinet doors beneath you while silence settles. You take this chance to examine a slight fraying on the fabric of his suit, a hole beginning to form on his upper thigh that you could just fit your pinky through. You remembered a time when his suit was made out of sweatpants and a dream.

He was 14 when he first started all of this. When you were 14, you were stressing over high school essays and alien invasions. You couldn't help but think that maybe he'd lost his youth to this thing. This thing that brought you together.

Spider-Man who, back then, was really a kid. He'd had to grow into it. You couldn't imagine having to grow into that. "Well, that's enough about my holiday plans. What about you?" Peter prepares to answer, then deflates. "What's up?"

He bites his bottom lip, "I don't... have any."

Your heart sinks, "What? Why not?"

"No, no, it's fine. I'll probably be out on patrol making sure everybody else is having a safe, criminal-free winter break."

Sliding off the counter, you come to stand in front of Peter with your arms folded, "Absolutely not."

"Okay, before you say anything-"

"It's Christmas, Peter! You're supposed to take time off! Be with friends and family. If you never take a break, you'll wear yourself out."

"Just hear me out-"

"No! I won't have it. You're not the only hero in New York. You're taking Christmas off. I don't care if I have to stuff you in a carry-on and take you with me but you will not be working-"

One hand clamps around the back of your head and the other silences you, turning your complaints into mush, "If you would let me finish..." you huff indignantly against his hand, "you'd know that a friend of mine is throwing a Christmas party and I was invited. There. I have plans."

Your face softens. "Really?" You ask, but the sound is muffled and it comes out more like, "Will-ee?"

Peter laughs, hand slipping from your mouth, "Really. I'll at least take a few hours off. Maybe more if I fall into a food coma."

Peter's other hand is still cradling your head, but you don't bring it to his attention. "You promise? I won't have to fly back early and check up on you, will I? 'Cause I'll do it."

"I wouldn't stop you." You glower, making Peter's mask eyes squint with amusement, "I promise."

"Sometimes I think you like making me worry over you."

"Would you believe me if I said that I'm just this awful all the time?"

"Yes, but that would make me worry even more."

The hand at your neck gently curls around the side of your throat, Peter's thumb angling your chin up to his own. The brush of it makes you tremble just slightly.

Was he trying to make you dissolve into a puddle?

"I'll be okay. Just... come back to the city, will ya? Don't fall in love with Miami."

You place one of your hands over the hand on your throat. The other hovers somewhere near his knee on the countertop, unsure of yourself. When you admire his exposed mouth, you think of Peter. Parker.

You remember you hadn't actually talked about that since it happened. It was Peter's intention to skirt around Parker, regardless of how certain you were that they were the same person. It was all in jest, sure, but some small part of you (some incredibly small, minuscule, microscopic part of you) wondered if your reporter brain just fit the two pieces together because it wanted them to fit.

Perhaps he wasn't Peter Parker. Perhaps this really was all a coincidence, and perhaps aliens didn't fall from the sky and gods didn't save the world.

You wouldn't push him on it. You wouldn't look into it either, because reporter brain be damned. You cared more about the Peter you knew than the Peter you didn't.

You smile up at him, "How could I? Miami doesn't have you."

"Nice to see you could finally make it, kiddo." Jillian is grinning at you when you arrive, her baby tucked at her hip and her wife entertaining the little monster over her shoulder. She sees the winded look on your face and immediately motions you over, pressing a hand to your cheek, "Did you crawl out of a snowdrift? You're freezing!"

You lean into it, chasing the warmth in hopes that it would restore some feeling to your skin, "The storm's getting awful out there."

"Came outta nowhere, didn't it?" Jillian's wife snorts, booping the baby's nose. "We almost didn't risk coming with the little one, it was so bad."

Said little one looks perfectly warm wrapped up in her blanket, an envious sight as you shiver and shuck off your coat to hang. You would offer the kid a boop on the nose yourself, but with your fingers frozen solid around your offering—a plate of sugar cookies—you don't want to make her cry. You give her a smile instead.

"Oh, and would you believe it?" Jillian whispers, sidling up to you, primed for gossip, "We've got a real treat here tonight. Take a wild guess who decided to show up."

"Jonah's wife?"

Jillian cackles, "God no. The stalker."

As soon as she says the name, your eyes zero in on him.

He's wearing that plaid shirt again, but the collar and cuffs are all that peek out from underneath a wrinkly blue sweater. His hair is free and gelled back, revealing his nervous expression more clearly. Nursing a cup of apple cider, he just barely looks like he wants to be here. But then he catches your eye across the room.

And he waves.

"Oh my," Jillian teases, "you must've left quite the impression if he came all this way just to see you."

"He did not come just to see me." You reply in a hushed tone, but she laughs at you all the same.

"Sure. And that's not him heading over right now, even though he's been hugging the wall all night."

You jerk your head to where Parker was standing, and, sure enough, he's pursuing you.

You part from Jillian before she can get the chance to embarrass you (she accepts your cookies as payment), and so you all but jog to meet him halfway.

He doesn't get the chance to be polite before you're interrogating him, "Where did you go?"

"Uh... What?"

"At the gala. When I ran back inside the ballroom, I couldn't find you anywhere."

Peter's eyes slowly widen, "You went back inside?"

"Answer the question, please."

"Wh- I... I was there. You didn't see me?"

"No, I didn't."

"It got crazy after Fisk rushed the stage. I got swept up in the crowd. You must've missed me."

"Really? 'Cause I was with the crowd, you know. In front of the building? Where Fisk was giving his big speech about how he saved the day? I didn't see you anywhere."

Peter blinks, then gasps as if he'd just remembered something important, "You know what? That's right. I went to go find Harry. I wanted to make sure he was alright, and then I couldn't find you in the crowd so I just assumed... I'm sorry for leaving you back there all alone." You watch as he fumbles for something convincing, "I texted Spider-Man about it, though. He said you were safe."

You fold your arms, "...Is that all he said about me?"

"Well, that. And something about your conspiracy theory?"

"Conspiracy theory."

The topic change gets some of the tension in Peter's shoulders melting away, replaced with a smile faint enough to not pass as overtly smug. He waits for one of your co-workers to move out of earshot before continuing, "You think... I'm Spider-Man."

Your jaw tightens. You know that anyone would draw the same conclusions you did after that night. You also know that no matter how logical your reasoning is, you sound highly illogical when you admit to it out loud. If you brought up the same accusation to Jillian or Jameson, they'd both laugh you out of the office.

You have to stand your ground, though. If there was one thing you were learning about Peter, it was that he was easy to fluster, "And if I do?"

"I'm flattered, really, but I don't really have the hand-eye coordination."

You know it's bullshit. He should know you know it's bullshit. If it hadn't been for his quick thinking, you and Harry would've been trampled under the masses at the gala. It's bullshit and he's waiting for his checkmate that will never come.

You do not give it a second thought. You toss your phone at Peter's head.

And he catches it. Of course he does. He stops it mere inches from his face.

If anyone saw you try to give him a concussion, they don't come over to question you on it. "Can you..." Peter starts after a breath, a bit dazed, "...can you stop trying to hit me?"

You go to defend yourself because, at the very least, you hadn't meant to try to punch Peter—which meant it didn't count—when someone barrels right into you.

And, to prove you right twice in a row, Peter is quick to catch you. He scoops you up into his arms before you end up a reporter pancake on the floor. One of your co-workers, already blitzed off spiked eggnog, had bumped you on their way to the drinks table for what looked like the umpteenth time tonight, and didn't have enough marbles to apologize before bumping someone else.

Peter is careful in how he holds you. There's that unmistakable strength behind his grip, but also... he was gentle. He felt safe.

You don't make to escape just yet, all your bravado knocked right out of you. "Jesus, you okay?" His eyes dart over to your co-worker and a scowl turns his expression sour, "Jonah should put a cap on the drinks."

You feel more than embarrassed stumbling to your feet, even more so when Peter still coddles you after you're standing upright. "I'm fine. Thanks." Peter's looking at you, brows drawn together, with so much concern it makes that second thought from earlier come in hot with a sizable topping of shame, "Talk about instant karma."

Then it's gone. Peter laughs and... it sounds just like your Peter. Undeniably. You can't help but give in. For a fleeting moment, the question of secret identities has melted away and it's just the two of you, giggling about something silly.

You're ashamed enough to apologize for throwing your phone at his head when the laughter dies down. You succeed in stealing it back and lead him over to the windows, far away from any more drunken disasters, "It's alright. I've had worse thrown at me before."

You raise an eyebrow, "Oh? Like what?"

His voice catches in his throat at first, "A... carton of expired milk. High school bully, Flash Thompson. We were both on the same academic decathlon team but he never gave up on his dream of professional baseball."

"Flash Thompson? You mean, Silicon Valley, MIT grad, tech startup millionaire Flash Thompson?"

Peter winces, "The one and only."

You frown at the distant look on Peter's face, aware of some regret there at the mention of Flash. "You and Harry went to ESU together, right? Is that where you always wanted to go?"

Peter shakes his head, but a smile comes to his face regardless, "MIT was my first choice, actually. But... even with a scholarship, I just couldn't imagine leaving New York behind. So I stayed. Went to ESU. Helped my Aunt May with the mortgage on her first house since my... my uncle passed. And now I'm selling pictures of Spider-Man to pay my rent."

You can't help the way you soften. "I'm so sorry about your uncle, Peter. Your Aunt May is lucky to have you around."

His eyelids flutter closed for a breath, and his smile grows wider. If it were even possible. "I'm lucky to have her."

You stand there together in silence after that, but it feels more comfortable than before. All the scrutiny and speculation you'd come in with had faded away, and now you were left wondering more about Peter. His hopes, his dreams, his life before all of this. What would it have been like if he'd gone to MIT? Where would you be? Or Spider-Man?

Peter's eyes peel open, "So, what about you?"

"Oh. Well, I took a shine to my school newspaper. After... everything in 2012, I knew the world would never be the same. So I had dreams of becoming a journalist, covering the street, being the first on the scene. Took my ass to college on part-time jobs and a dream, and interned at nearly every newspaper in the city before Jameson gave me a shot here. As much as I can't stand the way he talks about Spidey... he's not that bad of a guy. All things considered."

Peter agrees, "He did hire you, so..."

