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my-chocker-is-too-tight · 3 years

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Obsession

James March

word count: 2,1k

Synopsis: After James lays his eyes on you he is instanly smitten by your beauty. He knew he had to have you just for himself ,forever.

I can't believe that Luna dragged me to a party again. She always says I should go out more ,for once I might agree with her. I've never been to the Hotel Cortez before but I'm actually enjoying myself here. There's soft jazz playing in the background which helps me calm my nerves. Not many people appreciate this kind of music nowadays. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves as I'm calmly observing this hushed scene. Even Luna found someone for the night. Just as I was about to take another sip of my drink a guy approaches. I get that it's a costume party but this guy takes the price. He blends in with the whole 1920s look. "Good evening darling! Let me introduce myself." He says while he takes my hand into his. "I'm James Patrick March owner of the Hotel Cortez." He said then kissed my hand softly ,I can't help it but I start to giggle a bit at that. "My name is Y/N it's truly a pleasure to meet you." I know the party’s theme is quite old fashioned but he is so charming. Just because the theme is the 20s that doesn't mean you have to act like someone from that time. But I still play along with him. Before I can continue thinking he says "I'd like to point out that you look rather stunning tonight dear." I'm ashamed that I can't control myself as I feel blood rushing to my cheeks.

Basically that's how the whole night went. We had pleasant conversation all night. I learnt a lot about him ,such as how he is interested in arts ,one of his passions are architecture. We shared a couple of drinks. I insisted that I should pay for my own drinks but James is such a gentleman. It was all good until Luna showed up and stated that she is too drunk to drive herself home ,so I had to call an Uber for us. I also had to say goodbye to James. I didn't even had time to ask for his number.

Now I'm sitting in my living room pondering about last night. James is a charmer with both words and looks. I simply can't get this majestic man out of my mind. I wanted to see him again but I don't know how. Just because he is the owner of the hotel that doesn't mean he is always there. He didn't give me any way to contact him. Plus he seems to be way too important of a person to waste his time with me. Just because we spent a night together that doesn't mean he is interested in me any further. Just as I was about to fully sink into melancholy my doorbell rings. I check the door but there is no one there. I almost closed the door ,but out of the corner of my eyes I barely noticed a bouquet of roses. They were a deep red colour and smelled like heaven. I quickly put them in a vase ,as I'm doing so I notice a note. It has fancy handwriting on it ,I can hardly believe that it's not printed on. The note reads " Meet me in Hotel Cortez at 8PM for a fine dinner. -JM"

I should have known the roses were from James. How many other people do I know that would do something so romantic? Sadly none ,let’s just say my love life isn’t the most thrilling. I have no clue how James got my address but I couldn’t be happier. Suddenly realisation hits me, it’s already well into the afternoon and I still have to get ready. I don’t even know what to wear for such a fancy dinner! I have to call up Luna and ask her for advice! I need to get myself together fast if I want to look my best tonight. It seems like my luck have run out ,for some reason Luna won’t pick up the phone. Great ,now I’m on my own. Okay calm down ,take a deep breath ,I can do this!

After my little pick me up I went to shower ,it helped me relax a lot. After shower I did my hair and makeup. I put a couple waves in my hair ,all secured in place by pins. My makeup was simple and neutral ,finished with red lipstick. Then I put on a floor length black velvet dress with a heart shaped neckline. Lastly I put on some black high heels and a long fur-trimmed coat to finish the look. I give myself a last once over in the mirror and I look absolutely stunning! I can’t wait to see what James think!

I arrive at the Hotel Cortez precisely on time. As I don’t want to make a bad impression. I walk up to the receptionist “Hello Liz! It’s nice to see you again! I’m here to meet Mr.March ,he invited me for dinner.” I just met Liz last night but she is an absolute delight to have around. “Nice to see you too again! Glad to hear last night went well. James will be waiting for you in room 64. Don’t make him wait for too long ,I can tell that he is totally into you girly!” I swear Liz only said that to make me blush ,I barely met James last night. We did have a wonderful time together ,we also have a lot in common ,but I don’t think he is that into me just yet.

I took one last deep breath before knocking on room 64′s door. I hope I look good enough for James. Taking him off his feet shouldn’t be a problem if what Liz said is true. Abruptly the door opens “Good evening Darling! It’s a pleasure to be seeing you again! It’s quite the honour to have such a marvellous women for dinner. Please do come in!” He takes my hand and gives it a gentle kiss ,all the while maintaining eye content. I just arrived and I’m already a blushing mess ,I can’t think straight with James around. He is absolutely charming ,romantic ,confident and good-looking. He leads me towards the dinning table ,already set with our food. He helps me sit down before he pours out two glasses of wine ,he gives me one then takes a seat opposite of me. He raises his glass and I follow suit “Let’s drink to this exquisite evening together with our blossoming relationship.” My cheeks are burning up as I take a sip of wine with him.

The whole night goes by super fast. With conversation flowing naturally we had a fantastic time tonight. After a couple glasses of wine I could relax to truly enjoy myself with James. He was such a flirt the whole time ,even now as it is almost midnight. Time flew by with him but it is time for me to leave. “James ,thank you so much for tonight! I can’t remember when was the last time I had such a great time with somebody. I wish this night could last forever, I’m looking forward to our next date. It’s almost midnight ,I must leave now. I’m starting to feel rather drowsy.” I can’t help but yawn ,when did I get so sleepy? “I’m glad to hear the feeling is mutual Dear! I too wish we could spend eternity together. It’s unsafe out there for such magnificent woman at this hour. May I offer you a room in the Hotel Cortez for the night?” He looks so sure of himself ,I love his confidence. I can’t deny him ,after all he is right. I feel like I could fall asleep at any minute. “You are right James ,I should stay the night. Thank you for your kindness.” His face lights up in joy at my obedience “Great! Let me help you to your room Darling!” He takes my hand gently once more as he leads me to a room nearby. Interestingly enough there are clothes already set out on the bed for me. Right now I’m too tired to question James about it. “Hope this will do for the night Darling! I ordered a maid to bring some clothes once it became late. I had a feeling you would be staying at the hotel for longer.” James said with an all knowing smirk “Thank you for being so thoughtful James. I will see you in the morning. Good night!” James let go of my hand and I already miss his touch “Good night Darling! We will meet in the morning don’t worry.” He closed the door behind himself and I’m more than ready to sleep. I just put on the nightgown provided by James and I instantly fall asleep.

I awake in a different room to mine. I try to stay calm but after last night’s nightmare it’s hard to do so. In my nightmare somebody was strangling me ,it was too dark to make out who. I had tears in my eyes as I was pleading for the person to stop. Using all my might to try and push them off but I could only scratch them. After some time I couldn’t fight anymore and I stopped breathing. After my nightmare I fell into a dreamless sleep. I feel so cold in this room ,I must try to find my way out. To my surprise James comes in with a tray of food. I’m so confused ,I hope James can explain what is happening. “Good Morning Darling! I hope you slept well last night. I heard that you must have had a nightmare. I took it upon myself to relocate you to my room to provide some comfort. Don’t worry Darling I’m a gentleman.” I’m glad James is so caring but I have my doubts about his story. First how could he have heard me from multiple rooms away. I had to have been very loud. Second I swear I could see some scratch marks on his hands. Maybe I didn’t even had a nightmare and James killed me in my sleep? That’s impossible ,I wouldn’t be here than. Still I know he is not telling the truth. I’ll go home soon anyway ,I can make up theories about last night there. “Good morning James! Thank you for the breakfast ,I’m afraid I have to turn the offer down. I’d like to go home now. I already over stayed my welcome. Thank you for the amazing dinner.”

All of a sudden James starts frowning. He puts the tray of food down then walks over to me and takes a seat on the side of the bed. He looks at me then takes my hands in his softly “I didn’t wanted you to find out so early Darling” he says with a pained expression on his face. I don’t know what he is talking about but I’m afraid. “I love you terrifically. You have to understand that I did this for us! Thus we can share eternity together.” I don’t know what he is talking about but now I know that I have to get out. He is absolutely insane! “When I met you at the costume party I immediately knew we were meant for each other. Nothing and nobody can come between our love. I could not have been happier than when you said yes to come back to me. I couldn’t let you go after that. You are too pure for the cruel world outside of this hotel. Don’t worry Darling now that I have you ,I’ll always protect you ,there is nothing to be afraid of as long as I’m by your side.” A shiver runs down my spine as I listen to his speech. I’m terrified of him and what he is capable of. “James ,What did you do? What did you do to me?” I honestly don’t even know if I want to hear it , I’m too scared of the possibilities. “Darling ,I had to do what had to be done. It saddens me that I had to kill you ,but I did it for us! For our happiness ,for our future together! Darling ,you are a Goddess ,an exquisite being ,I’ll worship the ground you walk on! Other man aren’t good enough for you! Can’t you see that we were made for each other!” I can’t handle this. It was James ,not a nightmare. I let the tears fall down as I start sobbing. “Am I dead?” I ask James in between sobs “Yes Darling, I’m sorry. Don’t be sad, I’m right here. You will be happy with me ,don’t worry I’ll always protect you.” James pulls me into a tight embrace as I sob into his chest. This is my forever now ,trapped with my own murderer.

#AHS #ahs hotel #james march #james patrick march #ahs imagine #ahs x reader #james march x reader #james march imagine

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bushdivingbushranger · 3 years

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What was going to an all girls school like, if you don't mind me asking? :)

OK anon im so sorry this is so long and so convuluted I actually got so carried away jdbKJBGKSDBGH. i'm not even sure i properly answered your question i just got overwhelmed with Love for my same-sex schooling DHGKJSDFBHG anyway, if there's anything more you want to know lmk and I will try to be concise next time 💀

Essentially, my own experience at a single-sex secondary school was fantastic—however, I know my experience isn’t universal, especially since my school was a little bit different to most, I think.

That being said, I still think that sending your daughters to female-only secondary schools is something every parent should strive to do if they can. No other learning environment will ever be as good for girls as a same-sex school.

In terms of school staff, mine was about 95% female, and 5% male. The few male teachers we had were genuinely competent men and decent teachers, they were also watched like hawks. Our principal was female, all leadership positions in the school (such as House Leaders, Year Level Co-Ordinators, Department Heads, even the chaplain) were held by women. Our school psychologists, our nurses, our library technicians, our café ladies, our career advisors, our tutors—all were women. Our school houses (think like Harry Potter houses) were named after important women in our country’s history.

I went to a co-ed primary school. And whilst at twelve you might not have the words to describe it, graduating from a co-ed space, into an all-female space is really a giant weight off of your shoulders. You don’t realise how suffocating co-education is until you’re no longer having to bear it. It feels so much more natural, so much more free! You are welcomed as you are. You can be loud and unashamed of it. We joked frequently with each other and our teachers, laughed loudly and cared not whether our laughs were ‘ugly’. I found that teachers were far more supportive than they were in my co-ed school. For example, in a co-ed school I had been told frequently to ‘pipe down’ or to ‘reel it in’ from teachers, and more vexingly to ‘shut up’ from boys due to my boisterous personality. In high school? My teachers encouraged me to audition for the play because I had ‘great projection’. In every school programme (more on those later) that I was involved in, I was the one asked to give speeches about them at assembly. I was asked to be the lead of our house chants during our sports festivals. I was asked to join the debate team because of my passionate nature, which in primary school, had me known as ‘difficult’.

Likewise, I had a friend who was by nature quiet, and loved to draw. In primary school she’d doodled on the back of a work booklet, and when her teacher returned it, she’d taken off two points and had written a comment saying something about teachers in high school not accepting work that was drawn on.

Do you know what happened when she got to high school? Our English teacher had seen the eye she’d drawn on the back of our Romeo and Juliet test and had written, ‘beautiful!’ above it. The next test, she drew a two-headed cat with witches’ hats on both heads (I remember the left head was called Turpentine and the right head was called Esmeralda). Our teacher wrote, ‘wonderful!’ above it, with a smiley face.

The next day she got an email from our art teacher that had a PDF flyer of information on both in-school and local art competitions.

Anyway, she had questions and that teacher answered every single one of them. She also personally helped her select the works she wanted to submit. She ended up having two pieces shown in the school gallery, along forty pieces made by other girls. About five years later for our final year, on that art teacher’s recommendation (and tutelage!) she took all of the visual art subjects on offer. When she graduated, her final piece was shown at a public exhibition in our state’s capital city, that honoured the best pieces done by select graduating students in the state.

So yeah. Our teachers were pretty amazing. Of course, there was the odd teacher or two you would butt heads with but that’s just a universal school experience. Our humanities classes, like history, for example, often had a unit that would focus on the female experience of a certain time period. For example, when learning about WW2, we did projects on female resistance fighters et cetera.

We had health classes that were actually focused on female health. We learnt about female anatomy (even the clitoris! Though we were all about thirteen/fourteen at this time so we found it incredibly awkward to talk about), as well as symptoms of PCOS during our menstrual unit. We learnt about contraceptive methods and devices (however, as a Catholic school they did have to tell us that whilst these methods are available, the church-sanctioned method is of course, abstinence).

Whilst the majority of the girls shaved their legs and wore makeup, as someone who did neither of those things I rarely felt judgement about it (albeit, I think there was a little for my lack of makeup, but this only lasted the first two years). A good portion of our staff also did not wear makeup, I don’t recall this ever being commented on. And, by the time we’d reached about our third year, a good portion of my year level and the ones above did not wear makeup on a daily basis. Leg hair was not looked down upon by any of us I don’t think by this year either. In fact, if you were particularly hairy often your hairless friends asked to rub your legs!

We were never short of female role-models, our staff made sure of that. We had multiple days per year when guest speakers would come and talk to us, mostly these were women who were experts in their fields—whether that be neuroscience or computer science, linguistics and literature or mathematics, politics, et cetera. The only times we really had male guest speakers was when police officers (one male one female) came to give us an assembly about sexual peer-pressure and laws around sharing nudes that was basically, “these are common (male) manipulation tactics used to pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do, don’t fall for them”.

We were encouraged to take STEM subjects, and those of us that had taken interest in computer programming were sent to coding programmes in the city during school hours! That’s how keen our teachers were to get more women into the field! This was the same with the girls interested in politics, who got to go to Model UN events, as well as mock parliaments in the country’s capitol.

We had a lot of programmes generally. A few overseas ones for girls who were in LOTE (languages other than English) classes. A few interstate ones, too. And of course, local programmes and excursions. Most of them (aside from the LOTE ones which focused on immersion) were volunteer programmes aimed at helping women and girls. The rest were about furthering our own skills or learning new ones. Majority of these were year-level based, but a few depended on the clubs/groups/classes you were in. For example, I was part of the Writer’s Club, and we took an excursion to the state Writer’s Festival and listened to female writers as well as feminist panels. We also had self-defence programmes every year.

In terms of peers I generally found everyone to be quite amiable by the time we’d reached our third/fourth year. There’s a common myth about all girls schools being filled with ‘catty’ girls who are constantly bitching about one another, but I really did not find that to ring true. There were a few fights and arguments in the earlier years, I was part of quite a lot lol but that’s honestly… just something that happens at school, at any school. Largely, we were good to each other. If someone was crying there was always someone who’d ask her what was wrong. If you missed the notes on the slide, there was always a girl willing to share her notes with you.

I think going to an all-girl’s school, and not having that much interaction with the opposite sex generally for that six-year period truly does something, I think, to your psyche. We are socialised to look down on our fellow woman, socialised to look down upon ourselves. But actually being constantly surrounded by women, and almost ONLY women, really helps to undo that. Even now I could not describe the fierce love I have for all those women and girls I came in contact with during my time there—even the ones I bickered with. Each and every single woman I met there enriched my life in some way or another. I think that is the effect of consistently spending time in any female-only space: developing a true appreciation for women. It is the only reasonable conclusion to come to.