"Yeah, well," you lean your cheek against the window, glass cooling your blush, "At least Spidey doesn't hold it against me... but, I have to ask: why the Bugle? I mean, with photos like yours, you should be fighting off every publication in the city. Instead you turn in these... absolute masterpieces, freelancing, for a guy who can't even give you due credit, and you only stop by for a paycheck."

Peter looks to the window, the wind howling over a crooner's cover of Santa Baby. The storm was still raging on outside, and you dreaded the thought of having to walk through it to get back home. The taxis wouldn't have much luck either from the looks of it. "I... like my job, but it's not what I wanna do forever. I don't care about fame or Pulitzer prizes. It's always been about taking care of me and my Aunt May, and Jameson is a lot of things but he's always understood that. He pays me enough that I can have a place of my own and a little leftover for my aunt, and he doesn't ask questions.

"I don't need to be seen. And that's the whole point, isn't it?" His expression gradually warms as he recalls something, "It's not who's behind the lens that matters, but who's in front of it."

Your expression warms too, "I can see why Spidey likes you."

A notification disturbs the moment. Raising a finger at Peter, you check the latest notification... and your stomach drops.

Peter takes a step forward, sensing the change in atmosphere, "What? What is it?"

"My flight's been cancelled. I was leaving tomorrow for Miami but the storm..."

"Oh. Man, I'm sorry."

"I should've left sooner, I should've left when my family..." You lose the motivation to even finish your sentence, feeling exhausted all at once, "It doesn't matter anymore. I'm stuck here for Christmas."

Peter stuffs his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet as he searches for something to say. You're about to tell him not to worry about it when he speaks up, "You know," he starts, the uncertainty in his voice giving you pause, "it's no... Miami, but my aunt throws this Christmas party every year? For Christmas Eve. We invite a few friends over for dinner. She'd love it if you came."

"Oh, Peter, that's sweet but... I don't really want to intrude on a friend thing-"

"No, no, it's okay! Anyone can come. It'll just be my aunt, some of her co-workers from F.E.A.S.T., a few of my friends, my ex-girlfriend-"

"Your- what?"

"Oh. Well, I mean, we were friends before we dated. Well... technically? She sort of just... hung around me and Ned in high school and then we started dating for a while but then we broke up in university. But we stayed friends. Became better friends, actually. So, she's my ex but also a really good friend. I promise it's not weird or anything. She's super cool about it. And I am too! Her name's MJ. I think you'll like her."

You stare at Peter. You think you see a bead of sweat twinkle on his forehead underneath the Christmas lights above.

He insists that you're welcome to come, and staying home alone for Christmas would be pretty hypocritical after your argument with Spider-Man.

Spider-Man.

"...and Spider-Man will be there."

Spider-Man?

You abruptly lock eyes with Peter. "Spider-Man?"

Peter's smile is tight-lipped, "Yeah." His voice cracks. "I mean, he's just stopping by real quick, but I invited him. He might not come. But... he also might."

Was this the friend of his throwing a Christmas party? Why in the world would Peter (Parker) invite you to the same party Spider-Man would be at, unless he could stand in the same room as him at the exact same time? There'd be no other way to convince you otherwise, and you'd be forced to accept that they really were two completely different people.

Yeah, right.

You'd go to this party and suss it out for yourself.

And it wouldn't hurt, would it? Peter was nice, if not the most awkward person you've ever met. To offer you a place at his aunt's Christmas dinner not long after hurling an object at his head was a sign of true Christmas spirit. You could learn a thing or two from him, "Okay. You've convinced me. What's your number? You can text me the address."

Peter blanks for a moment, "Um... yeah, um..." You watch him flounder, growing increasingly suspicious, "Can I see your phone?"

You drop your phone in his hand. His fingers move quickly across the keyboard before returning it to you. Peter Parker is now in your contacts. You check the number against Spidey's but there isn't a match. "Thanks," you glance at his wobbly smile, "I sent you a text."

Peter gestures behind him, "Oh, cool, awesome. Will you excuse me for a sec? I gotta use the restroom." And he doesn't wait for you to affirm before he's rushing down the hall and out of sight.

A full minute passes before you receive a text back from Peter.

15 Amfan Ave Forest Hills, NY 11375 7pm :) Hope you can make it! He never shuts up about you *I *shut

Hm.

So... I hear you're throwing things at people now Who told you that? You lose one phone, then you try to bludgeon an innocent man with another. I should lock you up and throw away the key I wasn't trying to bludgeon him, because I knew he'd be perfectly *fine*. And he helped me prove a point Which was... That the chances of him being you are more likely than either of you would have me to believe Could it be that you just have a thing for attractive, masked men? That is That is irrelevant to the conversation HA you so do Literally nothing to do with anything I just said It's okay. The mask makes it really easy to project one's ideal man onto me. Or so I've learned through Twitter I'm not projecting *anything* onto you Do you picture Ryan Reynolds when you talk to me? It's okay if you do Peter, shut up Maybe someone more boyish like Timothy chalet Timothee Chalet Timothee Chalamett I'd say you just like hearing yourself talk but this is a textual conversation I like that we can talk like this :) I like it too :) What about Tom Holland? We've got the same jaw If you think me accusing you of being Parker is me projecting a handsome man onto you, I can only assume you think he's hot. Which means I can assume you have a thing for him. Because I can also make things up Like Batman and Clark Kent? Are you saying Parker is the Clark Kent in our fictional relationship? More like Superman and Jimmy Olsen And you're my Lois Lane? ... Goodnight, Peter

Aunt May's home is beautiful. There's a lovingly sculpted garden out front that has since given into the snow, but you can tell it's a sight in the spring. For now, the Christmas garland lining the doorframe—wrapped in a rope of rainbow lights—brightens up the porch. As does the collection of little striped sweater-wearing gnomes gathered around the front door.

There's a commotion of voices behind it as you approach. You shift your plate into one hand, pressing the doorbell with the other, and the voices get louder. You swallow down your nerves when the door is ripped open by a stranger.

The stranger in question is staring out into the dark at you like they weren't expecting you. Your eyes quickly dart to the plaque beside the door and see a bold "15" emblazoned there. Nope. This is the house.

Their eyes zero in on the plate in your hand. Smiling, they open the door wide and step back, "Sweet! Peter said you'd bring dessert."

You kick the snow off your boots before stepping inside. The stranger shuts the door behind you before any more of the cold could get in. "It's peppermint bark," you explain, returning a smile of your own, "but I hear May's making a cake."

"May and Peter. May's great with everything but the oven- don't tell her I said that. I'm Ned, by the way." Ned holds his hand out for a shake.

Ned is really talkative, you find out. He holds your peppermint bark as you undo your boots and coat at the door, rattling off about how Peter and he had been friends at Midtown. He tells you about his job as a cybersecurity specialist, a job he'd naturally floated toward after graduating from MIT, and how he'd stayed with the Parkers for a few months after moving back to New York. It's how he knows that the downstairs bathroom door won't close unless you lift up when you shut it. You only remember about half of what he says by the time you get to the living room.

There are considerably fewer people than you expected, one of which makes his way over the minute you catch his eye.

"Hey," Harry grins. Unlike the nice suit he'd worn to the gala, he's dressed down in jeans and an ugly sweater with "I've been naughty" printed in big letters across the front, looking a lot less tense than when you'd first seen him, "Fancy seeing you here."

"I could say the same." You can't help but ask, "Don't the Osborns host Christmas Eve at Oscorp tower every year?"

Harry's good mood fizzles out right before your eyes. You feel pretty awful about it. "Uh, yeah. Norman does. But it's more business than anything, so I dipped. I'd rather be here watching Pete fuck up a perfectly good cake."

"I heard that!" Peter's voice calls from a room away.

Harry's good mood returns, "Well, it's good to see you at the annual Parker holiday celebration. And I'll forgive you for poking into my family business if you hand over those treats."

Bashful, you let Ned pass the plate into your hands before passing it to Harry, "Sorry. Reporter brain."

Harry's nose scrunches up, "Don't apologize. Unless these taste like ass."

"I promise they taste better than ass."

"Good enough," he backs away, turning his head to shout down the hall, "Peter! Get in here already!"

When the redhead is immersed in a game of UNO, you turn to Ned, "And that doesn't... feel weird? Having Harry Osborn at family dinner?"

"There are weirder things about Peter. Speak of the devil."

The ugly sweater is the first thing you notice. A companion to Harry's, it is nearly the exact same design, except for the "I've been nice" where the "I've been naughty" had been. He's dusting his hands of something when he comes around the corner. His eyes soften when he sees you with Ned, "Hey, you came." He says in a much too gentle voice. Harry and his opponents nearly drown him out with their cheers and boos.

Unlike at the office party, you notice, Peter's hair isn't tamed by hat nor hair gel. Instead, it curls incessantly around his flushed cheeks. He looked like a damn Keebler elf. It was frustratingly adorable. "Of course. I heard there'd be cake."

"How is that cake, Peter?" Ned pulls on a piece of the ugly sweater as he walks by, and you realize that some of the red had been singed. You follow Peter's frantic gaze from the hole to you.

"This was unrelated to the cake."

"You burned something else?"

"No! One of the stockings fell into the fireplace and I-" Peter trails off as you begin to smile, "you don't get to laugh at me if you didn't bring sweets."

"I did! Harry stole them." You nod over to the coffee table where the group is devouring your peppermint bark with reckless abandon. At least you knew they didn't taste like ass. Peter rushes over to steal the plate before they could polish off the last handful, much to their protest.

"Dinner's almost ready, I swear. You've met Ned, uh, Harry..." Peter scans the group, using his free hand to point out people, "...that's Yolanda, Katie, Lexie, Eduardo: all May's friends. May's in the kitchen but I'd stay out of her way until the ham comes out unharmed."

You notice that out of everyone gathered in the house, he does not mention his ex-girlfriend. "And MJ?"

You wait for an answer. Instead, something heavy shakes the house from above. It doesn't sound like it came from outside, but rather somewhere in the house. Not quite above your head. Weirdly enough, only you seem to be concerned about it.

Peter just glances at the ceiling, "And MJ."

MJ is tossing an empty storage bin to the side when you crawl up through the floor behind Peter. She's crouched on the balls of her feet, shoulders slouched, the sharp bones of her back poking through her tight graphic tee. Her head snaps toward you both when she hears you grunt up the last rung of the ladder. Her eyes narrow on you, then Peter, "I can't find it."

Peter offers you a hand to hoist you further into the attic, "Did you check the-"

"Yes. And I checked the one next to it. And the one next to that."

You look at Peter for an explanation, but he doesn't provide you with one. He walks over to where MJ has now fallen back on her ass, rifling through one of the bins. His mouth twists to the side. "Maybe she meant the box next to her old CDs?"

"There's like 15 boxes in here, Peter."

Off to the side of the room, where MJ was currently facing the mysterious dilemma, were about nine—not 15—storage bins in disarray. Two were off to the side, emptied of their contents: there were piles of men's clothes, women's clothes, baby blankets, and more. The third box that MJ was poring over had Halloween decorations in it.

"Well, you're getting close." Peter encourages.

The way MJ grumbles resentfully has you squirming. As time ticked on, your presence unannounced, you were starting to feel like an intruder. You clear your throat and MJ looks over at you for the second time, "Maybe I could help?" You offer.

At this, MJ brightens. "Finally! Someone cares about my plight. I don't know you, do I?"

You crawl over to where MJ is sitting and Peter gestures to you, "MJ, I told you about the reporter from the Bugle, right?" You give your name for good measure, and MJ's eyebrows raise. She gives a quick, indecipherable look to Peter. He returns it. Then she examines you.

After a moment, she dusts her hand off on her khakis and holds it out for you to shake, "Michelle Jones. Call me MJ." You repeat her nickname warmly. "Peter never shuts up about you."

Peter chokes on his spit.

"He... he does?"

MJ continues shaking your hand for longer than necessary, smiling secretively now, "Oh, yeah. He's got your blog bookmarked too. Post notifs for your Twitter, the works." You cut your eyes to Peter, appalled that he'd ratted you out to someone else, but MJ is quick, "I figured it out on my own ages ago."

"Is it really that obvious it's me?"

"No." And she smiles wider.

Peter is about to cut in with something when a woman's voice rings out, shrill and clear despite two layers of flooring in between you. He's needed with the ham. He looks between you and MJ, reluctant, "Look, if you can't find it-"

"We will." MJ's reply is confident, leaving no room for failure. You feel a little pressure applied to "we".

Peter nods. He mouths an apology at you and skitters out of the attic.

Left alone with MJ, you notice that she is staring at you now. You feel like you've been left alone with an oracle, prepared for your innermost being to be laid bare before you: past, present, and future. She looks like the type to know what makes people tick.

"What are you looking for?" You try to break the silence, though your voice comes out meeker than you'd have liked.

She doesn't look away from you as her fingers grip the container in between her legs, "Uncle Ben's favorite Christmas sweater. All I know is it has a reindeer holding a beer on the front."

Reinbeer. You almost laugh at it. You imagine it would tickle an uncle pink too. "Then I'll get to looking."

You've only just crawled over to a bin of your own when MJ asks you outright, "You like Peter, right?"

Your hand stills as it pries the top off. You feel her eyes burning into your back. "He's... nice, yeah."

You can hear how unimpressed she is with that, "I don't know if it's obvious, but Peter isn't exactly popular." You think that's kind of a cruel thing to say about someone you consider a friend, but MJ keeps going, "All he had was Ned back at Midtown. And me, eventually. I've known him since high school and he's made maybe a handful of friends, maybe less. The last time he invited someone new to Christmas dinner was Harry."

And that had been at least a few years, judging by how long Harry had been away at Oxford.

But why was she telling you this?

"He likes you." You yelp when you realize MJ's voice has gotten close. You turn, and she's kneeling behind you with no interest in your fear. "But do you like him?"

In her hands is a faded, toy Iron Man mask. "I... I think he's nice. I mean kind," you correct yourself when MJ frowns, "but I... I don't really know him. I mean, I don't think I do. I've only actually spoken to him twice and one of those times, there was a gun involved. Everything I know about him is through his pictures and Spidey, and I trust Spidey. So, I trust Peter."

"And Spider-Man?"

"What?"

"Do you like Spider-Man?"

You swallow. Like didn't really sum up how you felt about him. He was a hero, an inspiration, a friend, and also... yeah, you felt something more there too.

You think about why she would ask. Why it would have anything to do with you liking Peter or not. You look at her and it feels like she hasn't really asked you that different of a question at all. Your answer is much more definitive this time, "I do. I like him more than I know what to do with."

MJ leans back on her haunches. She appraises you, "He's pretty great, isn't he?" Her tone is considerably softer.

"Yeah. He really is." You smile.

MJ hands the mask to you and you take it, admiring the chips in its paint and the lovingly worn edges. She scoots between you and the bin you'd been looking into and pops the lid off. Almost immediately, she swears in relief. Sitting folded on top is the most gaudy sweater you've ever seen. A deformed reindeer is embroidered on the front, and sure enough, holds a can of beer in its hoof. When MJ shakes it out, little specks of dust fly everywhere.

This, too, she hands to you. You look at her in bewilderment. "You'll wanna make a good first impression with May," she advises, "just be prepared for the water works."

And there are water works.

May throws her arms around your neck and just about sobs her thanks to you, squishing the sweater between your chests. You note that she smells like candy canes. When she draws back, her glasses are all askew, "And I'm so glad you could make it! Peter wouldn't shut up about you. Isn't that right, Petey?"

Peter's eye twitches. "I'm gonna set the table. Ned, you wanna set the table?" And he scoots past you and May without waiting for a response.

"Don't mind him, he gets testy when he's cooking. Did Petey give you the tour?" You shake your head and May kisses her teeth in Peter's direction, "Okay, this is the kitchen, around the corner here is the dining room. You've seen the living room and the attic. The bathroom is by the front door, and the bedrooms are upstairs. If someone's in the bathroom down here, do not use the bathroom by the stairs. That's Ned's favorite when he gets bubbly guts, and he will get bubbly guts."

Ned complains under his breath as he walks by.

"If you need somewhere to get away from the festivities for a bit, backyard's that way and my room's upstairs, first door to the left. All good?" She pets your shoulder. Then, she looks down at the sweater still in your hands and takes it from you, tenderly. "I'm gonna go change into this and then dinner is served. Help yourself to anything, okay?"

May leaves you in the kitchen with that. Around the corner, Peter and Ned are fussing over where to put the ham and sides. Around the other corner, Harry is drunkenly singing Christmas carols with Yolanda. MJ watches on from the corner of the room, recording on her phone. She catches your eye and mouths, "For blackmail."

You peek into the dining room and Peter is worrying over one of the chairs. You can hear Ned scold him, "Sit next to them. You don't wanna talk over the ham. It'll kill the mood."

"But how do I... subtly get them to sit in this chair and not next to MJ or something?"

"Tell MJ not to sit next to them."

"But what if-" You jolt a little when Peter suddenly spots you eavesdropping. He straightens up with a death grip on the chair he'd been messing with, "Hey! Hi. This is your chair by the way." And he tops it all off with a smile.

It's warm in May's home.

You don't even register the cold at first. You do register Harry's frenzy, the way he grabs far more napkins than he needs to, pressing them to your stomach where the majority of his spilled drink had gone. When you finally do comprehend what just happened, you place your hands over his, "How long have you been plotting your revenge?"

Harry is red-faced. He lets you hold the napkins there while May rushes to find a towel, "Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was- sorry."

You don't get to dwell on the déjà vu of it all. May is ushering you up the stairs with a beach towel pressed to your front, muttering about how she'll have to put Harry on ginger ale for the rest of the night. She guides you into what you're certain is Peter's old bedroom.

It's been cleaned out, and most of his personal belongings must be at his own place, but there are still old posters on the wall, and a calendar dated in April, two years ago. His bed is ruffled like he'd slept overnight. It's neat, and looks like it usually is neat, but there are traces of him everywhere, like picture frames with Peter and May and a man you don't recognize.

"Peter probably has something here you can wear. It's all stuff from college." She digs through the top drawer of his dresser, finally stopping on a sweatshirt with Empire State University in college block across the chest. "Here! You think this'll fit?"

She stretches it out and you nod, thankful, "Yeah, thank you so much, May."

She smiles, "Okay. Bathroom's across the hall if you need to wash off. I can run your shirt through a wash while you're here if you'd like. Just let me know, okay?"

May is, perhaps, the sweetest woman on earth. She leaves you with a thumbs up and shuts the door behind you, reminding you to lock it after she leaves.

Your shirt had absorbed most of the drink, and you're relatively unscathed besides some sticky residue. You wipe at your stomach with the towel she'd given you and slip Peter's sweater on. It feels... odd, wearing it. It smells like May's house with little traces of Peter.

Your eyes drift back to the picture frames.

One such frame sits on top of the dresser, a photo of Peter and the man who you assume is Uncle Ben. He holds Peter in a headlock but they're both smiling at the camera. You smile too, tracing a finger around the wooden edges.

Another picture is of Peter and MJ and Ned, standing outside of MIT with their fingers pointing at the school. Another is of Peter and MJ sharing cotton candy at Coney. Another is of Peter as a little boy, with two people flanking his side that you do not know. You realize you'd never asked about Peter's parents.

There are other photos of him around that age with May and Ben, and as you piece together what feels like an undoubtedly tragic story, you catch something outside the window.

A person. Hanging onto the side of the house.

Your heart hammers in your chest as a hand pushes the window up, and then, "Did I scare you?" Spider-Man perches on the sill with what you can imagine is a shit-eating grin.

You stomp over to the window and shove at his shoulder, but he doesn't budge in the slightest, "You almost gave me a heart attack! Were you watching me get dressed?"

The mask's eyes blow open, "What? No! I swear I just got here."

"Do you ever use the front door?"

"Not if I can help it," he crawls in, staying planted by the window, "don't tell me you're snooping through Parker's things."

"I was just... looking. At the pictures. And Harry Osborn spilled his drink all over me so I had to borrow Parker's shirt."

"Hm. ESU looks good on you."

You look up at Peter, who keeps his hands tucked behind his back, leaning against the wall by the window. "Aren't you gonna say hi to the party? Make Parker look cool?"

"Eventually. Maybe. Might just watch from afar."

"No, nuh-uh. You said you had holiday plans and that you were going to a party. That doesn't count if you're watching from afar."

Peter's head sways to the side, "I never said this was the party I was going to."

"Is there another?"

"Well... maybe. Maybe not."

"Peter-" You whine, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not a party guy! Sue me."

"Well, then Parker's got you beat two for two. Unless you're lying, since I haven't given up on my conspiracy theory."