I have been out of high school for two years, and in university for one. Among the many men I have met since, none of them have even been able to hold a candle to the any women and girls I know.

Anyway. TLDR: it slapped, send your daughters to same-sex schools!!

#this is so long sorry #long post #radfem safe #separatism #radfem

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peakyblindersxx · 3 years

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whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 2 of ?)

read part one here!

a/n: hey loves! i'm finishing up school rn, but i had to get this out and i'm about to start working on a tommy request immediately after i upload this. anyways, i'm so excited to post this series, it's incredible and i can't thank my bestie @stxdyblr-2k enough. she is a fucking genius :)

prompt: you can't get john out of your head. lo and behold, here he is.

warnings: fluff, mentions of smut, angsty af, soft john (ugh my heart)

Despite your best efforts, you'd been unable to stop yourself yearning for John Shelby. Your pokey flat now often lay empty; you were far too busy to mope at home due to your career as a personal assistant to a local solicitor who was allied with the Shelby's, attending rallies and lectures with Ada and the drunken nights you'd spend at various mansions, galleries and club openings with the "razor chasers" you'd become friendly with due to their refusal to leave Ada alone. Yet still, in those odd seconds of calm you seized over a cigarette, the first seconds after a bump of Tokyo, when you carefully applied your makeup, styled your hair or bathed, you'd think of him. The way the pads of his fingertips felt on your skin, how he’d muttered in your ear how pretty you looked.

But this was different to when you were dreaming about John at 15; he was no longer the allusive older brother of Ada who had a string of beautiful girls on rotation. He wasn’t a fantasy anymore. He was true flesh and blood, and for a moment he had wanted you.

It would be delicious if the whole situation hadn't left a bitter taste in your mouth. Of course you came back to Brum to only immediately fuck it up. The first night, and already you were so close to ruining everything? Looking back, now that you were so close with Ada once more, now that you knew who John had grown to be, that night was cringe inducing. Luckily, no one had seemed to catch on. Luckily, you thrived in the Small Heath rumour mill once again. All the gossip about you was mainly about your substance use, the lads you were seen curling up with outside nightclubs, your intelligence, your helpful nature, sometimes your questionable politics but that was all. John's was far darker, stories of blood, death and gasoline. Recently, the tales of his conquests had quietened, but only due to the lurid delight taken by the factory workers in talking about the recent blinding of some poor fucker who'd crossed the wrong person. Obviously, a lot of the detail had to be exaggerated for shock value and to boost the Shelby status, solidifying them as notorious throughout Birmingham city and its rural surroundings. There were murmurs everywhere about the violent John Shelby: ruthless, cocky, vengeful. It seemed impossible that the same man who cracked shit jokes just to see you smile, kissed you with so much desperation, and prioritised getting you off first could cause such harm without an ounce of guilt or shame to slow his swagger.

Whispers of war were far more constant, but then again, people would say anything for a reaction. You didn't bring it up with Ada. You refused to (openly) partake in mindless gossip on principle, yet you were hungry for information about him.

***********

You'd long forgotten whose wedding you were at. Some loyal blinder, a close friend of the Shelby's, the occasion calling for a large white marquee to be built onto one of Tommy's gardens, fully staffed with the best chef and service team money could buy (from a London restaurant at short notice; when Finn told you the extortionate figure Tommy had paid, your jaw had dropped). The cake, dress and decorations were stunning; you weren't sure exactly what the groom had done for the Shelby's but you could only assume the worst for what they'd splashed out on him.

However, thinking like that only spoilt your night: you'd realised at your fifth club takeover, now you repeated it like a mantra constantly. You'd quickly learnt every excess the Shelby's granted to those outside their circle were due to some perceived sacrifice for being associated with them. Well, that's what you chose to believe after John had sent a junior blinder to your office with a bouquet, the Monday morning after he turned you down. So, it was best to smile and take the shit, get paid, and get out as soon as possible. You were to keep your head down until then.

Yet, keeping your head down was difficult tonight. Ada had treated you to a shopping trip to London for the occasion this morning, Arthur forcing the junior blinders to tag along next to you on the train and trailing less than two metres behind you for hours. You missed the days when it was just you and Ada. It was far more simple without the stares whenever the two of you stepped out. Ada had gotten used to it, she'd devised her own methods of being completely alone; complex plans involving leaving a window open, knotting sheets into a rope and twisting her ankles. Not that she minded, she reckoned the suffocation of being a Shelby was much worse than a few bruised ankles.

You were wearing a clingy emerald green dress from some fancy French boutique you couldn't even pronounce, the diamond necklace sitting along your collarbone and the jewels dangling through your ears were on loan from Ada. You felt eyes unpicking you the moment you entered the after-party. Your arm was linked through Ada's as per usual, she looked equally stylish in a peacock blue number that set off her eyes, her delicate features perfected with makeup.

You'd quickly found your gaggle and began drinking and dancing the night away. Whispers about snow arose from your table, people disappearing to the toilets to rail a line on the bathroom counter, then to the dance floor or to the lap of the poor fucker who'd hold back their hair while they vomited in just a few hours. At least the Blinders were polite about it. Isaiah would kill them if they weren’t. You'd let your arm be tugged on various bathroom trips, treated among your group like secret missions although you weren't entirely subtle about it.

What you weren't aware of was across the marquee, you were being watched by the three men in your life who you'd never want to see you in this state: the Shelby's.

"Looks like Finn's taken your spot, John." Arthur yelled in John's ear over the loud music, gesturing to the youngest Shelby sat at the table next to you who was staring up at you in complete adoration as you chatted across him to Michael, seemingly arguing with him. By the looks of it, you were winning.

John pulled a face at Arthur. “Fuck off, old man. That'll never happen. Finn’s too young for her." He immediately regretted the words that had fallen out of his mouth, revealing far too much for his comfort.

"It's not impossible."

"He's just not right for her, yeah?"

"And you are?"

John didn't bother to bless him with a verbal response, instead flipping him off and downing the rest of his whiskey. "It's not like that."

"What's it like then? Because from where I'm sitting, it's pretty fucking clear, John." Arthur slurred, glass of whiskey sloshing onto his sleeve.

"You're too gone to even know you're chatting shit." John sneered, standing up, "I'm off for a smoke and some fresh air. Try not to fuck anything in my absence, both of you."

His brothers cursed him out as he left. John took a second to figure out his route, purposefully having to cross your path, gesturing for you to follow him subtly. He was surprised you came trailing after him, telling Michael that you weren’t done yelling at him and you’d be back. When you were both only metres from the marquee, he knew you were fucked. You were instantly bored, begging him for a cigarette, which he lit for you, shaking his head at your state.

"You're a fucking mess, love." He said, mouth sloping attractively to one side.

"Takes one to know one, John-boy. Where are we off to, then?"

"Somewhere fucking quiet, can barely hear myself think. Plus, you need to sober the fuck up, lass." He said, softly, as he walked across the dew soaked grass. You followed, heels in hand, holding your dress up as not to ruin it. He sighed, taking the shoes from your hands and wrapping his blazer around your shoulders, linking your arm through his for stability. He kept the distance respectful, but there wasn’t any denying the thick tension in the summer air between the two of you. Ahead, there was a small stone bench sat at the foot of one of Thomas' manicured gardens, and John offered his hand to help you sit. You made small talk and caught up on each other's lives, and you noted John only seemed to glow when you asked about his kids. He talked at length, the drink seemingly unhinging his jaw. There he was again, the John you knew and had admired for so many years. You could sit here forever, watching his blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight. Yet, it just wasn’t meant to be. You wished you could stop time just for a bit, give you enough moments to memorize the freckles on his skin.

"You know the night I first came home?" The alcohol and snow had loosened your lips. You were teetering on the edge of your boundaries, but you couldn't care enough to hold back.

"The night where absolutely nothing happened?" He joked, raising an eyebrow at you, cautious that you'd randomly brought it up in your state. "Sweetheart, this can wait."

He was warning you. For a second you managed to bite your tongue, but curiosity tipped you over the edge.

"But something nearly happened, right?"

"Y/N. Don't." He warned, his tone icy, suddenly distancing from you, hiding between an emotional boundary which he didn't wish to explore.

"John, it's just us. Can't we even talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about, though. You were off your face then, and now. That's fine. We know where we stand. It can't happen."

"I wanted to. I do want to."

"You don't. Trust me. You need a nice lad who'll marry you and look after you. Just need to keep your nose clean long enough yeah?" He teased, trying to lighten the mood, blue eyes begging you to move on.

Your head turned to face him, your face contorting in a mixture of confusion and irritation. "You don't get to tell me what I want or need. The last thing I want is to marry any lad, nice or not."

"I didn't mean it like that, right? Look, I just meant you deserve better than Shelby scum. You're going places you know? Don't settle for Small Heath." John responded with a pained sigh. He didn’t want to get into it with you; not here, not like this. He'd thought about it, naturally. You were constantly on his mind, yet only problems ever seemed to appear, never solutions. It was best for him to avoid you. Why the fuck did he drag you out here? Horrible idea.

"Your family isn't scum. Where the fuck did you get that from?" Your face was screwed up in genuine rage. "I-"

"Y/N, fuckin’ leave it."

His face had hardened completely now. He'd snapped at you. His voice hadn't raised, it was just the power he spat his order out with. You held up your hands in mock surrender, pointedly taking a cigarette from his front pocket and light it silently, not saying a word.

"Why are you so bothered, anyways?" He asked, breaking the silence like you knew he would. John always had to ask questions.

"Fuck off with that, John. I'm not in the mood."

"What do you mean?" He looked completely lost.

"We nearly had sex. Just sex, nothing else right?"

John remained silent.

"Would it be the worst thing in the world?" You asked, your voice wavering. It was hard enough to get the words out, let alone imagine the response.

"You're far too wasted to chat about this, love."

"John, I’m not-"

"I'm serious. You're fucking mashed like my brothers aren't you? Like all those other fuckers in there." He sounded genuinely angry. In the glow of the sunset he looked so much younger, so hurt and lonely. Why hadn't you noticed before?

He turned to you, eyes widened and shocked at his own outburst. "You're not the only one gone yeah? Ignore me, I'm fucked, sorry."

You reached out your hand and linked your fingers through his in silence, the warm evening wind ruffling your hair and dress, blocked from your skin by John's suit jacket which was wrapped around your shoulders. Not that anyone would notice or care. As long as Ada wasn't with you, you could disappear for hours without any alarm. There you sat in the tranquil last few moments of the day, your hand linked with John's, both beyond tipsy. You weren’t thinking properly but it felt right. You felt safe. You didn't want to have to return to the chaos of the party, to have to catch up on who your friends were currently trying to screw. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

Was it too much to ask for something to be simple? Maybe you didn't have to fuck him. Maybe just these small moments were enough. You laughed at the thought when it crossed your mind; neither you nor John were known for consistency or stability in relationships, you being admittedly rather inexperienced, only having been with a few men, and he had his fair share of escapades. But he was just so different. You wouldn't admit that he'd gotten your attention in any way than purely sexually (which surprised you to admit) and for fun, but you genuinely enjoyed his presence.

He was right though. It wasn't a good idea at all to hook up. There was far too much baggage for both of you to make it worth it.

Just once?

You glanced over at John. He rolled his eyes at you, but the edges of his lips were slightly upturned, his dimples faintly peeking through his defined cheeks.

Just once couldn't hurt.

***

The sky was streaked with shades of gold, amber and blood. John could feel the friction from your knee barely knocking against his, the pressure putting him on edge. In fairness, he had drunk heavily, and that's what happens when you let your guard down around beautiful women. He couldn't believe you had told him you wanted to have sex with him still. He'd chalked the whole situation down to a drunken mistake that would have progressed into a far more significant drunken mistake. Ada would never forgive him if he went for another of her mates. Especially Y/N. No matter if he said that Y/N could be different, that you wasn't just another conquest. But who'd believe him?

Far better to keep his mouth shut.

Far better to play safe.

As you were called back to the party by the gaggle of girls John vaguely recognised from hanging off the arms of other blinders, he realised (despite his state) that you were right. Having sex with you wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. In fact, it might be one of the best.

Just once?

He watched your figure disappear back into the marquee, waiting for you to turn back and look for him. You do. He would have done the same if it was him.

Maybe just once wouldn't hurt.

***

to be continued!

#john shelby fluff #john shelby #john shelby x reader #john shelby imagine #john shelby reader insert #peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders

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oopsimbug · 3 years

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in which... y/n is just trying to put on eyeliner and harry is bored pt. two

a/n: when she’s back from a six month hiatus after making only ONE fic. wow, do i suck. for anyone who cares, school has been pretty rough. i’m actually procrastinating studying for an exam to finally upload this. it’s been pretty hard to balance both school and writing but oh well. anywho, here it finally is. it took so long to write because i wasn’t feeling very inspired by this. a lot of people asked for a part two and even though i kinda wanted to leave it on a sad note, i am a sucker for giving the people what they want, so sorry if this is a bit shit- i definitely don’t like this one myself. i guess i’m not one for fluffy endings. well, at least for this one i wasn’t. i really hope you enjoy it! more stuff to come, if school doesn’t mind fucking off for a little while (or maybe just forever?) xox -(a) bug

pairing: best friend! harry styles x reader

summary: Harry is worried about Y/n. Y/n is worried about Harry. Harry is solving it by thinking of ways to check on her, while Y/n uses cheesy pasta and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air as an excuse to not think. But what will happen when someone is at her door, and it’s not her delivery man?

warnings: angst, swearing, y/n and harry being idiotos, fluffy end, kissing

word count: 5.3k

It had been a week.

One gruelling, painfully long week.

Harry was biting his nails, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed, worrying about her.

About how he fucked up.

He didn’t think that she would be upset for this long. He thought she would scream at him and then text him the following day, wanting to hang out- a silent “I forgive you”, he supposed.

But after two days of radio silence on her end, he decided to call her. The only problem was that her last words to him were “leave”. She wanted space. She needed to think things through- what things? Harry had no clue. But he had to respect her and her choice to not want him around. So with that, he put down the phone.

But a small part of him (okay fine, a big part of him), wanted her to just show up at his house so they could cuddle again, talking about the stupidest of things while they made cupcakes in his kitchen. They would be listening to groovy music and now and then, they’d stop mixing bowls and sifting flour to dance- well, they were horrible dancers, so more so just wave their hands, hips and shoulders around. It would be fun and would always end up with them laughing at one another. He would lick the batter and she would berate him, telling him that “one of these days, you are going to get salmonella and I’ll just laugh at your stupid ass” and he would retort with something witty and a bit flirty like “don’t worry darling, we both know you would be right at my side if I got sick. I know you can’t stand being apart from me” with a wink and a cheeky smirk. He just wants to see her in her oversized Space Jam hoodie and little basketball shorts. Or her short flower shirt and his sweatpants that she has to cuff at the bottoms because they’re too long. Or even-

He’s gotta stop thinking about her, or his brain will soon explode. But he just can’t stop. He tries to think of the happier moments, like her showing him a tour of her very healthy houseplants that she prides herself in, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is her teary face telling him to leave. So no, if he was given the choice to think of her flailing her arms around in his kitchen to dancehall tunes while making sweet treats or crying at something that he provoked, you bet your ass he’d choose the former.

But after the seventh day, he knew that something wasn’t right. This was too much “thinking time”. For all he knew, she could be fine, but she could also be positively bawling. She could be living for this free time, but she also could be waiting for him to make the first move. She could be wanting Harry out of her life for her benefit forever, but she also could be feeling lonely and counting the seconds for their makeup, just like he was.