Peter presses himself off the wall, sauntering toward you in a zig-zag. Your eyes follow him, back and forth, back and forth, until he's a step or two away. His hand reaches out to play with one of your sleeves, its seams resewn with mismatched thread, "Leaving a party as Peter Parker to come back as Spider-Man. Give Parker some credit. That's the kind of plan you come up with in high school."

You shrug, trying not to act like Peter playing with your sleeve wasn't giving you goosebumps. "You never know."

Peter nods, "Yeah, you're right. I mean, he was really excited to see you."

"Oh yeah?" You swallow.

"Yeah. Was kind of pathetic, actually."

Peter shoots a web at the ceiling and twists, catching the web between his feet so he could hang upside down. The suddenness makes you stumble back with a breathless laugh, "That's not a very nice thing to say about a friend."

"Weren't you the one who said he'd be shaking and crying if you yelled at him?"

You sigh, "I was... I was teasing you."

"Because I'm Peter Parker."

He says it matter of fact. You stare at him, "Yeah," you whisper, "that's right."

He pulls himself up the web until he's face to face with you, "Then that wouldn't be very nice to say to a friend, would it?"

"No, it wouldn't. If you were Peter Parker, I guess I'd have to apologize to you."

"Yeah? How?"

You breathe deep. Everyone is still laughing downstairs. You become hyper-aware of the fact that you hadn't locked the door. At any moment, someone could walk in and...

Peter waits, curious.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw, pressing into the fabric of his mask, feeling over the ridges where black lines broke red. You know what you want to do. And you also know that there is no going back if you do it.

Your fingers reach the place where the mask meets the rest of his suit. Hooking two fingers under the fabric, you pull.

Your fingernails trace over the curve of his Adam's apple as it bobs, over the jut of his chin. Peter's breath is heaving. One of his hands releases its grip on the web and you see it glide toward yours out of the corner of your eye. You just feel the skin of his bottom lip under your finger when you realize how this might look. What he might think you're trying to do.

Mask in hand, questions of his identity hanging in the air, your curiosity and his vulnerability. You release the mask, awash with worry. You want to get it out before there's any misunderstanding, but as your hand drifts back to yourself, his catches it. You would give anything to know what he's thinking right now.

Peter lets your fingers fall. Silently, he drags the mask over the tip of his nose and leaves it resting there. An invitation. "I trust you." He promises. And kisses you.

He has to stretch a little to reach you. You understand this and press closer, taking the back of his head in your hands and holding it steady for you, but you know you're trembling. You curse yourself for how much your body reacts to this, how uncool you must look, how you shake with all the excitement and terror of this. You kiss him and feel silly about how you claimed to know his lips so well before now. That was nothing.

This is everything. So many things. Each time you go back in for more, you lock away some new little detail about him.

Peter places a hand against your neck and tugs you even closer, but the momentum makes him swing a little bit so his nose bumps your chin. You're too stiff to laugh, but he does, "Sorry," his voice is raspy, "this looked cooler in my head."

You lean into him, dizzied, "Was this... did you plan for me to kiss you? When you got up there?"

"I've wanted to kiss you plenty of ways." Peter's admission is followed by a sigh. He presses a hand to your chest and nudges you back a step before he's dropping to his feet and advancing upon you once more, bumping you against the dresser as the picture frames rattle. Your fingers sneak under his mask at the back of his head so they can sink into his silky hair.

He probably kisses you a hundred more times after that. Every kiss you think might be the last, but then you feel a tug in your chest and go in for one more. An itch that no scratch can soothe.

Peter's mask starts to slip and you feel one of his hands leave your waist to fix it, but the warmth your fingers had snuggled into disappears and-

You keep your eyes screwed shut, "Peter." You gasp against his mouth. Your fingers twitch in his hair, finding no resistance.

"It's okay," he nudges your nose with his, still pressing kisses to the corner of your mouth, "it's okay."

"But-"

"Don't you wanna know if you were right?"

You squeak when his lips find the underside of your jaw, "I don't need- you don't need to-"

"You're always right," Peter interrupts you, kissing down your neck, "I was never fooling you. You're so smart, you know that?"

"Peter." You say his name with no real plans for it to do anything, letting your head fall back.

"Please." He says back. Urging.

You lift your head, heart hammering away, and meet the eyes of Peter Parker.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker scenarios #peter parker fic #peter parker fluff #peter parker #spiderman x reader #spiderman scenarios #spiderman fic #spiderman fluff #tom holland peter parker #marvel #mjwrites #if you see any mistakes in this no u didn't #this has gone through a few revisions and uh. i'm sleeby #pp; small favor

136 notes · View notes

bagopucks · 1 year

Text

T. Zegras - You And Me

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning(s): Internet hate, emotional struggle, lack of communication.

Proofread while I was tired and delusional :)

—————————————

We were both young and distracted. Both on top of the world with our new occupations and the luck increasingly coming our way. Jack got drafted and I got my dream job in New York. We shared our excitement with one another simply because of our eventual close proximity.

I grew up going to school with the Hughes boys. I knew them well. I knew Luke the best, mostly because my little brother was friends with him. Which was really how I met Jack and Quinn in the first place. I gravitated toward Jack the most, due to his outgoing attitude and love for most things. We were always best friends. Strictly best friends.

It came as a shock to none when we got together. People were expecting it. Anticipating it. Jack and I dated, and at first we loved that, but eventually we saw through the cracks in our facades. We were playing “glorified friendship.” Jack didn’t love me like that, and I didn’t love him like that either. Sure, the fans and those on social media loved us, but they really only saw what we considered a best friendship. We may have kissed in a few photos and held hands, but Jack and I agreed that it just never felt right.

To say the least, we were both relieved and happy to have it over and done with when we broke up. We went back to fake gagging at each other and often teasing one another with comments about, “oh I can’t believe I ever kissed you,” and “why did we ever do that?”

Those comments though, had to be put on the back burner, when I met Trevor. Luke invited my brother and me out to the lake house one summer for a time. I almost turned down the offer, but my brother insisted, and I knew Jack would be there.

What I didn’t anticipate, was all of his friends being there too.

When Jack was too busy, I usually gravitated toward Trevor. Who always seemed to find me as well. He liked to ask what I was doing, drinking, eating, reading, watching.. god he just always wanted to know what I was up to. I thought it was nice.

I especially liked it when I would slip out on the back deck in the mornings to relax in the chill air, and Trevor would bee-bop out not long after, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt pouch and glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. He was often the least talkative, and I’d even venture to say shy, in the mornings.

Trevor and I became close after that. I could tell it made Jack nervous, but in the end when I asked him about dating Trevor, the middle Hughes gave his blessing.

The next summer, Trevor and I spent most of our time together at the lake house. And away from it. I took him on midnight drives. Introduced him to the wonders of rolling the windows down and screaming. He took me to his favorite mini-golf places and ice cream shops. We shared our hopes and dreams, and eventually our feelings.

Then I moved back to New York.

Long distance was shit, but Trevor visited whenever he was close enough to do so, and I visited whenever my schedule permitted. Then the second year of our relationship came, and after much discussion with my boyfriend, I made the decision to move to Anaheim.

Which was how we were eventually outed as well. People got photos of Trevor and I moving my things in just down the block from his and Jamie’s place. Which might not have looked overly suspicious, if those photos weren’t accompanied by one of us kissing too.

At first, people were happy. At first meaning maybe two days. Then I started getting comments on my social media. I started seeing people making videos and posts about how I’d dated Jack previously. People compared photos of me kissing Jack, to the one they had of me kissing Trevor.

Each new piece of content made me feel sick. Then it made me angry. Angry at Trevor’s fans, angry at jealous girls, angry at myself. Because in what world did I think this would slide by without having any issues? I was dating my exes best friend.

“Can they just shut up about it?”

I knew it hurt Trevor too, because the crazy fan girls called me a slut, but the other boy obsessed fan girls called Trevor a horrible friend. Everybody was choosing sides online. It was either;

Team Jack; which included shitting on Trevor for breaking bro-code

Team Trevor; which meant tearing Jack down for supposedly, ‘hurting me’ or ‘treating me wrong.’

Then there was simply Team Puck Bunny; where everybody attacked and berated me for jumping from guy to guy.

I wouldn’t consider it a team, more like an angry mob.

I often responded with,

“I’m sick of it too, bud. You’re not the only one.”

We went for days being frustrated, weeks even. Things simmered and simmered, then they came to a boil when I got publicly insulted in a book store.

“This is it?” I could tell the young woman had a tone in her voice, but I’d worked retail before. I knew some days just required a little bit of a hard attitude. It wasn’t until she looked up at me for the second time, that she decided to pop off.

“Did we bring Trevor’s card today?”

I was shocked. My expression spoke volumes, not to mention the way my posture quickly changed.

“What does that mean exactly?” The people behind me grew impatient, and usually I wasn’t one to cause a scene, but this girl wasn’t going to get away with such words.

“Means yours probably ran out of money after you and Jack broke up. Had to hop along to the next hockey player.”

Hop along. What a fucking joke.

I pulled my credit card back into my purse. I’d dealt with the hate for so long that at some point, I began to wonder if I did use Trevor’s money too much.

Did I talk about him too much? Mention his name too much at work? Did I get friends just because of him? How often was I really buying things and not arguing more about him handing his own card over? Was I really using him? Was Jack really upset with me?

I tried my hardest to hold back the tears as I abandoned my books at the counter. I climbed into my car, put on a pair of sunglasses, and finally let it out as I drove back to my place. It felt like I was trapped. Trapped under a microscope I didn’t want to be under. So alone. Put on a pedestal only to be laughed at. I knew Trevor was experiencing the same thing to some degree, but it wasn’t the same. The hate on him had calmed. People got over it. When would they get over me? Why couldn’t they just understand that Jack and I wanted to be friends? That we’d never been in love.

The second I got into my home, I discarded every piece of technology I had on myself. My phone, my watch, I ignored the tv and my iPad- my laptop. I made a straight line for my back deck. And when I got outside, I slammed the sliding door as hard as I could. And I cried.

I was using Trevor. Maybe people were right. Maybe I needed a normal boyfriend, with a nine to five job. Somebody who I couldn’t use and take advantage of. Somebody in my league. I just needed to hop my way out of his life and forget about him. I lowered myself into one of my deck chairs, leaning back and raising a hand to wipe at the tears on my cheeks.