That was it. He had to go see her and make sure his best friend was okay.

He practised what he was going to say to her in his car on the way to her apartment. “Y/n, I’m so sorry for how I acted. I didn’t stop to think about how you were feeling and didn’t take your emotions into account which was unbelievably wrong of me. I’m truly sorry. It’s just that I really care about you and you’re my best friend and I can’t see you choose a tinder fuck over me and if I saw him in the street I would knock his lights out and I just want to kiss you, can I kiss you, oh god please let me kiss you I just want to-“

Fuck, what was wrong with him? Why was he so upset? He had been on plenty of dates with other celebrities and models and she was always on the sidelines, cheering him on. So why was he getting so touchy-feely about a single tinder date? Maybe he was just in desperate need of attention. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for almost one year and casual fuck arounds also stopped about four months ago, so maybe he just needed to fuck someone quick. That would explain why he sees his best friend’s kindness and natural flirty nature as something more romantic. Every laugh at his jokes, every look in her eyes, every graze of her hand on his thighs as she leans over him to get her drink on the side table next to him, he becomes more switched on and awake. She leaves him feeling giddy and excited at every conversation. “This can’t just be because I’m horny right?” he cannot believe he would ever be that horny. What the hell was he going to do?

This is pathetic she thought.

I’m pathetic.

She let out a huge sigh before shoving another forkful of cheesy pasta into her mouth.

What am I doing?

The answer?

Eating carbs upon carbs upon carbs, lounging on her comfy sofa in the most comfortable, yet daggiest pair of pyjamas ever while watching reruns of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air for the fiftieth time, actively avoiding all commitments, housework and jobs that involve moving further than to the kitchen, which even then was an embarrassingly burdening trek on its own.

But she let it slide. How could she not? She was upset and this was how she coped. That’s what she kept reminding herself as she boiled more and more pasta watching the days pass her by without realisation, but now, she’s beginning to question if this was the best idea. Pushing all thoughts of him out of her mind by not looking at her phone just in case he called or texted. But she was beginning to struggle.

It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know what inner turmoil she was facing. He seemed genuinely hurt when she snapped at him. He truly didn’t understand why she took so much offence to the playground ribbing, it seemed. And she had to go be a dick and ignore him. He was probably worried sick. How many times would he have called to check up on her? 10? 15? The more she thought about it, the more she wanted this stupid feud to be over and just be in his arms again, even if it’s just as a friend. So she caved. Turned on her phone, expecting there to be at least a call or a text asking if she was still alive or not. And although she did receive a message of that likeness, it wasn’t from Harry, no. It was from her daily water tracking app, pleading her to fill in her daily intake of water so as to not die of dehydration after she was suspected to have not drunk any for the entire week when in reality, she was just too in her head to open her stupid phone and log her water.

Wow, she thought.

Now not only has Harry chosen to not speak to you, but you also look like a huge idiot right now. Of course, he wouldn’t want to talk to you! You got pissed at him for absolutely no reason and now he hates you. He’s gonna ask for his cardigan and track pants that he keeps at your house in case he wanted to sleepover. He’s going to take back all of his little knick-knacks that he leaves over, like the cute diffuser that he leaves because he knows you need it for your constant hay-fever that blocks your nose and then he’s going to declare that you aren’t friends anymore and then you will never get the chance to tell him how you feel and then-

Her panicky brooding is interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who the hell could that be?”, she thinks. It was too late for it to be the postman with her package containing her entire Amazon wish list that she bought on the third day of mourning to make herself feel better. But it couldn’t be Mrs Xiao asking her if she had any holes in her shirts that needed stitching. The sweet old lady fell asleep at 8:37 pm sharp after her medicine that she’d take at 8:30 pm would kick in (which she learnt after spending nights over at her apartment where her niece, Mei, took care of her. Y/n would learn traditional recipes like baozi and watch movies with her two friends all the time). It couldn’t be Mei either, she was always in online uni lectures from 8:30-10:30 pm, locked away in her little study, so as to not bother or be bothered. So now, a little panicked, Y/n wondered who was truly at her door?

Another two knocks come, echoing off the walls of her little apartment as she turns down the volume of the program she was watching. She stares at the door from her couch, debating whether she should risk getting stabbed by a possible murderer or not, before ultimately deciding that life was too short. She was also getting sick and tired of the knocks that kept arriving in threes. She swings her legs off the couch and onto the floor, pushing them into her slippers so that her feet wouldn’t touch the cold floor, waddling her way to the door before shyly opening it, peeking at who it could be through the tiny crack in the opening, hoping whoever it was wouldn’t mind her current state: belly filled with pasta, hair knotty, giant shirt with sweatpants on and Harry’s patchwork cardigan hanging off her shoulders- which she had been wearing all day, cherishing the pretty piece of clothing and his scent imbedded in it, taking it all in just in case he asks for it back. She peeps at the torso of this mystery person, realising that Harry owns the jumper worn by them, before looking up and locking eyes with a worn out and tired eyed Harry, one hand in the pocket of the familiar hoodie and another extended out near the door, ready to knock again before freezing when it opens up all the way to show herself to her best friend. He doesn’t eye her up and down cheekily like he normally does when she is wearing pyjamas, wolf-whistling at her relaxed state, claiming that “You look runway-ready, my love! Do a twirl for the crowd, will you?”. Instead, he stares her right in the eyes with what looks like almost relief, before smiling a weak and broken smile.

One of them needed to break the silence or both would have just stared at each other in her doorway until the world exploded. So she starts.

“Hi.” her voice hovers a tinge above a whisper, almost as though if she dared to speak louder, this probable illusion of the one she loves would fade away. He lights up a little bit, probably relieved that she started the conversation.

“Hey,” his soft voice matched her volume and tone as if he too didn’t want this to be a dream. “May I come in?” The words sound awkward to her coming out of his mouth. Harry never had to ask for permission to be invited in- he usually just strolled in without so much as a holler to indicate he was present, finding amusement in scaring her instead while she was doing whatever she was doing, whether that be reading, watching a movie, cooking or napping. They were the best of friends and never had to inquire about entry to each other’s domains, along with other small things like if they had anything in their kitchens to eat or if they could sit somewhere, so hearing it was a little disheartening and provoked Y/n to think about how serious this situation was.

“Okay”, she replied after the pause of contemplation, opening the door fully so that the lanky boy could follow along behind her, like a little puppy. She didn’t like how awkward the situation was. She just wanted things to go back to what they were.

But then you wouldn’t be able to tell him you love him... her inner voice argued. And she agreed. She knew that yes, this will be awkward, but it’s an opportunity for him to listen to her and know that she isn’t joking.

“Would you like some tea?” She enquires. They’ll need to handle this like proper grown-ups (which in all honesty, isn’t their dynamic- it’s more like first-year uni students who are mature enough to have deep conversations but still laugh at dad jokes and anything remotely serious, like a painting with boobs), and from what she knows, or has seen in movies when the characters are being serious, is that you need tea or a drink of that sort and a sit down on the couch where you talk stuff out. So that’s exactly what she does.

“Yes please,” Harry’s soft voice replies as he toes off his boots that most definitely cost more than her apartment. Y/n nods and heads to the small kitchenette and flips the switch on the electric kettle before going into her cupboard that housed the mugs. Harry stood awkwardly near the sofas, and to save him the embarrassment of waiting while standing, Y/n invites him to sit with a small, “You can take a seat,” and a quick glance at him before returning her gaze to the mugs to make herself look busy. She didn’t want to look him in the eyes for more than three seconds in fear of bursting into tears and the worn out and tired sight of him. She shakes the thought out of her head and begins to prepare the mugs.

Y/n put two teabags in her mug while putting one in Harry’s. She was raised in a household of avid tea drinkers and she inherited her strong tea quirk from her father who would always keep two teabags with only a dash of milk, and the only difference between her tea and her fathers was that Y/n wasn’t strong enough to take her tea without sugar, unlike her father, who thought that drinking unbelievably concentrated leaf juice with milk was a fun and relaxing time. On the other hand, Harry liked to keep one tea bag in his mug while he drank it, but just like her father, he too took little to no sugar with his cup, being the health freak he was. And early in their friendship, when she mentioned it to him, Harry chuckled and chirped, “Your father is a smart man. He has to be for raising amazing and talented people like your siblings. I’m not sure what went wrong with you though...” while booping her nose as they laid together under a tree for a little picnic. And though she rolled her eyes at him and punched his shoulder for the sly dig at her, she was practically beaming at the fact that he thought her family was smart. Harry had no idea how much that meant to her. Y/n loved her entire family, and she was unbelievably close to them, so it made her entire week to know that Harry, someone she respected and loved so much, recognised how talented and smart each of her family members were. Don’t get her wrong, she didn’t need the validation to know that her family was amazing, but she felt so special knowing he took the time to notice. He did that a lot though. Doing things that meant a lot to her without batting an eye. Saying things that only a person as observant as he could notice, like complimenting her eye colour in the light and asking her to read for him because he constantly mentions how much he loves her voice.

Y/n looked over to the same sweet guy she fell head over heels for, who was sitting on her couch, fidgety as ever, and wondered if they would ever be the same after the very next moments to come. She didn’t want things to change between them, but she was dying inside knowing that he wasn’t hers. And getting over him was not in the question, after the fiasco that happened last week. She just wished she could get inside his head to sate her painful curiosity.

What is he thinking about?

What is she thinking about?

It’s the million-dollar question running through his mind. What was she pondering over as she made them tea? Did she want to talk to him? Was she mad that it took him so long to find the balls to face her? Was she as nervous as he was? Was she worried that they would never be the same again like he was?

He was going into panic mode, questioning everything, while probably looking stupid as ever. As much as he regretted how awkward things were now, and the fact that he instigated her to lash out at him a week ago, he was realising that he was not regretting the fact that he did it. He didn’t want her to go out with someone else, and she didn’t. And yes, of course, he feels bad-beyond bad, in fact- for making her cry, and wishes he could take it all back, he also sees this as an opportunity to tell her how he feels about her. He could finally tell her that he thinks about her all the time. About her soft smile, her bright eyes, her melodic laugh, her speaking voice that brings butterflies to his stomach. He could tell her about how he loses himself at work, the grocery store, fuck- even at events- thinking about what she was doing at her house. Was she under her blankets on her couch, watching some corny tv show? Was she baking her signature choc chip cookies that taste like the gods blessed every single biscuit on the tray before they were put in the oven? Was she knitting her cat, Chesnut, another rug to plonk herself down on, with her feet up on the ottoman as she listened to the 7 o’clock news on the radio? Was she writing a paper for another deadline? Something so sophisticated, like the exploration of white and male privilege and how it is ingrained in our society? Something that Harry tried to understand and research so that he could stay in the loop with his smart girl’s interests, but he always struggled with.

It was a huge insecurity of his. Not that his best friend was smarter than he was, no way. He treasured the fact that she could and would whip his ass at a debate on things like the state of the world, or human rights. She could school him on global politics, languages, maths, science, history and literally anything else, and he would be cheering her on. What he was insecure about was her realising that he was probably slowing her down in life. Y/n was well within her rights to kick him out of her life for being nothing but a freeloader and stopping her from reaching her full potential, what with him constantly stopping her from her own life to help him go through shit happening in his. Whenever he was sad, or confused, or upset, Y/n was the first person he would talk to and he feared that she would realise that he was probably taking advantage of her and stop talking to him. And that scared him. It scared him because he knew that she didn't need him at all, but he needed her to do anything in life. Every major and minor decision in his life has been approved by Y/n first, and not because she was a controlling friend who didn’t trust him with his own life, but because Harry needed her validation. Harry Styles, a world-famous superstar, had girls, guys and non-binaries at his feet, following his every beck and call. Harry Styles, who was on the cover of every magazine, known by every celebrity, dated only the most perfect of women, required validation from Y/n, a psychology major at a small university. Y/n, who liked to plan her day out on a to-do list, end up not doing anything on that to-do list and cry about it afterwards. Y/n, who breaks it down to “Murder She Wrote” by Chaka Demus & Pliers like it’s her last 4 minutes and 5 seconds alive on this Earth while making pancakes. Y/n, who cries more when she’s laughing while watching Tik Toks than she does during sad movies.

To celebrities, Y/n was nothing but a regular. But to Harry, she was all. She was the warmth of a sweater that you toss in the dryer for a few minutes to make it extra toasty. She was the pad of butter that you spread onto your pumpkin sourdough toast and it ends up being exactly the amount you wanted. She was the feeling when you are driving home from a long day of interviews and premiers, and you’re on the freeway and the windows down and you just… exist. She is the feeling you get when you watch Pride and Prejudice, and the relief of when you find the perfect word to end a lyric. She is when your shoes fit perfectly, and when you finish a book so utterly fulfilling that you lie there in a trance, looking up at your ceiling at 3 am, wondering how you could have been so lucky to be able to be blessed with an ending like the one you just read. Y/n was all those things and more.

And that’s why he had to tell her he loved her. No matter how scared he was.

***

The electric kettle is finished boiling the tea all too quickly as the bubbling comes to an end and the distinct click of the switch turning back off echoes around the silent apartment. Y/n had poured the scalding hot water into the two cups she had prepared stared into them.

It was time. She had tried to avoid this for as long as possible, but now it was the moment to face the music. She picked up the two mugs of tea and brought them to her lounge where Harry was sitting on her worn in green sofa, staring at her coffee table, eyebrows scrunched, pouted lips, deep in thought, before looking up at her with wide green eyes, and followed her to where she stood in front of him. She passed his mug to him before sitting on the comfy chair a few feet away from the sofa and from him, putting some distance in between them for her sake, so that she wouldn’t try to hug him and say sorry without saying what she needed to say first. Which she needed to start talking about now, so as not to sit in the awkward silence created by the two.

Say something!!

“So…’

Jesus fuck…. was that all you could think of? Wow. I am going to lose my best friend.

Y/n was choking.

“I am so sorry,” Harry’s voice intercepts, raspy from the lack of use, looking up from the coffee table he seemed so interested in. “I am so fucking sorry Y/n. I have no excuse as to why I was making fun of you that day. I pushed too far and I am a shit friend for not noticing that you were already on edge. It was so wrong of me and I am so sorry.” He stopped himself before he started to ramble, looking at her with eyes filled with an emotion she couldn’t decipher.

Y/n felt… unsatisfied. Why did she feel this way? He apologised, right? So why does she feel unfulfilled? Why does she want him to say more? He hit all of the points he had to for a standard apology, so why did she think he hadn’t done enough? Was it that little optimist in her brain hoping he would maybe reveal a slight attraction to her? Maybe tell her that he loves her, and has loved her forever and ever? Confess that she has bewitched him, body and soul so that she didn’t have to? God, was she an idiot. But a lovestruck idiot at that. She bites her tongue and replies.

“Harry, I forgive you. Although you were annoying as ever,” She rolls her eyes and smirks, while he lets out a breathy, half-assed chuckle, showing his acknowledgement at her attempt to ease the lowered yet still prevalent tension. She continues. “ I understand that you were just trying to have fun. I guess I was the one who irrationally lashed out . I am always okay with you poking fun at me, but I was just frustrated and tired and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for the improper communication and I’m sorry for pushing you away when we should’ve just talked…”

“I forgive you too. I think this was just miscommunication on both parts.” He stared into her eyes, almost as if he could sense the discontent in her, but chose to ignore it.

“I guess so.” She halfheartedly answered, not really knowing where to take the conversation next. They had both apologised, but evidently still had things to say. Well, Y/n had things to say, that’s for sure, but she was pretty sure that Harry wanted to say something too. He had that look on his face where he wanted to say something but was forcing himself not to.

What does he want to say? Why can’t he say it to my face? I mean, sure, I’m also hiding shit I wanna say, but I have an excuse. This could ruin our friendship. What does he have to say?

“Great,” Harry replies, trying to fill the awkward pauses and conversation that is being held. He still looked like he had something to say, but seemed like he was not budging.

Well, if he’s not saying anything, I’m not either. Why do I have to confess my feelings and put our friendship on the line if he isn’t even going to say what’s on his mind?

“So, are we good?”

“I don’t know. Are we? I mean, I forgive you and you forgive me, right?”

“Right… No yeah, we’re alright. We’re completely fine!” Y/n replies quickly. Why the fuck would you say that? You’re not fine.

There is a pregnant pause and Y/n has half a better mind to just get up, walk to the bathroom again with her head down and lock herself in there till he leaves again, because she cannot take this awkward conversation. Not with him. She shifts, ready to stand up to get some water, when Harry looks at her, confusion and slight panic setting into his face.

“Wait. I don’t think I’m fine…” She looks up at the boy sitting in front of her, reading the words from her mind like they were scribed on a piece of paper in the blackest of ink, permanent and bold. Her heart stuttered. What else did he want?

“Is everything okay, H?” she tentatively asks. He loses eye contact with her, gaze lowering towards the table in front of him

“I-” he pauses, trying to collect his thoughts while simultaneously trying to explain to her why he wasn’t okay. “I just- fuck” his head falls down, his face inches away from the hot tea in his hands, the humid steam billowing out of the mug and warming his elegant face as he takes a deep breath and tries once more to convey his thoughts. “I don’t want us to be friends again.”

Her heart stops. This could go one of two ways. He could either be confessing his hatred or his adoration for her, and either one would probably end with her imploding. She tries to take a neutral tone when she replies.

“What does that mean, H?”

He looks at her once more. “It’s not enough, Y/n... “

“What?” She is confused. Her friendship isn’t enough? How is she supposed to reply to that?

“I want more. I don’t want us to just be friends. I want to be more with you. I want to do more with you. I want to do things that friends… they shouldn’t do together…”

Is he trying to confess he likes her? Why, in all the ways you could speak, would he choose to speak like that?! She has had enough of him dawdling around his feelings. “Harry, stop being cryptic and fucking tell me what’s going on?!”

“I love you, Y/n! I fucking love you, Y/n. So much. And it is eating me from the inside out. I hate that we can’t be normal anymore, and I hate that you don’t love me the way I love you, but I cannot sit here and pretend everything is fine, because I love you.”

Y/n is stunned. Frozen in her spot. Can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe. Stuck in space, and stuck in time.

Holy fucking shit… he loves me…

While Y/n processes the life changing knowledge that her best friend loves her, her best friend conveniently sits next to her, wishing that he was dead for the letdown he was about to receive.

“Say something… please, for the love of God, say something!”

****

She looks up at Harry. Not Harry Styles, playboy, whore, singer, millionaire, but instead; Harry, her best friend of five years, reddened face out of embarrassment. She sees the mortality in his eyes. Feels his presence so heavily in the moment. She is in awe. True awe of him, and his ability to love her. And with that awe- and that stupid look on her face, she reaches up and cradles his face in her hands, brushing her thumbs softly over his plush pink lips. He stands just as still as her, barely breathing, as if it would shatter the fantasy to stardust and he would wake up in his bed, cold shivers running down his spine, as has happened previously whenever he thought of this moment, staring up at his ceiling at 3:40AM wondering why he thought of his best friend in such a way. She creeped closer to his face before stopping a breath away from him, and whispered.

“Is this okay?”

She looked into his eyes, and he looked into hers, both never feeling so alive before. He wishes to tell her that she needn’t ask for his permission, and that he wants to kiss her forever. Eternally locked in an embrace that holds their souls together. But all he can muster is a weak and broken whisper back.

“Please,”

She can hold it for no longer, and leans in the rest of the way, their lips moulding together, for the very first time, eyes fluttering close, as his hands reach to grab her by the hips to straddle him, deepening the kiss even further. And when they part for breath, panting for air with slightly moist lips, they touch foreheads, eyes still closed. Words needn’t be exchanged- everything that yearned to be said was useless, as it could never describe how they truly felt for each other. So hopelessly besotted with one another, that all they could do was breathe together before kissing once more, hoping that their actions could provide even an iota of an idea of how much they love one another.

Two best friends, turned lovers forevermore.

#by bug #harry styles angst #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles fluff #hope you have a wonderful day my little pots of sweet tea!

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alicanta77 · 3 years

Text

[7:13am]

You felt the throbbing ache in your head before you had even properly registered that you were awake. Every part of your body was slow, it felt as if you were constantly moving through tar, and after the simple act of opening your eyes made you question whether you’d need to do an emergency run to the bathroom, you abandoned all idea of sitting up.

Hazy memories of the night before flashed through your mind, some of them making you screw your eyes shut in hopes that that would make them disappear. If you hadn’t felt so worn down, you would have groaned, but the thought of making any noise at all made you feel more nauseous than you were willing to admit.

However, you were definitely not the only one in that state, because the stuttering gurgles emitting from your boyfriend’s chest as he lay beside you, proved that he was dealing with just as bad of a hangover as you were. You rolled your head slowly to the side, ignoring the way your brain seemed to roll around your head as you did. Hyuck did the same thing and one look into his tired, regret filled eyes made you burst out into a chuckle.

Hyuck immediately laughed at the state of you, making you know immediately that you looked like a trainwreck, but he wasn’t looking that fresh either so you weren’t fussed. It wasn’t a joyful laugh by any means, it was a quiet messy laugh, one where you can’t really believe what you’re looking at. Hyuck forced himself to sit up, and you followed, the two of you pausing when you caught your reflections in the floor length mirror opposite his bed.

If your head hadn’t felt as though it was about to implode, you would have died laughing. Your hair was a mess, a complete lack of control to the way it was hanging over parts of your face and bending in weird directions. Your makeup was smudged, half of it being left on your pillow. You were missing an earring, still had one shoe on and wearing some else’s trousers, which confused you since you came in a skirt.

Hyuck looked just as bad. His hair was sticking up in all directions, the same way a cartoon character’s does when they’re electrocuted. He had dark bags under his eyes, a lipstick mark on his neck that you vaguely remembered being your doing. His shirt was inside out, and, at some point in the night, he had found some neon leg warmers and put them on his arms, meaning the bright yellow was blinding against the black of his shirt.

Neither of you said anything, just halfheartedly laughing at your appearances, until Hyuck just picked up his phone and pointed it at the mirror, snapping a few pictures. You turned to look at him, squinting your eyes as you croaked out a threat.

“If that goes anywhere, I will end you.”

“Yes ma’am.” Hyuck replied, attempting a mock salute but instead just flopping back down on the bed.

The sudden movement seemed to be a very bad decision as Hyuck groaned at the way his stomach was thrown around in its current sensitive state. You rolled your eyes at him, lowering yourself back down a lot slower.

The two of you lay in silence for the next few hours as you tried to get the courage to get out of bed. While the silence was comfortable, your physical states were decidedly not.

Gradually over the time you had pulled yourself into a sitting position and by now you were ready to get up. You hadn’t slept much over the last night, knowing that the few hours you had slept was nowhere near the amount that you needed. You pushed yourself up to standing, stretching slightly before beginning to slowly shuffle out of the door, moving remarkably similarly to a zombie.

You registered the sound of shuffles behind you and assumed that Hyuck had decided to follow you. Somewhere on your way to the kitchen you paused to take off the one shoe that was left on your foot, carefully stepping over a sleeping Chenle to find Jaemin and Jeno in the kitchen.

As the two of you entered, Jaemin’s laughter disrupted the previously silent and healing atmosphere. Since Jaemin doesn’t like alcohol, he never has to deal with the next day effects of drinking too much, leading to him almost always making fun of those of you in a slightly more fragile state than he was. While Jaemin was casually wandering around in his mint green hoodie, making a cup of coffee without a care in the world, Jeno seemed to resemble the two of you.

Like Hyuck, his hair was a catastrophic mess and his eyes were almost fully shut as he leant on his hand to keep himself upright. Every so often he slipped down slightly, startling him into sitting back up again. He gave you a groan of some kind in greeting, one that you both returned just as inarticulate.

“Well, aren’t you a cheerful bunch today.” Jaemin grinned, sitting across from the three of you and taking another photo.

You sighed at the knowledge that yet another person has proof of your sorry state. Hyuck pulled out his phone, immediately selecting a food delivery service and you rested your head on his shoulder in silent thanks. He moved slightly to place a soft kiss to your forehead, never taking his eyes off the screen in front of him.

You watched him add your favourite order, before adding food for himself and then sliding the phone over to Jeno. Jaemin then took over, adding some stuff for the other boys who hadn’t even appeared yet, and a small something for himself.

You kept your head in Hyuck’s neck, his natural scent covering your senses and bringing you an indescribable feeling of comfort. For the first time that morning, you didn’t feel your hangover at all. You didn’t feel your pounding head, or your stomach that was both excited and nervous at the thought of putting food in it. You didn’t feel embarrassed by any of the memories you have from last night.

You just felt Hyuck.

His hand reached out, grabbing yours and pulling it onto his lap and he allowed his head to land on top of yours. His thumb rubbed gentle circles into the back of your palm, a silent reassurance that he was here and he had you.

But you knew that. You knew that, no matter where you were, what you looked like, how hungover or unresponsive you were, Hyuck would have your back. He would be there for you, ready to catch you if you fall. He didn’t just bring comfort, he brought comfort, safety, security all within a gentle touch. Hyuck had always been a physical being, but you’d just assumed that it was because touch brought him comfort. You soon learnt that it was also the way he gave it.

Whenever you had a bad day, you never felt better until you’d had a hug from Hyuck, and Hyuck never felt okay until he’d given it to you. You were the person he wanted to cuddle, annoy, love for the rest of his life. You were the person that understood him better than anyone else had ever done. You were the person that could wake up with him, look like death itself and look at him like he put the stars in the sky. You were the person that made him become the person he was today. You were the person he wouldn’t exist without. You were the person that completed him.

You were his person.

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heloisedaphnebrightmore · 4 years

Text

Like a dream pt. 1|2 [Sirius Black x Reader] - Challenge

Title: Like a dream pt. 1 ➔ Like a dream pt. 2 - Here! Pairing: Sirius Black x Female!Reader Word count: 3.4k Published: 20 January 2021 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: Important note at the end Summary: Sirius and you were supposed to be enemies, but your crush on him might not be as unrequited as you thought. Challenge: [x] [x] This is part of @sleep-i-ness writing challenge on tumblr. I used the below dialogue

“Can I kiss you?” “I don’t know, can you?”

Bingo: [x] This is part of my Make me feel Bingo Card by @girl-next-door-writes on tumblr

Square filled: Enemies to lovers

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

Make me feel Bingo Masterlist

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You always disliked Sirius Black. Or at least that’s what you told everyone who dared to comment on your constant bickering and picking on one another. But you couldn’t deceive yourself. You caught yourself gazing at the boy from afar, hands getting clammy around him, air stuck in your lungs.

You felt your face heat up around him, making your crush on the boy dangerously obvious. You tried to conceal it with muggle makeup and useful charms you learnt from your friends and so far, it has been helping, but your nervous state couldn’t be fixed, even if you tried to count from one to ten, even if you tried to think of awful thoughts. The boy had effects on you that no one else had.

Your families having an amazing relationship didn’t help in keeping a distance either. So, when your mother announced the Blacks visit, you almost forgot to breathe for a mere second. You rushed up to your room, dressing up into your prettiest dress, putting on just a small amount of make-up, before taking care of the mess on top of your head that others called hair.

It barely took an hour or so before you heard your parents greeting the Blacks downstairs. You took a deep breath and wore the coldest expression you could possibly manage. You knew Sirius would have a couple of snarky comments spiced up with his usually cocky grin, one that always took your breath away, so you composed yourself and prepared for the worst.

Walking down the stairs felt even more difficult as your legs slightly wobbled. When you caught sight of him, even the air stuck in your lungs, your throat dried out. You wanted to scream into outer space, scolding yourself for being affected by someone who never really had a kind word to say to you. Although he never really offended you either. You just mutually got on each others’ nerves.

“Darling, finally, come on down,” your mother ushered you over to them as she saw you heading down the stairs.

You smiled sweetly as you greeted Walburga and Orion, before you turned to Regulus, but when your eyes met Sirius, words didn’t seem to want to leave your lips. He wore his usual cocky smile as he studied your face, seemingly unbothered about the lack of greeting.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, snickering as his parents followed yours into the dining room with Regulus behind them.

“You wish, Black,” you scoffed, but deep down you wanted to run into a wall. You were not one to be silent, one without words, but Sirius’ presence often caused you a momentary brain damage.

“Actually, I don’t. It would get boring,” he shrugged casually. You tilted your head in confusion, brows furrowed.

“You can’t possibly tell me you wouldn’t be happy if I couldn’t talk,” you raised a brow curiously.

“So, I’d have to listen to my own voice at all times? I’d love it. For a short period of time, of course. But for any longer, please, even I’d go mental,” he pulled a face, making you giggle. It wasn’t a sound you often let yourself have when Sirius was around. You didn’t necessarily hate each other, but none of you really had a nice word to say to the other, which often led to a bickering session.

“And we certainly wouldn’t want that,” you added sarcastically with a cheeky grin across your face.

“Are you going to join us today?” Regulus arrived from the dining room, waving his hand to follow him.

You joined your families at the table, quickly diving into the food, trying to avoid any awkward conversation. As you looked up at Sirius, his cold expression and blank eyes reminded you of the rumours you heard about his relationship with his family. He was distant and almost robotic.

“Darling, how’s school been?” Walburga turned to you with a sweet, but very clearly phony expression.

“It’s been going well, thank you for asking. I’m certainly not going to be a potions master, but I’m doing rather well in all my other classes,” you replied with a genuine smile, feeling proud of your achievements.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” she smiled as she turned to your mother. “You have got a beautiful and very intelligent child on your hand, love. You must be very proud of her,” she added. Your mom quickly tapped her lips with a napkin, ready to answer.

“Indeed. She is making us very proud,” she replied as she turned to you and offered you a loving, happy smile. “But I’m sure you are just as proud. You have two amazing sons who I hear seem to do quite well in school and part of the quidditch team of their houses as well,” she added, the information you have shared with her finally becoming useful.

“Regulus is indeed doing very well. Top grades of his year and it seems he will soon be captain of the quidditch team,” she added with a proud smile, but then the conversation turned into an awkward silence as Walburga decided not to mention Sirius. As you looked at the boy, he was wearing the same cold expression, slightly more annoyed than before as he rolled his eyes.

You wanted to tell him to ignore his mother’s mean behaviour, but you didn’t have the right to. You didn’t know much about their relationship and you certainly didn’t have a friendship of any kind with Sirius.

Instead, you heaved a deep sigh, swallowed hard and concentrated back on your meal.

The dinner didn’t last long, soon you found yourself in the living room, sipping on a cup of tea, your parents having an utterly boring conversation with the Blacks.

“Mom, would you please excuse me?” you asked as you placed your cup and saucer on the table in front of you.

“Of course, darling, go ahead,” she smiled and continued her conversation with Walburga.

You stood up from your seat and looked over at Sirius who seemed even more miserable than you. It was clearly painted across his face that he didn’t want to be there, let alone listen to the conversation your parents were having.

“Mrs. Black, would you mind if I stole Sirius for a second?” you asked. The woman looked at her son, slight disappointment across her face, but then she nodded reluctantly.

“Not at all, sweetheart,” she shook her head. Sirius looked at you with a frown across his face as he stood and followed you out of the house, straight to the garden.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, furrowing his brows.