Trevor needed a girl who wouldn’t accept his card. Who wouldn’t let him pay for things or gift give so much. He needed a girl who’d take care of him as much as he took care of her. That couldn’t be me. It wasn’t me. Everybody said so.

I focused in when I heard the sound of a door opening, my thoughts forgotten in a flash as I grew concerned about somebody being in my home. I sat still, and waited patiently, until I heard the glass door open. I whipped around, only to relax at the sight of Trevor. He was supposed to make things better.. did I ever make things better for him?

“Hey! I saw you pull in.. I was waiting for you to get back from the book store.” His bashful smile was one I always loved. He hated admitting that he waited for me sometimes.

Trevor quickly presented me with a small box. My face fell.

“I got you something.”

“Trevor.” I sighed out, my hand pinched the bridge of my nose. “You can’t keep buying me things.”

I turned my gaze up to him, frustrated and exhausted.

“It’s just something small. Open it.” He quickly sat down next to me, and when he held the box out, I pushed it away.

“This is the shit they hate me for, Trevor!” I shouted, I quickly took note of the hurt look on his face. “They can’t stand me-“ my voice broke. “Because they think I use you. I don’t use you!” I couldn’t tell if I was trying to convince myself at this point, or the entirety of his fan base.

Tears quickly fell down my cheeks, my face red as I tried to hold in my sobs.

“Hey, hey-“ Trevor set the box aside and pulled me into his side. “I know you don’t use me.” He cooed, his hand rubbing my back while the other grasped my thigh.

“I do. You always pay for things- and.. and I used Jack to get to you.. and I hurt Jack- I hurt Jack because we’re together,” my hysterical bumbling was nonsense. Lies I began to believe because they’d been preached too much. Trevor let me go. He let me go and get it out for as long as I needed to, listening to any and every insecurity and concern. He listened well after the tears settled and I found my composure.

I eventually turned my body to face his own, and buried my head into his shoulder.

“I don’t wanna use you, Trevor,” I choked out. “I love you so much.” He was careful in pulling me into his lap.

“You don’t, baby.. I promise you don’t use me. I love buying you things. And Jack is always telling me about how much you talk about me when he calls. He always tells me it’s nonstop. He’s happy for us. And my team is happy. Hell.. Gibby loves you.”

“Because I’m with you.”

“No. Because you’re so sweet to everybody. Because you treat them all like family, and they love having you around when we have events.”

I gripped the back of Trevor’s t-shirt with one of my hands.

“Why do you love me?” I sniffled, and lifted my face to wipe my tears on my arm. I was certain I looked like shit, but Trevor still lifted my chin to look at me.

“Because there’s nothing to hate.” It sounded extremely cheesy and cliche, but in the moment it calmed me. Nothing worked better than hearing my boyfriend say such kind things.

“There’s a few things,” I argued softly, sniffing again. Trevor cupped my cheeks and wiped the excess tears away with his thumbs.

“Nothing worth hating. Maybe disliking, but not hating.” Trevor stood his ground with a teasing tone. “I couldn’t hate a single piece of you.”

“What about the money?” I lifted my hands to grip his wrists, prying his hands from my face. Trevor sighed.

“It was never about the money until they made it like that. Why’d you start liking me?”

I paused to think, my gaze flickering around the back yard.

“Because you were easy to talk to. And eccentric.” Trevor chuckled.

“Exactly. You never cared. We’ve never even had a discussion on how much I make. I just offer to buy, and you give me such a hassle about it before I win, and I pay.” Trevor paused and smirked. “Most of the time.” My expression softened.

“There’s nothing to worry about.” I released his hands, and Trevor brushed my hair aside with one, while the other went back to wiping away my tears. “We can just ignore all the shit for a while. Try and do one of those social media breaks or something?”

“I think I can do that.” Who was I kidding? I knew I could do that. A social media cleanse with Trevor didn’t sound like such a bad thing. Time to forget about all the stress and focus solely on one another.

“There’s only two of us in this relationship. It’s not me, you, and the world. Yeah?” I never thought of it that way. I quickly nodded.

“When did you get so wise, Zig?” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the bridge of my nose.

“Since I started dating a book worm. You learn a lot from books.”

Who would have thought you could learn from books?

“So..” I sighed out. “One big social media cleanse?”

“You betcha.”

“All apps?”

“All apps.”

“Just me and you.” That wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A newfound relief.

“Just you and me.” Trevor responded as he leaned in and kissed me. After a moment, we pulled away.

I nodded, leaned into him once again, and sighed. Just us. Only us.

“This might be a weird time to ask, but what did you get me?”

“Oh.. yeah it was nothin’ big. Just a Ring Pop in a box. I thought it would be funny.” I stared him down. I narrowed my eyes.

“Fuck you. I want the Ring Pop!”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras imagine #anaheim ducks

490 notes · View notes

obscurecurse · 7 months

Text

Kim's Balcony

I haven't decided what it all means yet but I'd like to present some figures on Kim cinematography.

It dawned on me yesterday that the first/last of Kim's scenes both take place on the balcony in his apartment. I wanted to revisit these scenes in order to consider the directorial choices because I suspected there might be some subtext there.

1. The first time we as the audience see Kim he is behind a screen, obscured. He's basically in another room from the viewer with the separation of glass and metal. He stands in daylight but there's no lights on in the apartment. We are not shown his face.

Starting with some face-value observations: scenes taking place on this balcony give the viewer a sense of how high up Kim's apartment is, how it overlooks the city, suggesting wealth, status. This is also his fortress, his safe space. He's physically elevated from the city, suggesting otherness - being "above" or isolated from other people. He's always shown alone in his isolated, other place, or starts off alone to be visited only by house staff. (Almost every Theerapanyakun has a scene like this, if memory serves.) Cities don't always have to represent isolation and power, by any means, but in Kim's case I think they do.

Obscuring him like this is purposeful. He is meant to be obscured narratively. (To the point that on the first watch I thought he was going to rise to the occasion of "main villain.") His blurring protects a thread of crucial reverse dramatic irony - because Kim knows way more than all of us for, like, most of the show.

2. But in his last scene he is no longer obscured:

We see him more clearly, both literally and narratively. His motivations were made clear and now they have completely shifted. The screen that previously made him unclear is just out of focus on the edge of this shot.

3. And then we see him even closer in his video for Chay. The camera just keeps zooming in on his framing, scene for scene. (When Chay watches Kim's video he is also set against the city, btw, in similar isolated conditions. Hmmmm. So close yet so far in their impasse.)

4. This extended shot after he sends the video does not really add to my meta but it's really a long shot of him looking emo and holding the guitar. I am curious as to whyyy he is always set against the context of the city in these shots? What is the significance there? To remind us his family owns the city?

But thennnnNNNN:

5. ....???!!!!?!?!?!!? Kim walks out of frame. I'm sure he needs to go pour a shot after being so vulnerable with Chay, but narratively, narrativelyyyyyy... He's abandoned his post! This was the place he started, and he no longer needs (or maybe even wants) to put himself in that position. HmmmMMMMMMMMM.

#kimchay #kinnporsche the series #autocorrect insisting NARRATIVELY is not a word rn....#kinnporsche meta #i know 1 (one) film major but idk how to be like can you please watch this entire show so i can ask you about cinematic devices

133 notes · View notes

vintagexherry · 1 year

Text

Treasure for Three Days [2]

Pirate!Miguel x Princess!Reader

// Sexual harrasment, blood, minor character death, slight gore, consumption of alcohol, implications of sexual acts, Ooc Miguel, Miguel is mean

---

Previously

"Speaking of the entertainment district, why don't we give it a visit while princess looks for change of clothes." With that, the crew cheered, and the navigator smirked as he directed the steering wheel to the nearest land which you assumed where the "entertainment district" is located.

You gulp.

How are you gonna survive three days with these men.

It took hours to get to said island, and within those hours, you tried getting some sleep in the captain's cabin, but your thoughts keep you up.

What would you do if Miguel didn't keep with his words?

You let out a sigh, deciding not to think too much. Maybe Miguel is right. Your head just might explode.

As you sat straighter on the bed, you decided to look around the place, Miguel was still up the deck, probably talking to his crew or what not.

You stood up and checked the wall.

A jaw full of teeth of a sea beast is displayed by the side. You wonder how long it took for them to remove every bit of flesh and muscle just to get to the bone. All you know is probably messy.

You then turned to a barrel of rolled up papers, and you took one and unrolled what seemed to be an impressive handrawn map of an island. You must say, whoever was the cartographer, they need a raise.

Finally, you went to one of the shelves displaying golden statues and alcohol. Your attention was driven to a goblet, which edges are engraved with gold. You also noticed a symbol seemed to be stamped at one side of the goblet. A royal sigil, it seemed familiar.

"Took that one from a neighbouring kingdom."

You flinched and turned swiftly to see Miguel leaning by the door with his arms crossed.

How come you didn't hear him approaching?!

For his big size, his steps are unnaturally quiet.

Miguel took your silence as a sign to speak more. His steps led him to you in front of the shelf, and you took a small step back.

"We were pillaging this castle, y'know what pirates do? Yea, that. And while we're at it, I saw it gleaming nice at a table, so I took it. Aside from others' valuables, of course." He chuckled at the end.

His eyes then drifted to the skeletal jaw you were looking at earlier.

"And this bastard. Took me a while to get it but, it certainly did a number on me."

While he talked, you find yourself immersing in his stories. Being homeschooled and practically repeated a series of routines. You got curious about the outside world. Only finding solace in the books you read.

"... Once we killed it, I made my most experienced swordmaster do the honours of cutting the meat of its flesh. That beast was bigger than a regular cannon." His eyes gleam at the memory.

"A-are there any other creatures you encountered?" You hesitantly asked, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Miguel glanced at you for a while and seemed to be deep in thought.

"This one ain't a beast." He walked up to his desk and sat on the chair putting both legs up the table while you sat back on the bed.

"...but we encountered this island. We thought it was a newly discovered land since it wasn't on any map I've seen. But then I've seen why." His eyes turned dark. And you felt anxious of the tension on the air.

"...It was because no cartographer was able to get out alive to even draw it. Why? Cus it's an island full of cannibalistic people."

Your eyes widened. You only seen them in books you've read, but you only thought them as myths.

"C-cannibals?"

"Humans who eat other hu-"

"I know what it means." you annoyingly huffed.

Miguel just shrugged and put his hands up to a surrender.