“You couldn’t look any more miserable sitting there,” you shrugged.

“Thanks,” he scoffed as he took a seat on a bench beside the wall. You sat down next to him, a slightly awkward silence distancing the two of you as you kept your eyes busy, looking around the carefully planted flowers your mother felt so proud of.

“You know, this is not the Black I’m used to,” you added as you grew tired of the silence.

“Why, what did you expect?” he tilted his head backwards, looking up at the darkness, stars lighting up the sky.

“I don’t really know. In school you are cocky, unpredictable and not to mention annoying at all times,” you scoffed as you remembered how many times you wanted to wrap your fingers around his neck and squeeze it, just a little. “But here you are like this sample boy. Quiet and well behaved, but most of all cold,” he grimaced at your words, which you weren’t sure how to take at first.

“My parents hate me, how else am I supposed to behave? I don’t plan to fuel the fire any more than it already is,” he replied with a serious expression.

“Well, I know my words don’t mean much, but if it’s worth even a bit, I prefer the Sirius I go to school with,” you shrugged casually, trying not to reveal your crush on him, but still trying to be honest. When Sirius started smiling, you couldn’t stop yourself from mirroring his expression.

“Huh, so you don’t hate me that much after all,” he snickered proudly, his usually cocky smirk painted across his face once again.

“I never hated you. I just can’t stand you,” you added as you turned away from the boy, trying to hide your blushing cheeks.

He leaned forward, attempting to catch a glimpse of your face, but you carefully looked anywhere except him. “Then why are you blushing?” he chuckled as your head shot up, looking straight into his grey eyes that seemed even darker under the moonlight. He must have understood your confusion. “Your ears are bright red,” he added with a cheeky wink.

You groaned, feeling annoyed both because of your own obvious behaviour and his impeccable sight. “I’m just feeling warm,” you tried to save the situation which earned you a sceptical look from Sirius before it quickly turned into a barking laughter.

“I’m sure that’s true. Especially because there are goosebumps all over your arm,” he chuckled as he bit into his lower lip, your eyes immediately focusing on his movement. You scolded yourself inside for your silly behaviour and folded your arms in front of your chest as you turned away from the boy, quietly sulking.

He took off his suit jacket and placed it on your back, his scent finding its way into your nostrils almost immediately. It was warm and soft, and it smelled like him. You looked at the boy with a questioningly raised brow, not knowing how to take it.

“What? I can’t possibly have a beautiful lady freezing to death beside me,” he shrugged nonchalantly with a mischievous smile playing in the corner of his mouth.

“Beautiful lady?” you asked, scepticism clear in your tone. “When in the last 5 minutes did I become a beautiful lady?” you snorted in disbelief, ignoring how un-ladylike it was.

“You have always been beautiful,” he added casually as if the words were more familiar to him than to you. You frowned at his unusual behaviour, complimenting each other was not something you often or ever did.

“Are you sick? Are you under some kind of a potion? Blink twice if you are,” you nagged him, causing a silent laughter to erupt from his lungs.

“I’m perfectly fine. You know, just because people don’t say something out loud, it doesn’t mean they don’t think it,” he said.

“Okay- thanks, I guess,” you tried to find the right words to say.

“Not a problem,” he smiled proudly.

Once again, an awkward silence fell on the pair of you, but this time you couldn’t possibly break it. His unusual behaviour made you feel wary and you weren’t sure what would be the best way to strike up a conversation.

“Did I make you feel awkward?” he asked, his eyes focused on the dark sky and the small little stars painted across it.

“I wouldn’t say you made me feel awkward, but I certainly didn’t expect any positive comment from you,” you shrugged casually, trying to play it cool. Your heart was pulsing loudly in your ears, your throat dried out, but you couldn’t have given even a hint of the effects he had on you.

“Hey, I’m not that bad,” he groaned.

“I’m not saying you are, but we are always bickering about some silly thing that I can’t even remember because it’s always so meaningless, so for you to say that I’m beautiful, it was certainly unexpected,” you explained.

“Well, I can’t possibly tell you how pretty you are in the middle of our little arguments.”

“Actually, you could,” you snickered, which made him chuckle as he watched your playful expression.

“Now that you mention it, if I used it before, you might have shut up quicker,” he snorted as he saw your face turn into an expression that clearly screamed how badly you wanted to hex him.

“You are going too far, Black,” you added.

“Isn’t that what we usually do?” he asked wriggling his brows, making you chuckle.

“What was that creepy move?” you asked, trying to silence your laughter.

“My signature move,” he winked. “Girls, love it.”

“Sure, if you want to scare them away,” you huffed, but you couldn’t remove the smile from your face.

“We could have done this sooner, you know,” he stated, making you feel confused.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Have a normal conversation without you getting mad at me?” he grinned.

“I wouldn’t get mad at you if you didn’t behave like a complete idiot,” you shrugged, your smile still hiding in the corner of your lips.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “But then how else would I catch my crush’s attention?” he raised a questioning brow. For a second you thought you heard it wrong, for a second you thought you were hallucinating. His words seemed too unreal.

“You what?” you attempted to word your confusion.

“How else did you expect me to get your attention?” he chuckled playfully, his own words making him feel lighter.

“Why would you want to catch my attention?” you asked dumbfounded.

“Have you even heard what I said?'' he laughed watching the confused expression across your face. “I will help you out. I just said I wanted to catch my crush’s attention. My crush would be you. Do you need any further explanation?” he chuckled playfully as your face grew even more confused. As if your brain was unable to process his words. Even your own brain couldn’t believe what he said. But your heart, your heart was beating dangerously as the words left his mouth as if they needed no further explanation.

“You like me?” you asked, clearly needing more to go on.

“I have fancied you since forever,” he smiled as he scooted closer to you on the bench. “I wasn’t sure if you liked me, you always got mad at me. But then sometimes you gave me these mixed signals and I couldn’t place it anywhere,” he shook his head scoffing. “Up until I overheard Lily’s conversation with James, and it felt like hope,” he raised a questioning brow, waiting for you to put the puzzles together, but you remained silent.

He turned his complete torso towards you, watching your profile as he tucked a loose hair behind your ear. You felt your face heat up, but you didn’t turn away. You knew you were exposed, but you still didn’t know how to react. You looked at the boy, his grey eyes eagerly waiting for you to say something.

“What do you want me to say?” you asked. “You already know, don’t you?” you turned away as you heaved a deep sigh.

“I just overheard a conversation, that means nothing,” he shook his head, disputing. “Look at me, please,” he asked as he gently got hold of your jaw and turned you back. “Do you like me?” he asked, wasting no time.

You wanted to say no, you still couldn’t believe his words. Your constant bickering has been ongoing for so long, that it just didn’t make sense. But then something had changed in you too. You didn’t know when you started having feelings for him, but it just happened. However, accepting your own feelings seemed more reasonable than his.

“I’m being honest. I do like you. I have for quite a while,” his eyes didn’t lie. He looked at you with a warm, loving expression and although it was hard to believe his words, his gaze couldn’t have lied.

You let out a deep breath as you composed yourself, preparing for the worst. Maybe it was a prank, and he was going to laugh, maybe he was just joking with your feelings, maybe he made a silly bet with someone. You didn’t know what to expect, but every possible negative outcome went through your head ringing an alarm.

You looked down at your lap, playing with your hands nervously. “I do like you,” you whispered, your tone uncertain and barely audible. You collected all the bravery you could find within you and looked up at him. A gentle, warm smile spread across his face as he lifted one of your hands and cupped it in his, warming up your cold skin. His genuine expression reassured you with a simple look at him. The whole boy seemed so happy, he couldn’t have played the part that well. It felt unreal, as if a dream of yours came true, but you couldn’t possibly feel happier.

“So, if I ask you to go out with me, would I get a yes?” he asked as his smile grew wider.

“I guess, you would have to ask me first,” you chuckled, making him huff playfully.

“Okay, so, would you like to go out with me?” he asked confidently and for a second you left him hanging, as if you were debating your options.

“I guess that could be arranged,” you replied which made him shake his head as he pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his face hidden in your neck. As he pulled away, he stopped a few inches away from your face, his eyes wandering between your eyes and lips, his intentions screaming obviousness.

“I- Can I kiss you?” he asked, the unusual uncertainty in his voice making you braver this time.

“I don’t know, can you?” you asked back, clearly catching him off guard. But soon his surprised expression turned into a cheeky grin.

“Well, I could,” he smirked, but didn’t move.

“Then I guess the question is, will you?” you added playfully, trying to guide him to the right direction, hoping for him to finally make that last step.

“Would you like me to?” he played along, but this time you started losing your patience.

“For Merlin’s sake, just kiss me already!” you instructed him, huffing, both of you laughing silently, before he placed his hands on each side of your neck and pulled you closer to him, attaching his lips to yours finally.

As if you have been waiting forever, it felt like pure satisfaction, warm, happy and safe. Sirius felt like a safe place that you didn’t know you needed, but now that you were there, you couldn’t even think of ever letting go. You fit into each other’s embrace so perfectly, it felt like a dream.

…

Your body was sweating, your head was spinning as you slowly opened your eyes. A wet towel was carefully placed on your forehead which fell down into your lap as you slowly pushed yourself up into a seated position.

As you looked around you recognised the hospital wing of Hogwarts, the metal frame of the bed creaking as you moved around. You pulled the cover off your body and placed your feet on the cold floor, hissing at the uncomfortable feeling. But before you could have gotten out of bed, the door opened, and a blonde-haired girl walked into the infirmary, reading a newspaper.

“Marlene?” you asked. She looked up from her book and gave you a confused look.

“What are you doing? Madam Pomfrey said you should rest. You got hit pretty badly,” she added as she sat down beside you.

“What are you talking about?” you frowned in confusion.

“You got hit by a bludger and passed out. Do you not remember?” you shook your head in a reply.

“And what about Sirius?” you asked, clinging onto the only recent memory you could remember.

“What are you talking about? You hate Sirius,” she furrowed her brows as she watched your face fall.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you have been kicked in the gut and kneed in the chest. Air didn’t seem to want to leave or enter your body as you finally understood that it was all a dream. A wishful thinking that you knew too well would never happen. There was no way Sirius would ever look at you that way and to realise it after you woke up from a dream that quite possibly felt like the best thing that happened to you in awhile, it was heart-breaking.

“I do,” you replied as you tried to hold back the tears that threatened to roll down your cheeks and reveal your well-hidden secret. You felt so stupid, so naive for thinking about having a shot at the coolest boy of the school, but most of all, you hated yourself for having such a vivid dream. A dream that you knew will always remain only a dream.

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spideyspeaches · 4 years

Text

We always have been ↬ fem!p.p

A/N: AHHH I love genderbent Peter skjkjhjka and I’ve only seen @justme--emily write for her so far so I wrote one of my own 😤

Summary: It was not every day you crash into your ex boyfriend in a Stark Gala, was it? Your ex boyfriend you dumped right after your senior prom? It was probably her Parker luck striking, never a good sign, she learned that from experience.

Warning: um cursing lol.

Pairing: female!Peter Parker x Harry Osborn

WC: 2k

When Mister Stark had asked her to attend one of those glorious charity galas, Penny had been elated, internally (and externally) jumping at the thought of wearing fancy gowns and walking past pretentious rich bureaucrats and business people.

She was practically lost in paradise when Miss Potts had accompanied her to shop for her dress, a beautiful blue and red full length gown, hugging her in her curves with a chinese collar neck and embroidered bust (very on brand of her).

“Is your dress comfortable? Oh god I think I should have altered it myself, it’s not too tight right?” May fretted, fixing her hairdo and last minute make up she learnt from makeup hacks videos. Groaning, Penny nudged May by her shoulders, sitting her down on her twin bed, holding her aunt’s cheeks.

“May, the dress is comfortable! Miss Potts made sure that it was altered to my size okay? Now calm down, it’s just one night.” She smiled, folding her hands under her chest. Her dress was truly comfortable, and she looked undeniably good, she checked (she was a nerd, yes, but she wasn’t blind. Especially now that she had 20/20 long vision due to her spider powers.)

“You know how I feel about you going to fancy parties, baby.” May sighed, making her wince, “the last time you went to prom ended in a disaster. Both of them”

“I know May, but on the bright side, it gained me an actual paid internship. And Mister Stark and Miss Potts are going to be present the whole time!” She reassured, squeezing her aunt’s shoulders. In all honesty, she understood her anxiety, shuddering as she remembered her prom fighting Liz’s dad, and then breaking up with Harry, “besides, I have my spidery powers remember? I’m a big girl May, I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can sweetheart, god look at you all grown up, Ben would be so proud of how much you’ve grown, my little woman.” May sniffed, getting up to caress her head. She shook her head at her aunt’s emotional state, smiling as she bowed her head at the nickname. It was something Ben used to call her- little woman.

“Ben would be proud of you too May.” Penny said, willing her eyes to not water at the sudden rush of sentiment she felt at the mention of her deceased uncle.

“Now, shoo before I change my mind and keep you all to myself!” May laughed, fixing the non existent crease near her shoulders.

“Okay okay! I’m going May, jeez it’s like you and Mister Stark are holding a shared custody of me.” Penny snickered, scrambling to wear her uncomfortable heels, the ones that matched her dress.

“Maybe I am, but I get to be the primary guardian!”

Laughing, she gave her aunt a kiss to her cheek, doing a preliminary check of her cell phone and emergency bracelet, blowing her a kiss before walking into the car that was standing outside their apartment.

The car ride was silent, her stomach bubbling with nervousness and excitement. She was practically vibrating in her seat, glad that Tony had sent another driver instead of Happy- he would have teased her incessantly for being so nervous. She had grown close to Happy, the man growing fond of her as well, but he could be an embarrassing dad at times.

The gala was everything she had imagined, brightly lit in an overpriced hall, adorning overpriced decorations with people in overpriced clothes.

“Hey Mister Stark! Thank you so much for inviting me!” She grinned, skipping towards her fath- mentor.

“Hey Pen, wow don’t you look beautiful. A little too beautiful, beware of those good for nothing boys you hear me?” Tony smiled, hugging her, a protective hand on her shoulder.

“Oh don’t mind Tony, hun, he’s only joking.” Pepper said, giving her a kiss on her cheek and doing a once over, just like May had.

“I’m serious Pep, if those boys even tried anything, you call me okay? I’ll take care of them.”

“Mister Stark, you can’t just threaten teenagers.” Penny giggled, looking at Pepper with a smirk.

“Barely a teenager kiddo, why did you grow up so fast?” He smiled, a fond look in his eyes.

“I’m nineteen Mister Stark, I think I can take care of those boys themselves.”

“Hell yeah you can, that’s my girl.”

Easy for her to say, because not long after that, Mister Stark and Pepper had abandoned her to talk to some prominent dealer about some… deals concerning Stark Industries, she didn't ask.

By the end of an hour, she was already bouncing on her heels, bored out of her mind. Even the Avengers could entertain her only so much, going back to their important work. And

Penny was an awkward girl, always finding herself in situations she was unwilling to participate in, so socialising was out of question.

She remembered the one time she had accidentally spilled coffee all over Mister Stark’s touch sensitive keyboard, stuttering the whole time. He hadn’t even been mad, reassuring her that he had done that enough times before, hence the liquid resistant keypads.

And then there was that one time the school nurse had called Tony when she was experiencing period induced fever. That was embarrassing, if not a little heartwarming to know that he cared about her enough to confront Pepper about menstrual problems. She was his daughter in everything but blood, he reminded her that every day, though not verbally.

There was also this one time she had been caught kissing MJ, but none of those were going to top what she was facing right now.

Literally.

“Penny! Penny Parker?” Harry’s chirpy voice rang in her ears, his footsteps sounding increasingly closer as she tried to hide her face behind her (non alcoholic) drink, frantically walking towards the vague figure of Mister Stark as fast as she could with her overly expensive stilettos.

It was not every day you crash into your ex boyfriend in a Stark Gala, was it? Your ex boyfriend you dumped right after your senior prom? It was probably her Parker luck striking, never a good sign, she learned that from experience.

Finally standing near Mister Stark, she tried to stand next to him, ignoring the weird look he was giving her. Penny was petite, always has been small for her age, so she was glad Mister Stark could cover her with his side. Apparently he got her cue, as he shifted slightly to hide her from whomever’s view.

“What’s wrong Pen? Some pesky boy chasing you? Accidentally met your ex?” He joked, giving the old businessman in front of him a handshake and smirking at her with amusement.

“Something like that.” She shrugged casually, snickering at Tony’s wide eyes.

“Penny! Hey it’s me, Harry.” He said, nearly standing behind her. He was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, weaving his way through the crowd to stand right in front of her. He probably hadn’t noticed her clinging to Tony, which is why he came forward, a big goofy grin playing on his handsome face, sending her heart into a frenzy, his blue eyes shining under the gleaming lights.

“Uh, h-hey Harry.” She grimaced, elongating his name with a chuckle. Shuffling forward, she ignored Tony’s raised eyebrows, opening her mouth to speak, but all she could look at was Harry Fucking Osborn standing in front of her, “Um, small world?”

Her words sounded distant to her, heart heart a lump in her throat. She felt underprepared for these situations. Sure, they had broken off on a semi- good note, but it didn’t make whatever this was any less awkward.

“Small world indeed.” He said, much softer than before, a solemn expression taking over his face, “It’s not every day you get to meet Penelope Parker in a Stark Gala. Heard of your internship by the way, I knew you were smart enough to get it.”

“Oh, thanks about that. I guess you’re an unwilling guest here? Haven’t seen Mr. Osborn around.” She smiled shyly, shuffling on her feet.

“Yeah, kind of, I mean you know how he is.” He shrugged.

“How long have you two known each other?” Tony interrupts the two, watching in amusement as both his pseudo daughter and Norman’s son blush under his gaze, as if just noticing his presence.

“Uhm, Hi Mister Stark! B-big fan, hi oh my god Penny I’m standing in front of Tony Stark.” Harry stuttered, shaking Tony’s hand for a little too long.

Staring at him with confusion, he shook Harry's hand back, silently asking Penny the lingering question.

“He’s a bit of a fanboy.” She answered.

Harry was still looking at Stark with his wonderstruck expression.

“Well it’s always good to meet my fans, but you didn't answer my question, kid. How do you two know each other?” Tony said, smiling as politely as he could while his hand was still stuck in Harry’s grip.

Realising that, he instantly let go, standing awkwardly as him and Penny said at the same time-

“I’m her ex boyfriend-”

“He’s my best friend.”

His eyes widen, realising what he had just said.

“You guys dated? And when were you going to tell me about that Pen?” Tony asked, baffled at the thought of Penny dating a guy, and Osborn’s son of all people.

“Well, you see, I was going to tell you soon, but then we broke up. You know? We haven’t talked since.” Penny said, the last sentence directed towards Harry. She was looking at him now, gritting her teeth.

“Well did you expect me to call you after you dumped me? During prom nonetheless? I was ashamed, Pen, I couldn’t do it.” Harry said, looking apologetic. It made her heart clench, inherent guilt building up in her tummy. It was her fault, technically.

“Yeah but, Harry you were my best friend before my boyfriend, and I missed you okay? You could’ve at least called.” She defended. Tony was good at reading the room, so sensing a banter building, he quietly left the area, not wanting to witness the misunderstanding.

“I really missed you too Penny, I- I didn’t think I was good enough for you, gosh I really fucking love you.” He said, immediately stiffening.

Even back when they were dating, they had never said the L word to each other, not even when they were best friends, and now? Well he had just made the air more thicker than before.

“You- you what?” She asked, voice small as her heart jumped. She moved closer to him, holding her hands out, reaching to touch his shoulders. Her hands set on his silky tuxedo, she stroked her hands in a slow motion, dropping them immediately when she realised she was touching him.

“I really fucking love you Penny, even if you don’t want to get together, can we still be friends? Go back to our movie nights and lego sessions?” He asked, furrowing his brows as if to keep himself from crying.

No words left her mouth, her breath hitched when he moved forward, chest stuttering. With a sudden confidence she didn’t know she had, she leapt forward, capturing his lips in hers. Their lips moved with a sync, his familiar ocean scented deo invading her nostrils, his soft skin against her. The world around her melded in a technicolour blob, the only thing she could focus was his heartbeat echoing in her ears.

“I really fucking love you too by the way.” She said, pulling away from the kiss. She vaguely spotted Miss Potts in her periphery, shaking her head with a smile as she held back Mister Stark.

“So, are we friends then?”

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“We are more than friends, you dumbass. We always have been.”

I’m a thirsty bitch, pwease give me feedback? 🥺🥺

#peter parker x harry osborn #harry osborn x peter parker x reader #harry osborn #female peter parker #female peter parker x harry osborn #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #tony stark #spiderman #spider woman #spideygirl writes

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amjustagirl · 4 years

Text

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm.

Masterlist here

AO3 Link here

Playing volleyball in Milan is everything Atsumu dreamed of and more - the lights are brighter, the crowds are bigger, there are no distractions, no nagging to ignore, no pending errands to run - nothing to detract from the rush of exhilaration when he executes yet another perfect set. His teammates introduce him to the joy of soaking in the sunset over aperitivo by the Navigli canals, and he develops a liking for cheese and cured meat - prosciutto, salami, bresola, sending pictures of the street markets to Osamu even though he receives no reply.

But it’s not long before the novelty of living alone in a foreign land fades. He’s never been particularly good with languages, so he’s unable to get across the language barrier preventing him from socialising outside of his teammates. So Atsumu finds himself falling back into habits he learnt at home - buying take-out pizza on Friday nights from the pizzeria down the street, ordering extra because the pizza in Milan is thinner, crisper and infinitely less filling. There are no aquariums in Milan, no museums with dinosaur bones, so he measures his steps on cobblestone streets to the park every Sunday to sit on a bench too large for him alone, watching the birds and clouds in the sky.

He tells himself to be content with watching his baby grow through the frame of an eleven inch screen, recording every one of her babbled words and chuckles onto his phone until it runs out of space and has to call Suna for technical support. He becomes a regular at the post office, mailing packages of dolls and nutcrackers, chocolates from his favourite sweetshop and handmade baby dresses from wizened oba-chan he learns to air kiss on both cheeks.

‘Home, Oto-san?’ Shino asks during one of their calls. His voice breaks when he has to tell his baby ‘sorry, darlin’, not yet’. It’s the only time he opens up the webpage to check if he can book a flight back home.

He starts rushing to the locker room right after matches end to avoid seeing his teammates’ faces light up when their families congratulate them with kisses and warm embraces after every match. When his teammates ask about his family (he drives away the thought that they’re asking out of pity), he whips out his phone to show them his favourite picture of Shino, her little face screwed up in confusion when they loaded her back with the giant mochi for her first birthday- ‘such a trooper, didn’t even cry when she fell down’ he tells them proudly. He’s quick to swipe past any photos of her.

He doesn't need the memories, he really doesn’t.

Well - he might not need the memories, but it’s not as if they disappear. He wakes up to find himself on the other side of bed. ‘Sorry, darlin’ he mumbles sleepily (because he knows he tends to invade her space, and she’s likely to kick him bodily off the bed if he doesn’t apologise quickly enough) - before snapping awake with a thin sheen of cold sweat on his forehead remembering he’s five thousand, nine hundred and sixty miles from home.

Not that he’s counting. He really isn’t.

He’s ashamed to admit that he heads to the club that night to pick up someone - anyone to warm his bed, but he’s not sure if it’s the burn of alcohol or the flashing lights (or that prick of something in his chest - it can’t be his conscience, he’s pretty sure only Osamu has that) because his stomach churns whenever pigs with their painted faces and false smiles approach him, and soon gives up, returning to his apartment cold and alone. He’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol because he pukes his guts out in the morning and swears off from ever going to a club again.

“MIYA !’

He only has time for a brief flash of shock between hearing his coach shout his name and feeling the impact of his teammate’s full weight against his shoulder that sends him sprawling across the floor. There’s a collective gasp from the crowd, but it’s not loud enough to drown out the sickening snap of bone ringing in his ears as he’s lying on the ground.

The sharp burst of pain stabbing his shoulder is enough for him to know what the doctors later confirm - a shattered collarbone. Complete rest for at least eight weeks is prescribed for a full recovery.

‘What were you thinking, Miya?’ his coach asks him exasperatedly when he’s discharged from the hospital.

‘I goofed’, he replies lamely. ‘Sorry, sir’.

It wouldn’t do to tell anyone that for a split second, he was distracted by the sight of a dark haired woman with bright eyes cheering at the top of the stands, a plump toddler balanced on her hip.

It’s close enough to the end of the competition season that his coach figures it’d be better for him to just cut his stay in Milan short and return to Japan early to recover properly. So he lands in the Osaka airport amidst a haze of rain, arm tucked in a sling. The airport staff are kind enough to help him wheel his bags out to the arrivals gate where he’s surprised to find Osamu waiting with a bored expression on his face.

‘I thought ya weren’t talkin’ to me’, Atsumu says.

Osamu snorts, taking hold of his bags. ‘Mum made me come and get ya, since you're useless with that busted collarbone of yours.’ Then he turns on his heel and matter of factly adds as he walks off - ‘Besides, you’ll end up stayin’ with me anyway - it’s not like you have a home of yer own.’

Atsumu opens his mouth to retort but shuts it with a snap.

‘You better hide in the kitchen if ya don’t have the guts to show yer ugly mug around her’, Osamu tells him at half past six in the evening, not even looking up from the tuna and spring onion onigiri he’s forming in his hands.

But Atsumu doesn’t. He tells himself it’s because he can’t bring himself to leave Shino’s side for a second more than he has to, not when he’s still drinking in the sight of her grown so, so big in the span of just a few months. The little girl had been confused at first, when both he and Osamu turned up at the childcare centre to pick her up, but after several minutes of coaxing her to recognise which one of them was Oto-san and Oji-san (the hair colour probably helped) and the bribe of a very elaborate doll (probably the main reason), she’d warmed up to him and refused to let go of his hand.

She pushes open the door to Onigiri Miya with a gentle smile on her face when Shino shrieks ‘Mama!’ at the top of her little lungs and rushes over to her, though it vanishes the instant she notices that it’s not Osamu playing with the little girl. He tries his best to ignore the stab of guilt in his chest when she takes an instinctive step back to yank Shino behind her legs.

‘You’re back’, she finally says, glancing at his arm resting in its sling.

‘Yeah…’ he responds, starting to sweat like he’s standing under the hottest stadium lights. ‘Ya look good’.

‘I know when you’re lying, Atsumu’, she sighs - and if he's being honest, she’s right. To the untrained eye, she looks perfectly put together, dressed in a pencil skirt and heels with her hair neatly tied back, but he knows her too well to be fooled. He can spot the pallor of her skin beneath her makeup, the droop of her shoulders, the downward tilt of her lips. But before he can formulate a response, she grabs Shino’s hand and turns to go, the little girl waving goodbye at him until they’re out of sight.

‘Wow. That was awkward.’ Osamu quips from over the counter. Atsumu can’t even find it in him to respond.

Osamu makes him work at his store in between his sessions of physiotherapy. ‘To keep ya out of trouble’ he says, and Atsumu doesn’t really mind, it still leaves him plenty of time to pick up Shino from childcare every day, and it certainly gives him the excuse to hang around Onigiri Miya when she stops by in the evenings.

He tries to make conversation with her - ‘That’s a new dress you’re wearing’, but is always rebuffed - ‘I bought this old thing years ago’, to Osamu’s endless amusement. She’d always enter the store with a fond smile on her face for Osamu (it makes him want to puke), and would immediately drop it the moment she meets his eyes.

He tells himself it’s normal, she used to be cold and standoffish to him before they started dating, that she’d come around after a while. But even when he tries a different tack (perhaps compliments don’t work on her like they used to before), asking her ‘how’s yer day’, she shoots him a look of distrust that cuts right through his smile - ‘Just tell me what you want, Atsumu. You’ve never bothered asking me that before’.

Osamu actually roars with laughter at that. Traitor.

‘Need help with that?’ Osamu comments after watching Atsumu struggle to reach the exercise tape on his back with his one good hand, stepping in after Atsumu gives a reluctant nod. But he immediately yelps in pain when Osamu decides to abandon all pretense of being gentle and yanks on the exercise tape viciously.

‘Just take off my skin while you're at it, why don't ya’ Atsumu whines. ‘It never used to hurt that much when she would help me after physiotherapy’.

‘She’s always been nicer to ya than ya deserve, fuckin’ scrub’. Osamu retorts, pulling at the remaining tape with increased vigour.

Atsumu bites his tongue through the pain, picking apart his brother’s words before replying - ‘Hey ‘Samu. She’s still really mad with me, isn’t she? D'you think she’ll ever forgive me?’

‘Have ya tried apologising to her, for starters?’

‘What?’ Atsumu asks, bewildered, before yelping - 'Wait - ouch!! What the hell that bloody hurt!?!?!'

‘You know - saying sorry? Owning up to your mistakes? Asking for forgiveness? You abandoned your wife and child for months - but I suppose that concept must be alien to you, shit stain.’

Osamu doesn’t give him a chance to respond, shaking his head as he walks away.

His pride is an ugly, misshapen lump in his throat that's so inflamed it's almost impossible to be swallowed, but he does so anyway, asking her if they can speak for a short while in the alley behind the shop, away from Osamu’s eavesdropping ears. She furrows her brows at his request, but follows him out without complaint.

It’s only when she’s standing before him in the dimly lit alleyway, the dying light of the setting sun reflecting a halo above her head that it hits him like a blow to the back of his head that he’s a fuckin’ idiot - how did he manage to convince himself to blame her for trying to get in his way of chasing his dreams. This is what he missed when he was living alone in his cold studio apartment in Milan - being able to return after trainings and matches to a cosy flat overflowing with her cheeky banter and his baby’s laughter.

Gods, he wants his family. He wants to come home.

But before he can pour out the apology he’d been preparing with Osamu’s help, she interrupts him by slapping a brown envelope into his chest.

‘Look, I’m not sure what you have to say to me, but frankly, I’m not sure we have much to say to each other anymore,’ she tells him impatiently, as he opens the envelope, a tidal surge of dread overwhelming him.

‘What's this’, he says blankly, even though the title on the very first page of the stack of papers trembling in his hands sets it out clearly - Rikon-Todoke. i.e. Divorce papers.

It spells out in clinical, cold words the terms of the proposed separation - dissolution of marriage by mutual consent, no request for alimony or compensation, legal custody to be granted to her with ample visitation rights for him. He would think it fair, if it were to apply to anyone but him.

‘But why?’ he rasps, chest burning from the knife that pierces him right through his heart.

She shifts forward, and the neon lights from the buildings surrounding them melding together to throw her face into sharp focus, her mouth curving upwards into something much harsher than a smile. It’s as if his departure acted as a whetstone, sharpening her edges, shaping her into a woman with hard eyes he can’t recognise.

‘You and both know it’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it Atsumu? You’ve made it quite clear that this marriage isn’t what you want out of life. In any case neither of us have really been happy even before you left, so we might as well be free from each other.’