It was safe to say this was the only conversation you both had that didn't feel like danger to you.

Miguel seemed to want to tell you more, but a knock on his door stopped him. The door opened to reveal a crewmate notifying him that they have arrived.

You gulp.

The light enjoyment you felt suddenly waned. But then you thought, If there's land there's people. If there's people then there's hope.

A hope for you to ask for help.

As Miguel and you left the cabin and headed for the deck, it was already sunset. Usually you would enjoy the view but nothing to enjoy when your headed to a place you barely know.

"Hm, it's almost night. What perfect timing." Miguel smirked.

He turned to you with a brown bag on his hand.

"Here, catch." He threw the bag to you which you caught it, feeling the weight and hearing the jingles in it.

Must be coins.

"Like you said, you want a change of clothes? Go buy then."

You felt the ship hit land within the docking areas where you see other people either exiting or entering their own ships.

You felt nerves underneath your skin, goosebumps all over it.

This could possibly be the first time you explored outside your country.

"You either just stand there, or you start walking."

You snapped out of your thoughts and followed Miguel down the ship, landing your bare feet in the sand.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Cheers and glass clinking can be heard everywhere.

You felt out of place.

After buying clothes, you wore a white and maroon dress, After shopping, you asked if you could go back to the ship.

"And miss out of the fun? Ay ay hermosa, live a little. Just make sure to stay within my sight." He chuckled as his crew went directly to a dark street full of bars, filled with drunk men, women, and even other pirates.

"Oy Miguel! Long time no see!" A drunk middle-aged man called out from a bar, and with that, you were left on your own.

Right now, you were sitting by the corner watching men chant songs and women gossiping. You also see men and women flirting with each other, some just drunkingly kissing, and some went up to the bedrooms upstairs.

At one side of the bar, a drunk Miguel being surrounded by women, all dressed provocatively and talking to him. Although what you don't see is his subtle glances to you time to time

You look around and thought, maybe this is the perfect moment to get up and go out and ask for help.

As you left the bar, making sure no one spotted you in the process.

As you step out, you feel the cold breeze of the night and hear crickets buzzing and the soft muffled noises from the bar.

You continued your way to the direction you remember where the docking place was at.

While you walk, a sweaty hand suddenly stops your movements, and you froze.

"Heyyyyy" A ragged man who seemed to have too much to drink greeted you.

"Wuz a pretty lady doin hir?" He's senteced were slurred as he hiccuped in between, and you winced im disgust when you could just smell the alcohol off him.

You didn't want any trouble as of tonight's events. So you pushed his hand away from your shoulder.

"I-its none of your business, i-if you don't mind, I sho-should get going." You stammered due to the freezing temperature but also the fear of what could happen if you got to the bad side of this man.

You started to walk away as fast as you could, but the man grabbed your forearm and pulled you towards him.

"Oi! Im bein nice hir pretty lady, why downt you be a grateful little bitch."

Oh no this isn't good, he's getting mad.

You tried pulling your arm away, and he angrily gripped the thin fabric around your chest. And for such a drunk guy, he seemed to possess unnecessary strength. Which resulted in ripping your fabric around your chest area, revealing your cleavage. The only thing saving you now is your corset to cover it.

If you're scared a while ago, you're definitely afraid now.

You screamed for help while you tried to fight his grip, but that only seemed to spur him even further. His slurred words angrily spit insults and words you couldn't get the meaning of.

His grip finally loosened and for an unexpected reason.

You froze from the sudden quiet in the air.

When you glanced at him, his face painted with shock and his torso painted with red.

Blood.

Blood with a sword coming through it.

You quickly stepped back as his face collapsed to the floor. Your eyes quickly drifted to the man above him.

Miguel O'Hara.

His face is devoid of expression, his usual smirk gone, yet there's rage in his eyes. Your body froze from the view in front of you. You don't know what to do first, thank him? be afraid?

He took back his sword and wiped the blood on the shirt of the dead man.

"We're heading back." He deeply stated, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I-"

"Shut up."

He didn't shout this time, but you know better than to disobey, he gripped your forearm, and you both head back to the ship.

This night marks the end of Day One

○●○●○

taglist: @lionhearted-soldier

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #pirate #tw harassment #tw blo0d #historical

169 notes · View notes

coffeedepressionsoup · 8 months

Text

Somebody Does Love | MYG - He Falls First

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one where Yoongi is a man with a crush, and Sammy is a diligent shipper. Part 4 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3.9k+

Warnings - lil swearing, drinking is injurious to health, smoking too (dk if that bit is in there), flustered Yoongi Pro Max

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona

A/N - It would seem the word limit is me overcompensating for the long break. Hehehe. I have received so many positive and encouraging comments throughout this time, some anonymous, I wanted to write a slightly longer note to thank you all. On some of the worst days, your enthusiasm puts a smile on my face. Thank you, and take my warmest love.

Partially proofread. Basically word vomit. Written in three frenzied, sleepless nights. Please be kind. Like, reblog and comment to let me know what you think of this chapter. Also, feel free to DM me to be added to the taglist. That's all. Enjoy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Sammy tries his best to keep a straight face as he looks at his friend of more than 8 years explaining why he decided to drop by his house - the third time in two weeks, which is more than the number of visits in the last two years, combined.

Min Yoongi, the friend in question here, allegedly found inspiration at a park earlier that day and had the beats for a new song in mind, for which Sammy was being requested to work on the lyrics. Could it have waited until the next day? Apparently not.

The urgency (of the creative variety, of course) is why the award-winning music producer was hunched over at Sammy’s living room sofa, having hijacked the latter’s laptop.

However, the explanation did not seem satisfactory to Sammy. I mean, obviously, there are some good beats that Yoongi presented in the short while that he was there. But that is not unbelievable. He has previously seen him finish a song in less than an hour.

Even the inspiration is not doubtful. Not in the least. Of course, he can believe in finding inspiration for a song at random places, at random times. Sammy himself had made a song about the annoyance shaving can be after a particularly annoying early morning schedule.

The urgency, however, is the fishy bit. Not that it’s too late in the night. It’s 10:27, Sammy checks his phone. It is not too late at all for his friends to get together for drinks or movies. But turning up at his house though? And Yoongi?

Sammy has had to often take in a drunk and dejected Jaehyeong at around midnight when he was going through a difficult breakup and would end up in his neighbourhood because the ex used to live close by. Dojoon and Yijeong would often come in unannounced for impromptu jamming sessions. Hajoon would drop by to cuddle Woolfie. You get the drift.

But the most Yoongi had done, in all their years of knowing each other, was call and ask if he was down for a drink and/or meal. If it was regarding work, a .wav file over chat. Never has he barged into his house, unannounced. What are the odds of that happening after 8 years of knowing one another? Thrice within 14 days? Sammy wondered.

The first time did indeed take him by surprise.

Sammy was getting out of the gym in his building and heading towards the elevators to climb back to his apartment. He had promised Y/N some of his signature japchae for dinner. She had been nagging him for it ever since she arrived in Seoul. The previous night at Hajoon’s place, he pinky swore that he would make it for dinner the next day. He was ordering all the ingredients he’d need to fulfill that promise. It was as he was going to add spinach to the cart that Yoongi’s caller ID floated on his screen.

“Hel-”

“Are you at home now?”

“Uh-yeah, wh-”

“Okay”

And the line disconnected.

Sammy had intended to call Yoongi back. But by the time, he got back to the apartment and freshened up, he heard the buzz of his doorbell. Expecting his grocery deliveries, Sammy was disappointed to find someone else at the door.

He was more surprised when he realised that someone was Yoongi, with the straps of a tan corduroy tote bag clutched in one of his hands. The two men stared at each other for a few quiet moments - one in confusion, the other in fluster. Meanwhile, Sammy’s groceries arrived and since they were at the door already, the two friends quickly emptied the items and returned the bag to the delivery person.

Once the door was shut, Yoongi held up the bag, saying, “I had some leftover food.”

Sammy nodded. Yoongi had made him food at times when he was sick, and even when he had locked himself in his apartment save the daily hour-long walks with Woolfie to finish his first solo album. This was not a new thing. And even then, the rapper did not announce “I made this for you.” It was always variations of “I made too much,” “I don’t want this anymore,” or sometimes just quietly shoved into the arms, without any explanations.

But what he wondered was why now. He was neither sick nor stressed. They did not even have an ongoing argument that needed to be smoothed over with pensive bribery or a crony bet that required settlement.

“What’d you make?” he asked, carrying the meat that arrived in the delivery alongside a few other boxes to the kitchen.

Yoongi followed with the remaining items in his arms and placed them all, including the bag he was carrying, on the granite-top kitchen island. “Just threw some stuff together,” he lied comfortably. Nobody had to know that he went shopping that noon and handpicked the ribeye fillets among other things.

Sammy smirked at the very vague and characteristically predictable response. “Want some beer?” He saw Yoongi’s head nodding in his peripheral vision as he dived into the fridge to fish out a couple of beer cans.

Stood across from each other, at the kitchen island, the two opened and tipped their cans in silence and took a swig each when Yoongi’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and gestured to Sammy that he would take the call, who nodded back in acknowledgement.

Yoongi walked out of the kitchen with the beer in one hand and his phone held up to the ear in the other.

Sammy was making a mental checklist of the things he needed to soak, wash, peel etc. and in what order as he glanced over the ingredients laid out on the countertop in front of him. When his eyes fell on the tan corduroy bag placed there, curiosity caught up. He dragged it towards himself and brought out the casserole inside it. It was heavier than he anticipated.

He opened the lid to reveal a piping-hot pot full of japchae. His confused frown gave way to a knowing smirk within a couple of seconds when he joined the dots. He closed the lid and continued sipping on his beer as he checked the time on his phone and walked out into his living room.

Y/N will be home soon and things will get interesting, he thought.

Just as he plopped himself on the sofa and turned the TV on, Yoongi, who was perched up against one of the bookshelves, finished his call, shoved his phone in his back pocket and joined his friend.

By now, Woolfie had woken up from his evening nap and strolled out. He wagged his tail and shoved his snoot up Yoongi’s crotch, as he usually does, earning coos and cuddles from the man.

Sammy patted his dog on the back a couple of times from beside his friend, resulting in Woolfie withdrawing from the aforementioned crotch and sitting down in front of the couch, like the goodest (we know it is a valid superlative adjective for all dogs) ever boy that he was. Yoongi chuckled and continued showering pets on the husky till he heard his friend’s almost prosaic statement, made apparently to no one in particular.

“Y/N loves japchae.”

Yoongi tried his best to not react to the statement. He took another swig of his beer attempting to appear nonchalant. But chalant, he was. Of course, he knew Y/N loved japchae. She lamented missing the dish and reprimanded Sammy for a good part of two minutes the previous night for not making it. When Hobi suggested ordering the dish, she rejected the idea claiming she wanted the kind with slightly burnt garlic, the one that Sammy made once by mistake and has since and will forever have to make it that way for this adorable little friend of his.

However, Sammy would never describe Y/N as adorable or little. He would choose something along the lines of tenacious and talkative. Adorable and little were Yoongi’s interjections as he observed the japchae exchange unfold. Adorable because everything about Y/N seemed to warm his heart at that time - her voice, her hand gestures, her face, her anecdotes. And little because he often found himself wishing, throughout the night, to hold her close and safe, near him, like a little flower.

That morning, when they were leaving Hajoon's place, Yoongi remembered the smile she had as she waved her goodbyes. At one point, her eyes landed on him, and she said a simple, “See you around.”

He managed to smile back and nod in acknowledgement. He wished to no one in particular that the around would come sooner than later. Then his eyes fell on the jacket that was draped across her forearm. His jacket. His smile faded and anxiety crept back in.

Yoongi had attempted about twice through the night to will himself into owning up as the owner of the jacket. But he failed. Sometimes he drowned in her eyes, or the curve of her smile. At other times, his will just wasn't strong enough to face the mountain of curses and rebuttals he'd heard about his perceived self, or rather of his absence.

As he saw her drive away with Sammy, he decided what to do. He will cook one of her favourite dishes, directly own up for his fuckery and apologise, no conditions applied. Simple enough plan, one-third of which he seemed to have completed successfully. With his friend's single comment though, all his resolve started to fall apart.

This was too forward, wasn't it? Is he encroaching? In a space where he doesn't belong? Is he making this too easy? Too hard to deal with?

Sammy saw in glee as the top of his friend’s ears and cheeks turned a bashful red. He stopped at a channel playing “Tease Me” by Seo Inguk and paused.

Yoongi gulped down the last bit of beer in that can, crushed the sides a little and cleared his throat. “Everyone loves japchae. It is easy to make.”

“Is that why you made it?”

Yoongi turned to look at his friend and looked into his eyes. Fucker had caught on, had he not? He cursed internally but held his gaze, unfaltering.

“Yes.”

Sammy let out a laugh and did not implore more. If he teased some more, there may be actual smoke coming out of the poor man’s ears.

Before Yoongi could act annoyed about being inflicted with stupid, pointless questions, their attention was drawn by Woolfie’s gentle growling. The dog jumped up on all fours and pattered towards the front door of the duplex, wagging his tail.

Familiar enough action for Sammy, he continued surfing channels without reacting but glanced over at Yoongi ever so often.

Confused by the dog’s sudden departure, his face had a frown in the beginning which smoothened out and gave way to his mouth hanging open ever so slightly when he heard a familiar cooing voice.

Yoongi was not surprised by Y/N’s arrival, he was of course expecting it. He was however not ready for his heart to beat that fast at only her voice, even when sober. For some inexplicable reason, he stood up from the sofa.

He heard Y/N’s giggles from the corridor and when he finally saw her, he regretted standing up because he could feel his heels faltering a bit.

Y/N was half carrying, half dragging the 50-something pound Siberian Husky and muttering phrases like “Yes I missed you too bubba.” “Aww my little baby.” “I know I know.” “I love you so much.” into his fur, which was peppered by pleased grumbles and breathy sighs from the dog. He was quite happy having resigned his weight over to one of his favourite humans, not minding one bit for having his hind feet dragged leisurely across the carpeted floor because she was gone for a tad bit longer than he would have preferred. Fines would have to be paid.

Sammy’s anticipation was killing him but the sight of his child with one of his best friends endeared him a lot more. Grinning at the duo, he clicked a couple of pictures and walked towards one of the shelves.

“Come on big boy, time for your walk,” he called out as he picked out one of Woolfie’s favourite leads. The boy, snapping out of his baby mode, whoofed and ran towards his dad in earnest, earning a giggle from all the adults in the room.

Y/N could place all but one of those sounds. One from her, unmistakable. One from Sammy, who had managed to hook the lead on. She turned to see the source of the third giggle, whose face had now frozen into a taut smile.

Sammy’s voice emerged before the other two people could say anything. “Yoongi, Y/N. Y/N, Yoongi. Y’all remember each other right? From a few hours ago?”

“Yes, of course, hi,” Y/N said.

“Hi,” Yoongi whispered back.

Sammy stopped near the turn of the corridor and said, “Yoongi bought us japchae. He made too much.”

And with that he walked out of the door, laughing once he was out of earshot.

What he left behind was a red Yoongi, warm to the touch. The last thing he heard was, “Oh thank you so much! Hope you are staying for dinner.”

Sammy does not yet know the details of what transpired in the 35 minutes that he was gone. He apologised to Woolfie for cutting their walk short but his curiosity would not allow him to not observe the progress of what could become a legendary love story further down the line. He would even volunteer to write the foreward if a book was ever written on the matter.

Was he building castles in the air? Yes. But was it unfounded? No. Even with the japchae out of the equation, he saw his 33-year-old friend fluster like a teenager with a crush. He also had to stomach about 1:40 minutes of “Oh I thought he was haughty at first but he’s quite a good listener. Helps that he is cute,” from when they started driving back from Hajoon’s place, till Y/N left for work that morning. He liked to believe that he was a realist, but what is life really without the dystopian fantasies of romance we build in our silly little heads?

He had come back to the pair of his friends in the kitchen - Y/N straining out some noodles and adding them to a pan of sauce and Yoongi chopping spring onions, with Ash perched upon his shoulder, observing his skills like a diligent invigilator.

The tail end of the conversation that Sammy managed to catch was - “That is probably a smoother blend, but the aftertaste of Glenfiddich sits better with me,” Y/N said, to which Yoongi replied, “I agree. But you have to try Bowmore once. I might have a bit of the 15-year-old left, I can bring it over next time.”

Which had offered a very flexible segwue to the second visit that Yoongi made to Sammy’s place. Sunday night. As Y/N and Sammy were watching the match highlights of an earlier Arsenal vs Liverpool game, the bell rang.

Sammy was less surprised this time when he buzzed Yoongi in. He held up an unopened bottle of Bowmore 15 Scotch Whiskey this time instead of a tote bag. He walked in to see Y/N scream at the TV with half a chicken wing pointed at it with some of it still in her mouth, muffling the expletives.

When she saw Yoongi, she smiled a wide smile to greet him. He smiled back but when he saw the packets of chicken and beer cans strewn around, felt immediately like he was intruding. Intruding into quality time between two people. All because he could not stop thinking about one of these two people at all, and had also not mustered enough courage to exchange numbers with. He admonished himself internally endlessly for everything in the next couple of seconds of silence where he thought of what he could say.

He settled on, “I-uh told you about this,” held the bottle up again, “Thought I would drop it by.” He went up and placed the bottle on the lounge table.

“Are you not staying?” the question was immediate. Innocent enough but filled with a slight tone of disappointment that tugged at his heart.

“Yeah, what the fuck dude. You gotta have at least a couple of drinks with us.” Sammy patted him across the back. That encouraged him.

“Yeah. It’s only going to be fun when you have someone else who also enjoys and understands scotch,” Y/N said, ignoring the hurt Sammy displayed at the slight jab, adding, “Stay for a bit if you have nothing else lined up.” That convinced him.

“I did not mean to interrupt anything,” he said half matter-of-factly, half apologetically.

“We are eating fried chicken and watching a week-old football match. Trust me, you’re adding life to the party,” Y/N said as she scooted over to allow Yoongi enough space to sit by the lounge table, facing the TV.

Yoongi blushed and could feel his ears heat up as he sat down beside her. Y/N did not notice it but Sammy did. “It is true though, Sammy does not really enjoy anything other than a beer.”

“Well, fuck me that I like for my tongue to not burn out of existence,” Sammy grumbled as he brought over three glasses and ice.

A little more than half the bottle was finished that night between Y/N and Yoongi, who bonded quite seamlessly over teasing Sammy about giving up after a single peg, scotch in general and discussions over media’s ever-evolving role in influencing a person’s life choices on a day-to-day basis.

Although Sammy would have offered the sofa to Yoongi for the next few hours anyway, he stepped back when Y/N urged Yoongi to not drive back. He also exaggerated how tired he was with a couple of over-the-top yawns, which would have been suspicious if he was amongst sober company. He therefore hurried back to his bedroom and shut the door, allowing his friends the privacy he thought they probably sought.

He was partly right. Yoongi and Y/N had both wished to have met one-on-one but neither had the balls to ask the other first, caught up within webs of self-doubt and anxious ominosity in their heads. Even with Sammy having retired to his room, as they sat alone, only with each other for company, they did not dare go where their mind sometimes wandered to.

There had been occasional hand and shoulder brushes throughout the night that they managed to glance over. With Sammy gone, though, they became hyper-aware of their proximity. Y/N turned to look at Yoongi and when he did the same, they were one head tip away from a kiss. Theoretically.

He tracked as her eyes moved from his own and fell to his lips and then back.

Y/N could feel warmth wash over all her body. She also felt his warm breath sync with hers. His face was flush and his lips luscious, inviting.

She had thought about these lips often in the past few days. Not intentionally, but she caught herself with her mind wandering quite often. Him - his demeanour, his voice and his attitude pulled her in. If she was reading things right, there was an interest she could read as well. If making the japchae was not a loud enough argument for that school of thought, the glances and the smiles surely were. Since Sunday, there have been a tonne of those and the eyes never lie, right?

And those damned eyes. They seemed familiar but at the same time, she found new depths in them each time she focussed on them. She stared at those dark orbs for a while before tracking back down to his lips.

This man was too beautiful for Y/N to hold her sanity. But she had to try. He was who he was in the public eye, but he was also Sammy’s friend.

Sammy is one of the most important pieces in the stained glass panel of her life. And pursuing something like this with one of his friends and industry peers would intermingle things beyond a point of recovery.

She readjusted her posture with an audible sigh.