At this, he shakes his head, parting his lips to object but she continues ruthlessly, her words slicing past his tissue thin excuses.

‘If anything, my time with you has taught me that it's impossible to stop the storm from destroying everything in its path. You can only try your best to outrun it, and this' - ’ she stabs a finger at the stack of papers shaking in his hands - ‘this is my attempt at outrunning you.’

It feels as if his world has somehow shifted, tilted upside down, turned inside out, his assumption that her taking him back would be an inevitable conclusion now disproven by the papers burning in his hands. He knows he’s hurt her beyond measure, but he never thought that his choice to chase what he thought were his dreams would leave him without the ground beneath his feet.

‘You don’t need to do anything else - just sign it and give it back to me soon. I think it’s better for all of us - you, me and Shino, if we divorce formally and lead our own separate lives’, he hears her say, turning to go.

Acting on instinct, his hand shoots out to grab her wrist and she flinches, the steel in her eyes crumbling to leave only frozen terror behind.

I could never hurt you, he wants to say, but doesn't - because he knows it's a lie.

Numbly, he releases his grip, letting his hand drop to his side.

He hears the door close behind him.

Osamu finds him hours later, crouched on the back steps to the shop, papers clenched in his hands. He takes the papers from him and mouths to himself while scanning through it, but there is no spark of surprise in his eyes.

‘Did ya know she planned on divorcing me, ‘Samu?’, Atsumu asks, swiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

‘I had a pretty good guess it was coming’, Osamu replies heavily.

‘Fuck’, Atsumu groans, dropping his head between his legs.

Osamu prods his side with the tip of his shoe. ‘It’s not that I want to kick a guy when he’s down, but she's your wife, not a toy you can toss aside and come back to after a few months, shit for brains. And if I’m being honest, it looks like you’re acting like a brat who only wants his toy back when someone else picks it up’.

Osamu’s response lights a fire in his chest, and he whirls to his feet, grabbing his twin by the front of his apron growling - ‘Whose side are ya on anyway?!’

Osamu looks at him calmly, uncharacteristically refusing to take his bait. ‘Well, it's not as if ya don't deserve it. You walked out on her and Shino for almost a year, Atsumu. I’ve been the one cleaning up yer mess like I’ve been doing my whole life - I’ve been the one picking Shino up from childcare, I had to accompany yer wife to the hospital when yer kid was down with a high fever - d'you still have to ask whose side I’m on?’

‘D'you love her, ‘Samu?’ Atsumu asks after a pause.

The twins stare at each other.

‘I love her like a sister, you asshole. And I hate that it’s my own brother causing her pain.’ Osamu eventually says, pushing him away.

The door slams behind him again.

The dark clouds above him rumble ominously. It starts to pour.

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sanstropfremir · 3 years

Note

I’d love your thoughts on BTS and their current image and music if you have them and aren’t afraid of the mindless internet hoards.

Personally, I liked a lot of their older stuff, but haven’t liked anything since I think the Fake Love promotions 3+ years ago. They’d started losing their personality and soul before that album cycle, but it feels like the sanitization of their image and artistry really kicked into hyperdrive after that. Now most of what they do seems like a sterile money grab driven by the Hybe hive mind which is a shame.

ok alrighty (cracks knuckles) let's get into it.

now that i've fully given myself a headache watching the majority of the bts videography, here are three points i'm going to cover:

performative character and the lack thereof

interesting aesthetics and the lack thereof, and

the inevitable cracking of perfection

ready, set, let's begin.

idol music is very clearly definited by spectacle based aesthetics. and it's had that structure for its entire existence. so i gotta hand it to hybe for this one, because they managed to revolutionize being utterly fucking average. the triumph of bts is that they're just some guys and they look like just some guys. hybe found a niche in the system and then gamed that system to the tune of one of the largest musical acts in the world. they're not marketing bts as a romantic parasocial relationship, they're marketing them as your friends. and that is just as insidious to lonely kids as a run of the mill romantic fantasy. but that's not what i'm here to talk about today.

there's a pattern i find very interesting with bts mvs and that is that i don't remember anything about them. specifically, i don't remember the stuff that's happening IN the video; not the styling, not the setpieces, if i didn't know the members i doubt i would remember them either. what i DO remember, is how expensive the production is, and specific shots. i couldn't tell you what a single member was wearing, but i sure as hell remember that first upward angle shot of jungkook and the rusted park ride in spring day. or every single time they do that birdseye shot of jin in like every video. honestly as far as i'm aware jin has only ever worn a loose fitting beige longsleeve shirt.

it took bts a long time to establish any kind of consistent visual character. and the character they did establish.... i don't know if you can call a family-friendly-style clean aesthetic 'character'. they debuted as a hip hop group to little (comparative) success, and then made a switch to doing an early version of where they're currently at right now. if you've seen any of the mvs, you know that this is a pretty significant visual change. i don't think it is inherently a bad change, since the visual branding for hiphop based groups always tips over into iffy terrritory, but it is dramatic enough and early enough that it doesn't strike me as a natural evolution. concept switch ups are common, but they usually work because the members have established a bit of character for themselves, used their performance abilities and presence to fit into a niche in the group. the idol mould is perfect for showcasing the performers; that's its function. the groups that are the most fun to watch are the ones with stage presence, the ones who know how to perform, who can act all the parts they need to play. and bts? 4/7 actual performers on a good day. in my personal opinion it's 2/7.

i'm gonna expand on what i said about jimin here (this is technically the first part of this series), because it does apply to the rest of the group on the whole:

and i think here is where we see the main crux of the difference between taemin and jimin as performers: taemin has both an artistic and an idol persona. we know and understand him to do solo work that has a separate artistic meaning to just him being an idol. even though this performance was pre-move, i would still say this applies, because he's hot off press your number, where he's acting in a story based mv. jimin on the other hand just has his idol persona. he's not known for creating the same kind of storytelling that taemin is.

bts has been very insistent on the image of the group as a single unit. despite having the size of fanbase and the revenue that would make any official solo debut a massive success, none of them have done any substantial solo work. this isn't artistically a problem, and i think it's very admirable of them to be so dedicated to the image and the legacy of the group, when that can be an uncommon trait in the industry. i do however, think it starts to become an issue when we want to discuss what the artistic visions and images of groups are. shinee taemin and solo taemin have two distinct artistic representations, and taemin himself will attest to that. it's the same with all the shinee members that have solo careers, and the same with other groups. jackson, bambam, yugyeom, and jaebeom's solo work is all very different from got7. yixing's solo work is very different from exo's. even the subunits within exo all have their own character (cbx and sc). kpop groups all ostensibly are trained under the same system, so why the disparity with bts? mostly, it's their brand of "authenticity." it's impossible to perform authentically, by the nature of performance as a medium it is unnatural, and tragically, not everyone is naturally interesting, or suited to performing: that's why the performing arts even exist in the first place. it required painstaking training to be good at performing; it is a complex set of skills and those skills are not learnt by "being authentic." being an idol is not just the singing, dancing, rapping; that's only half the work. you need to be able to act to be a compelling performer. pulling your true self and emotions out on stage every night is a fast track to burnout and psychological issues, there's plenty of evidence. the only member of bts of whom i can say for some certainty has a persona and a stage presence is jhope/hoseok, a) because he's kept up a very specific brand in the solo work that he has done, and b) he has actual dance training, not just kpop dance training. the rest of them may have the kpop dance and the kpop vocal training, but what they do not have is the ability to market themselves as compelling performers on stage. taehyung is the only other member i would hesitantly give a semblance of persona and ability to, but i think he stumbled onto that mostly by accident. and if all the pieces don't each have a distinctive colour, how can the whole machine be visually interesting?

bts may never have been able to establish an aesthetic brand, but what they did establish is an intellectual one. if you talk to a fan, the schtick they give is that "it's about the lyrics." as noble as having an intellectual or cerebral message is, what does that look like? how do you portray intellectual on stage, on film? what about intellectual is interesting to watch? cerebral, by it's literal nature as a descriptor, is very difficult to communicate in visual language because it is internal. to successfully communicate cerebrality and intellect in a short form medium like music videos requires a deft hand with metaphor that can elude even an experienced designer. and honestly? i don't know whether to applaud hybe's visual team for being the most successful subtle contemporary designers i've every seen, or to decry them as worst kpop designers i've ever seen. maybe both. regardless, i don't think they're able to cross the gap.

there are exactly four mvs where i actually remember the content of the mv and not the frame it sits in, and those are dna, idol, the singularity comeback trailer with taehyung, and war of hormone. and of an eight year career......that's not very many. these four mvs have at least an inkling of interesting spectacle and character, but even then, it's still a stretch. there is absolutely nothing to write home about in the styling for dna, other than it's well colour matched. I don't even know if I should include singularity because it involves none of the other members. idol is probably their most interesting mv because it actually has alternative styling and varies (at least a little bit) from the standard hybe boom crane shot-that-shows-off-how-we-can-afford-big-studio-spaces-and-locations. the company and the group would be loathe to admit it, but war of hormone is a well designed and interesting mv for the time it was made, with a well crafted gimmick and some actual showing of character from the members. it was the start of a potential that they squashed quite quickly because it wasn't picking up in the hiphop-group-saturated market of 2014. but the rest of their mvs? remarkably uninspired styling. like it's truly impressive how boring the styling is. and like i've said, that is the triumph in their aesthetics: they all look like normal dudes (if you had professional skin + makeup techs looking after them for the last 8 years).

all of this is a carefully crafted image that's tailored to hooking an audience, especially an international one. the mvs are boring in the relative scale of kpop, but they're just different enough from a western pop mv to catch attention. and once you do sink a hook, there's a direct clickfunnel of content that bills itself on these men being "authentic" and "self-producing," which is a huge draw to international fans, because people are racist and believe that the kpop industry is a factory that produces idols like clones, where none of them know how to do anything other than sing and dance and all the music is just handed to them by companies. and they have SO much content that there's no way a new fan can get to it all in a timely manner, so they'll never have to engage with any other kpop artists' work if they don't actively seek it out. but that's another essay for another time.

that brings us to current day, in which at least the last five bts releases have been in the same aesthetic vein of positive, sanitized, and pristine. i said it in one of my txt responses and i will say it again here: money scrubs the humanity from the aesthetic of living. minimalism is for rich white people. hybe and bts may have pivoted their style and brand directly into the lane of mass appeal, but when you pair that with the amount of money funding them, there's a cognitive dissonance between the message and the aesthetics in which it's portrayed. some people do like the clean cut looks, and i won't say that they don't work, but as you've likely gleaned from this response, it isn't my style and if you've been around and reading my writing for longer you'll know that my tastes runs much closer to the messy and the weird, so very little about any of bts' visuals have appeal to me. i do find the contradiction of applying the appeal of radical relatability with the aesthetics of expansive (and expensive) minimalism interesting; it's an extremely fine line that hybe is walking and eventually they are going to tip over, the porcelain mask will not hold forever. maintaining the all ages aesthetic is going to be difficult now that all of them are grown ass men. with other groups of this member age and generation there's very obviously been a shift to a more adult tone, and not necessarily explicitly. got7, mx, nu'est, btob, shinee, 2pm, and groups that have older members like a.c.e and sf9 have all made slow shifts in tone that are undeniably aimed at a maturing audience: they know their core fanbases are aging with them and they (the fans) are not as interested in the 'boy' in boy group. and most of them have telltale visual styles, enough so that i can distinguish a specific group's mv. the last year and change of mx mvs have a very distinctive character; got7 too, since easily as far back as if you do. i can always tell an a.c.e mv by its impeccable fashion and formic styling, and although shinee has always had a more experimental aesthetic edge, their sound and voices are unmistakable.

honestly, i can't predict what bts is going to do in the future, but i personally don't believe they can keep up their clean aesthetic indefinitely without some fallout. part of the fun of following bands is watching them grow musically, and the last couple of years of bts haven't felt like growth. there are fans that have already started realizing it, and there's likely to be more soon.

---

the third part is here, which is a short followup about some of bts' industry influence.

#this is long one dear readers #a very long one #strap in #i've sat on this for probably a week now in the hopes my brain can make some interesting connections but honestly?#not a lot about bts is interesting in comparision to the rest of the kpop industry #personally i am of the opinion that lyrics do not matter in idol music and i am not interested in them in the slightest #and bts videos ARE extremely bland visually #unless you like looking at expensive production. whatever floats your boat i guess #they make a lot of sense as an entry kpop group but once you get actually into the industry there is SO much happening #which i talk about in the third part a little bit #this is way too long i am so sorry anon and everyone else who has been asking about this topic #im not entirely sure it's coherent at this point but whatever. its out there now #i wanted this to be under 1k and that emphatically did not happen #it is double that. why am i like this #875 #kpop questions #kpop analysis #group analysis #text #answers

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damonfuckingalbarn · 3 years

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Hiya I’d love a match up please x

Hiii I would love a Britpop match up if your still doing them 🥰

I am 5”4, she/her with chest length dark brown hair. I have hazel eyes. I like to wear natural makeup and often leave my hair in brushed out loose curls simply because I have no hair or makeup skills 😭. I love all kinds of music but mainly 60s and 70s . My favourite artists are the Beatles, Dusty Springfield, the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, Kasabian, Arctic monkeys, Miles Kane, The last shadow puppets, mitski and Lana del Ray( I won’t mention any britpop artists for this). I love movies especially comedy and gangster movies my favourite movie is goodfellas. I love comedy and am a big fan of comedy panel shows aswell. I speak English, Irish and German. I love reading but don’t read as much as I used to. I am a Taurus. I am hoping to study to be a music journalist someday. I love having deep drunken conversations with people. I love going to concerts with friends and dancing in general tho I’m not good at it at all. I absolutely despise smoking... until i take a sip of alcohol then I could go through a whole pack.Hope this is alright thank u!! 😘

Okay so first off, you sound like such a cool person, like pls be my friend!!

Buuuuut, my first thought was that you and Damon would be such a good match up and that just came more obvious the more I read on!

He would definitely love that you make your appearance more natural and I could see him always trying to play with your hair. He loves that you wear it down because it means he can run his hands through it whenever he gets the chance or always wrapping your curls around his fingers

Evenings together would definitely consist of putting a record on, whenever he wants your attention he’d put one of your favourites on. You’d be trying to cook dinner and he’d have his hands wherever he can, trying his best to distract you from what you’re doing.

“Damon, we’re not going to have any dinner if you carry on” “just one dance darling, that’s all I need” but of course, one dance is never enough and it’s never long before you’re both dancing around the kitchen, laughing at the stupid moves you’re both pulling. It’s only when you smell burning that you suddenly remember what you were meant to be doing, before he distracted you.

Teaching him how to speak another language!!! He’s determined to learn German from you and every so often, he’ll surprise you with a new phrase he’d learnt and it would make you smile uncontrollably.

Also, learning a new language together!! Can you just imagine him trying to concentrate and the competitive side of him wanting to learn phrases faster than you “Come on darling, we’ve not done our practice for today”

He knows how much you want to be a music journalist and he’s desperate to try and help you in any way he can. Tells you what he thinks makes a good article or a good interview and let’s you write mock articles on unreleased songs, of course they’re always bias, but you appreciate all the help he gives you.

You pull a face and sarcastically roll your eyes every time he smoked in front of you but as soon as you’ve had just enough drinks you try and take a cigarette from his pocket as discreetly as possible.

Of course, it’s never that discreet and he always plays oblivious to the hand so obviously rooting in his pocket. When he knows you’re going out or to a party together, he always makes sure he has an extra packet of cigarettes in his pocket, just so there’s some for you to take.

I hope you liked that anon!! <3

I’ve never done one of these before so if it was a bit rubbish then I apologise greatly, but I really hope I was going along the right lines!!