Yoongi drew in a sharp breath and looked down at his hands fiddling with a coaster on the floor. An apology sitting at the tip of his tongue. But before he could get it out he could hear Y/N say, “We’re drunk, aren’t we?”

He looked up to see a smile on her face. He would call it fond but there was something else in it. However, he could not stop smiling back. He nodded slightly and let out a huff of giggle. For a moment it felt like he was 16 again.

Y/N slapped her thighs and got up. “I will get you some covers,” and by the time Yoongi managed to drag his ass up onto the couch, she was back with a comforter and a throw blanket.

She held the folded items out to him, “‘s all I could find.” He muttered a thank you and when he went to grab them, his left palm grazed over hers, ever so slightly. But it was enough to spark him awake, out of whatever sleepy haze he was in a moment earlier.

He heard Y/N say “sleep well” on her way back to her room. He lay on his back staring at an empty spot on the ceiling, trying to replay images from earlier that evening and the last thought he remembered having was that he had to ask her out. Properly.

Yoongi woke up to a slight pinching sensation on his chest. He opened his eyes to see Ash making biscuits on his pecs. He nuzzled the kitten closer to his face and drifted off again for a couple of minutes before waking up to a strong waft of coffee that Sammy was brewing in the kitchen.

Y/N had left for work already. Yoongi left soon after coffee and a handful of muesli. He expected Sammy to tease him in some manner but was not met with anything other than what their normal mornings post a night-long drinking session sounded like.

Work kept him busy enough for the next couple of days. But not enough for him to completely ignore what he decided to do. Ask her out. Properly.

Which brings us all to today. Wednesday. Almost midnight. Yoongi was a little taken aback to learn Y/N was not in. But that minor flick of a longing he could not put a name to yet, immediately lit a few of his neurons alight and he had to get the beats and melody down before it slipped away.

Sammy, amused as he was, also impressed by the tune, brought out his trustee Fender CD60 to play around with.

Splayed across the living room floor, with a few beer cans, a couple of notebooks, a guitar and a laptop on each of their laps - that is how Y/N found the two men when she came in after her departmental dinner with a few of her university colleagues.

#bts x reader #bts x y/n #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts #min yoongi #bts suga #suga #yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #suga bts #min yoongi fic

127 notes · View notes

mariaofdoranelle · 3 months

Text

URDAD - part 5

Lonely TCGTATGG would like to pair up with congenial AGCATACC

Warnings: mentions of kinky times? Maybe light nsfw idk

Words: 1,4k

A little recap because it’s been so fucking long: Rowan’s the father of Aelin’s bestie, Imogen. He kept it distant until he found Aelin a job at his hospital. She works with the machinery and he’s allergic to technology so she helps him out a lot. They grew close. Aelin planned to break up with Chaol, the boyfriend she lived with, and then become roomies with Imogen. But then she finds out that Chaol and Imogen have been sleeping together and oh no she’s homeless now! Rowan feels bad and offers her a place to stay out of the pureness of his heart, but she fucks him to get back at her friend. Now they’re fucking like bunnies but no one knows yet.

Also, Anne Jausten is Rowan’s most treasured digital slide scanner.

Now let’s fucking goooooo

When Aelin invited Rowan to visit apartments with her again, she was expecting incisive views from a more experienced person, not incessant bitching that ended up being a pain in her ass.

She stomped down the hallway leading to her “office”—the medical equipment maintenance room—and Rowan followed hot on her heels, refusing to take the hint.

“I’m sorry,” he said for the millionth time. “I didn’t mean to—“

“Swear it.” She turned around and crossed her arms. “Swear on Anne Jausten that you didn’t act like this on purpose.”

He silently stood with a pleading look in his eye. Maybe because of the two nurses eyeing him curiously, or because he didn’t have anything good to say for himself.

What bugged Aelin the most is that she couldn’t understand why he was trying to sabotage her apartment hunting. Why would he bother to visit the places with her just to talk trash about them. Yes, she was well aware that those apartments weren’t near as nice as his fancy two-story home, but they were nice enough, especially when the deadline she was given to leave was so close.

Rowan had previously told her she could stay for ‘one or two weeks’, and in the meanwhile he fucked her numerous times. Aelin’s experience said it was time for her to go. Not that this kind of behavior applies to all men, but it does to most of them—especially the hot and chronically single ones, like Dr. Whitethorn.

Aelin unlocked her office—not quite, but it was a space for herself of sorts. The room was spacious and almost as well-lit as an OR, but it felt cramped from the amount of broken and old machines waiting for her to repair, along with a few lost causes the hospital had yet to discard. Rowan followed her inside, so she leaned against a broken anesthesia machine with crossed arms and said, “I have work to do. Are you explaining what happened or not?”

Rowan wrapped both arms around her waist and gave a string of pecks on her neck.

“Can’t we just forget about it?”

“No!” She immediately unwrapped herself from him. “You’re not touching me until you explain why the fuck you’re acting so weird!”

Rowan immediately took a step back, both hands up in surrender. Good to know. From what she’s heard, not all doctors in this hospital would.

“You’re serious?”

Aelin crossed her arms again and nodded.

A sigh. “I’m not lying to you. I really don’t like the apartments we’ve visited. I care about you and Fleetfoot, going from my place to that would be a huge downgrade.”

Aelin threw her head back and laughed. Loudly. His confused expression made her want to explain things, but the hilariously of this took all the breath from her lungs.

“Rowan, I won’t be able to afford a place like yours at all within the next 10 years.”

“That’s why you should stay with me. At least for now.”

That took the amusement out of her face. Aelin’s thoughts were blank as she examined his apprehensive pine green eyes. There was only one chair because no one ever visited her down there, so she sat while Rowan leaned on a machine near her.

“You’re serious? Like, roommates till a better rent do us part?”

Rowan tilted his head, waiting for her answer—confirmation enough for a quiet guy like him. Still, things weren’t looking good. She probably could afford half the cost of his place, but if she paid for all that, she would barely be able to afford food.

She finally answered, “The only way I can afford my part of the rent is if it’s split based on income.”

Rowan bit his bottom lip in a poor-piss attempt to not laugh, which earned him a slap on the bicep.

“Aelin, I don’t pay rent myself. I won’t ask that of you.”

He was offering her a home for free?

Aelin never doubted she was a good lay, but holy rutting Mala.

But this was too good to be true. “What about house chores?”

“Not your concern. Just look after yourself and Fleetfoot.”

Aelin got up from her chair, rounding Rowan with her eyes narrowed at him. This was too unreal. He had to have an ulterior motive.

“No sexual clauses?”

“Not at my request.” His eyes darkened and he added with a suggestive tone, “But I can be very compliant if you add one.”

A beep interrupted their conversation—she was needed her in the ER.

Knowing what the sound meant, Rowan raised both brows in question. What do you say?

“I still don’t know,” she said while putting her lab coat on.

This feels too good, too easy. Aelin would live as a guest in his house, for free, after hooking up for a week and a half. What it he gets bored of her? What happens to her when he regrets it? What if he changes his mind after his daughter finds out and inevitably throws a tantrum?

As if reading her thoughts, Rowan took a step closer, carefully tucked her hair behind her ear, caressed her jaw with his thumb before he murmured, “I just want to see you safe and taken care of, that’s all.”

Aelin closed her eyes, a little overwhelmed. He might be the most thoughtful situationship she’s ever had. She tucked her head on his chest and chuckled, and he pulled her closer, letting her feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he caressed her hair.

Rowan slipped a strand of Aelin’s hair behind her ear, his carefree expression morphed into something else. “Will you at least think about it?”

Aelin tried to plaster a earnest face, but the corners of her lips kept tugging up. “You won’t make this easy for me, will you?”

His eyes widened. “I’m already making this as easy as I can!”

Another call urging her to go to the ER broke them apart.

Aelin took a step back and squeezed his hand. “See you at dinner?”

“See you at dinner.”

It was hard to stop her mind from racing as she took the elevator to the ER. Rowan’s offer got more tempting each time she thought about it and, to be honest, Aelin didn’t want to stop the late-night sex followed by morning cuddles either, even if she knew this wouldn’t be permanent.

It’d be good. She could save some money for her masters while staying with him. Aelin knew her place, so falling in love with Dr. Whitethorn was nothing more than a fleeting thought in her mental ‘cons’ list about living with him.

˜˜

Aelin expected to give him her final answer over dinner like any other person does, but when he texted her saying he’d be late because he was needed on a late surgery, the idea she had was too good to pass on.

The sound of his car pulling up made her put her phone down and run to the kitchen, wearing nothing but his favorite apron.

Aelin sat on the dinner table between two trays: one with freshly-cut fruit—strawberries, mango, banana, cherries—and another with little bowls of more liquid stuff, such as honey and chocolate sauce.

The thud of the front door being shut. Slow footsteps. Her heartbeat being the loudest of them all.

“Baby…” Rowan carefully stepped into the kitchen, still with his scrubs on, bewildered eyes aflame as he studied her mostly naked body. “What’re you doing?”

“Accepting your offer.” Aelin crossed her legs and tilted her head in a saucy, near predatory manner while still keeping an innocent tone when she explained, “You said you want me to stay. I thought I’d earn my keep.”

“You know you don’t have to—“

Rowan cut himself off when Aelin slid just the top of his apron off her body, exposing her breasts.

He cleared his throat and corrected, “How so?”

Aelin gave him a sly grin, a little brownie point for playing along.

“Dinner.”

She thrust her chest out and suggestively dipped her middle finger in the bowl with the honey, eyes trained on him as she slid it from her upper chest to her shoulder.

And waited until Rowan’s brain restarted so he could lick it off.

You can get notified when I update by either turning notifications on for @mariaofdoranelle-fics or entering my (sometimes glitchy) tag list!!

TAG LIST

@aelinchocolatelover

@autumnbabylon

@bookcide

@booksandteaonarainydayislife

@cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

@courtofjurdan

@dreamer-133

@elentiyawhitethorn

@elizarikaallen

@emily-gsh

@empress-ofbloodshed

@fangirlprincess09

@goddess-aelin

@gracie-rosee

@leiawritesstories

@lululululululuop

@renxzs

@rowanaelinn

@s-uppertime

@sarahjswift

@staghorn-mountains

@superspiritfestival

@swankii-art-teacher

@thegreyj

@throneofus7

@violet-mermaid7

@wishfulimaginings

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfic #urdad

47 notes · View notes