#match up #Damon Albarn x reader #blur #blur band #damon albarn

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mydisasteracademia · 3 years

Text

Random LOV Headcanons

• Repeating something from my book “Did My Time”, due to the damage to Dabi’s body, he needs to use eyedrops multiple times a day. The amount depends on whether or not he uses his Quirk a lot; if he uses it more, he’ll need to practically drown his eyes with special medicated eyedrops to help with the dry-eye.

Adding onto this, due to his body’s natural affinity for the cold, he prefers cold things more than hot, because he has a worse reaction to hot/spicy things compared to other people (just like his mother). Yes, this means I HC him to absolutely never get brain freeze. The others are always jealous of him whenever he chugs a Slurpee in one go.

His burnt, scarred skin is extremely sensitive, especially to scents and scented lotions. He’s found that ointment works to keep things moist, but that also means he needs to be constantly re-applying it every time it dries, given that his Quirk is constantly drying out his skin to the point of damage. Every time his staples tug, even a little, it’s really painful and he’s prone to bleeding.

He does have a bit of a protective instinct, but only over those he deems weaker than him (and let’s be honest, he already has a lot of trouble with his own self-image, so that list might be shorter than you’d think). Definitely has an ‘irritated older sibling to hyperactive younger sibling’ relationship with Toga once they start to get closer. Gets unnecessarily competitive with others he considers stronger than himself, even if he himself doesn’t immediately realize what he’s doing.

Due to his Quirk being dangerous to himself, he can smell off, and he gets very touchy about it. Having grown up in a wealthy family, he can get very insecure at his bedraggled appearance and smell. He literally smells like burnt flesh all the time, and it lingers on his own body and his clothing. Due to this, he always hits up a laundromat to wash his clothes a few times a week, using money he’s picked off of wealthier victims of his. Really lays on the cologne to mask his natural corpse smell (and usually ends up smelling like pine trees, smoke, and something vaguely rotting).

Dabi is incredibly touch-starved, given that most people look at him and recoil in horror. He’s more like a cat, though. If you give him too much attention, he gets annoyed, but if he happens to rest his arm on your head or shoulder, that’s his way of subtly asking for positive attention. Depending on who’s doing it, he won’t immediately shove someone away if they decide to hug him. He’s a bit iffy with touch, and the fear of accidentally hurting someone he’s close to with his own Quirk messes with his head a lot. He can be a bit of an attention whore, given his fucked-up childhood, and when he gets praise it can put him in a good mood for a while. He really internalizes negative attention and can brood about not being good enough for a long time though. Won’t admit it, but he lives for headpats. Please give him headpats. He deserves headpats. Just watch out for the hair dye.

• Shigaraki’s Quirk does affect his body, though not by quickly decaying him like he does other things. Instead it’s more of a ‘slow-burn’ decay, and his constant itching is one side-effect of that. Since his body is constantly breaking down (his scratching gets rid of a lot of dead skin on the surface), his skin is incredibly sensitive and he can’t use most face/skin products because it damages him even more and he reacts horribly to it. So far he hasn’t found a brand that can help with his marred skin. Adding to this, he can’t stand spicy foods because it aggravates his decaying body.

Since his body is in a constant state of death and dying, this means he can smell off on even good days. It could be described as musty or ‘stale’, and since he’s extremely sensitive to scents and lotions/creams, he can’t exactly just use any old cologne to mask it.

Sometimes his throat gets super dry and he chokes on debris from his own mouth and throat. He needs to constantly hydrate to keep things from getting a bit too dusty. This means he prefers wet/moist foods over dry, and if he eats anything dry he’ll have a drink to go with it. At Kurogiri’s insistence, he always has a few bottles of water in his room at a time so he doesn’t have to get up in the night to go to a working sink for a drink.

This boy is so touch-starved. Whenever someone of the League hugs him, he acts huffy about it, but he doesn’t shove them off (unless it’s Dabi giving him a noogie, then he threatens death, much to the taller one’s amusement). He secretly craves touching other people. He’s terrified of accidentally dusting someone he cares about again (his family’s deaths haunt his dreams more nights than not), but if someone hugs him he just kind of melts into it. Someone please hug this boy. He needs headpats and positive reinforcement.

• Spinner absolutely loves sunning himself on rocks during summer. Whenever the weather is hot and it’s sunny, if he has a day off you’ll find him chilling outside on a rock just soaking up the sun.

Adding onto this, he really loves humid, hot weather. While the rest of the League (especially Dabi) is suffering, he’s just vibing with the weather.

And he sheds. Usually a few times a year, but it’s not uncommon to see large swaths of translucent white patches left behind. This can annoy the League, but to his credit, Spinner tries to keep it on the down-low. More than once he’s tried inconspicuously rubbing his arm or cheek against Shigaraki to try and help get the dead skin off. (He gets really irritated, but it helps with the itching a bit, so he doesn’t really complain unless he’s trying to concentrate on something.)

• Compress will casually swipe up random items that the League leaves around and later might give them back depending on what it is. The other members can get varying levels of annoyed at this, but they don’t get too beat up about it considering Compress’s Quirk and personality. (This is how Toga lost her favorite lip gloss. She didn’t stop pouting for a week until Twice bought her another one.)

When he gets anxious or bored, he often resorts to simple hand tricks to keep himself entertained: fiddling around with his marbles, practicing simple card tricks, or practicing magic.

• Toga loves horror. Almost any horror. Especially guro. During movie nights with the League, as long as the movie has some form of mutilation and/or blood, she’s giving it her full attention. Adding to this, she really loves anything written by Junji Ito and has read Tomie about twenty times. Despite this, she has a soft spot for cutesy things and her aesthetic is Gurokawa. She definitely has a Gloomy Bear plush or two.

She definitely has a fondness for beauty products, given that she’s still just a normal girl despite her Quirk. This fact can make her really insecure, and she’s prone to depressive episodes just like anyone else in the League where she does herself up real pretty just to try and feel more ‘in tune’ with her femininity and less like the monster her parents saw her as. Magne helped with this a lot in the past, but now that she’s gone she relies more on the others to help cheer her up.

She is not above forcing the other League members into spa days. Shigaraki is the only one who doesn’t have to get a facial, though she does insist on painting his nails and doing his hair.

• Kurogiri’s mist/fog can get blown away quicker than he can create more, but only by a very strong wind. It’s hilarious. Shigaraki can’t stop teasing him for it.

Is not above using his Quirk to forcefully separate two squabbling parties, especially in the bar hideout.

When he’s bored, he does bar tricks, much to Toga’s delight.

Since quite a few League members are under drinking age, he always makes sure to have sparkling cider on hand.

He carries snacks and a first-aid kit every time the League goes out on a mission -- especially when it’s Shigaraki heading out. He really does care for the man and will be the first to hand him ointment whenever his skin gets really crumbly or damaged.

Has come to reluctantly see the League as people he worries for. That’s the closest to “hm yes these are my children now I must protect” that you’ll get.

He misses Magne for how sensible she could be. He appreciates Compress’s overall chill vibe and his being the voice of reason among their little group of mass murderers.

• Kurogiri and Magne were the League’s parental figures. You can’t fight me on this. (Kurogiri reluctantly, Magne enthusiastically.) Compress was more like the outgoing uncle that has a sense of humor nobody can really understand at first and was definitely a theater major in college.

• Shigaraki and Dabi love chicken nuggets. Every time someone brings home fast food, you can bet your ass they’ll have ordered like a fifty-piece chicken nugget meal from wherever sells that. Constantly have to deal with each other trying to swipe the other’s nuggets when they finish their own.

• Twice loves Vine compilations and can recite a worrying number of them from memory. He gets a kick out of the “A Bagel, Two Bagels” one for how much he relates to it.

• Before she died, Magne loved when Toga begged her to help her with makeup. It helped with her dysphoria when Toga would doll her up.

She loved window-shopping and imagining herself wearing some of the stylish clothes in shop windows.

Despite her cruel persona towards her enemies, Magne had a soft spot for elegant-cute things, kinda like Toga but a little less bloody.

• Muscular always challenges the other League members to arm-wrestling when he’s around. He always wins. The others have learnt not to accept his challenges, lest they want bruises/sprains.

• Mustard is very childish in his tastes. He loves chicken nuggets and mac n’ cheese. Provokes people by pulling his lower eyelid down and sticking his tongue at them. I can definitely imagine him muttering “Eat my shorts” or “Don’t have a cow, man” whenever another member is angry about something.

• In this household we pretend that Moonfish does not exist.

• If the League had Switches, you bet your ass they play Animal Crossing on them.

Toga would go for a ‘Aika Village’ aesthetic, all gloomy and creepy but with an undeniably cute element to it. Definitely wears pastels and gothic-themed clothing.

Shigaraki models his after his favorite RPG and hunts down NPCs that fit the personalities of the various characters. His favorite characters tend to be dogs. Will not hesitate to kick out any animal who fails his ‘vibe check’. Surprisingly, this game can calm him down almost as well as an RPG. Joycon drift is the bane of his existence.

Compress uses only the most glamorous, expensive items on his island. Outright refuses to use dirt paths. Uses only Snooty villagers.

Dabi wants his island to look the best and is uncharacteristically stern about how his island looks. Everything is very neat and streamlined (and he has an outdoor gym near his player’s home). Will physically fight anyone who tries to ruin it by littering or messing around on it. He has a rivalry with Compress about whose island looks the best.

Spinner doesn’t really care about how his island looks. He just wants to max out his encyclopedias. Shigaraki once caught him up at 3 AM because he was trying to catch a spider crab.

Kurogiri doesn’t play it that often, so his island is fairly undeveloped. Doesn’t really care about it, considering his responsibilities to the League overpower a video game.

Muscular doesn’t care about it at all and doesn’t play.

Mustard made his island look like something out of Harvest Moon or Stardew Valley; a town area, a forest, and even a beach.

#lov headcanons #league of villains

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footballcloud · 4 years

Text

Like Old Times - Anyone You’d Like

this is the first thing I’ve written in about a year now, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. I’m not sure how frequently I’ll post things and some might be longer than other. Happy reading my lovelies! Tell me who you imagined it with! xx

"I don't understand how someone could be on 'good terms' with an ex", your friend piped up, putting the phrase 'good terms' in air quotations, when the topic of your most recent relationship popped up in conversation. You playfully rolled your eyes given that she'd told you that a billion times already, along with several other people, but it wasn’t like the break up was messy. You two were still civil, there wasn’t any tension between you. So why couldn’t the two of you stay friends? "I don't feel the need to make an enemy out of every ex I have", you replied, earning a laugh from the other girls as you threw a wink her way since she had a reputation to be a bit of a firecracker, and everyone knew it.

"If this cocktail wasn't so damn expensive, you'd be wearing it", she retorted as you shot her a look as if to say 'yeah right'. She wasn't wrong about you still getting on with your ex though. He was still very much a part of your life. You'd text him good luck occasionally on a match day if it was a particularly big game, or if he'd scored, you even had notifications for his team turned on on your phone to see how they were getting on. His parents even sent you a card a bouquet of flowers for your birthday a few weeks ago. He became integrated into part of your routine and you didn't want to offset it. Clearly your girls were against it though, they were never a huge fan of his in the first place. Saying you could do better. Saying he wasn't the one. Saying that whilst keeping little rituals like that in your life was lovely and all, that you'd never get over him - but you were over him. Definitely. Nevertheless, they supported you through the breakup as if they'd never said a bad word about him. Although, you couldn't miss the unimpressed faces they pulled when he walked into the club with his a couple of teammates.

"What's he doing here?" One of them were quick to comment as he made his way in the direction of the bar to get in a round of drinks. "Probably come to celebrate the win", you struggled and diverted your eyes away from him in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact, that was the last thing you needed to throw you off the flow of a good night. "Of course you'd know", another one of your girls piped up and elbowed you in the ribbed mockingly, making your group laugh once again.

"I think it's mine turn to get drinks in, who wants what?" You slid out of the booth and grabbed your clutch from beside you. Your friends weren’t stupid, they knew exactly why you were so eager to get the drinks in but there was only so many times they could tell you that you weren’t right for each other.

"Passion fruit martini please" "Make that two!" "Vodka cranberry" "I think I'll pass this time, thanks" "Mines a rum and coke"

You nodded in an attempt to look like you'd remember what they'd just told you, but the second you properly laid eyes on him at the bar, their orders fell out your head almost instantly. He looked as good as he did the day you two broke it off. Dark ripped jeans, dark shirt with the top few buttons undone and sleeves cuffed a couple of times to show his arms that were glazed with a rich tan from his Dubai holiday that you'd seen plastered across his social media a few week ago, paired with silver watch that he'd bought himself last Christmas on his left wrist and grey trainers with hair styled neatly like it always was.

'Jesus Christ, keep your shit together', you scolded yourself for staring for too long but before you could tear your gaze away from him, he'd caught you in the act.

"You haven't change a bit, darling", a smug grin appeared on his face, using your pet name that you hadn't heard in months, as he rested a hand on your back, making you suddenly deeply regret your choice to wear a backless dress when you jolted under his warm touch. "Looking gorgeous, as ever", he added and leaned down a little further meaning you could smell the familiar scent of his cologne and fabric softer of his shirt when you inhaled heavily to compose yourself. You’d intended on going over to him, but the thought process hadn’t got as far as to what you were going to say to him, nor did you know why you felt the need to interrupt your girls night out to see him.

"Thank you, congrats on the win this afternoon", you replied, thanking him for his compliment that could have easily been mistaken for a flirty comment. ‘You haven’t changed either’, you thought when his arms tenced slightly when he leaned against the bar, allowing yourself a subtle glance over him - but eager to not fall for his charm a second time so changed the topic of conversation quickly. "Thanks, darling. How have you been?" You made polite conversation for a while, just like old times. With the drinks order for your group of friends long forgotten and presumably the same for him, you made your way outside with him as he guided you through a back exit, his hand still on your back.

"Seeing anyone new?" He asked out of the blue, initiating a conversation that you really didn't want to discuss with him and it confused you as to why he'd brought up the topic all of a sudden. "Nope, not been seeing anyone for months", you popped the 'p' on nope. Your response made him raise his eyebrows at you, pulling an expression that, even after an 18 month long relationship, you couldn't read what it meant. You weren’t going to tell him that he was in fact the last person you’d seen as that might give off the wrong message that you weren’t over him.

"What about you? Surely you've had girls practically throwing themselves at you?" You scoff involuntarily, sounding overly bitter. Yuck. Clearly your comment caught him off guard because it was one of the few times his cool, calm demeanour had flaked away, resulting in you looking flustered. "No one actually, how could I when I see pictures on your Instagram of you looking that good". He eyed you up and down, shamelessly flirting with you, passing the flustered feeling over to you as you shifted under his gaze for a second as he took in your appearance better than he could when you were in the club. Strappy heels that he knew hurt your feet but made your legs look incredible, that short backless dress that he'd be thinking of taking off you since the second he laid eyes on you, hair curled at the ends so it bounced below your shoulders blades and light makeup, because you had no one to impress - or so you thought when you left your apartment.

"If you didn't like it, you know where the unfollow button is", you told him, trying not to sound defensive. "Who said I didn't like it?" He was quick to throw back his response with his signature smile plastered on his face, the same smile that had you falling for him the first time. Whilst you mustered up something to say, he began to lean in closer again allowing you to inhale the same familiar mixture of scents that intoxicated you less than an hour ago. You watched his eyes flutter shut with parted lips as his head tilted to the side, it was a natural reaction of yours to mirror his actions as you leaned in closer too. His hand on your back pressed more firmly against it to pull you closer whilst one of yours instinctively went to run through his hair and then settle on the back of his neck. The kiss was tentative, neither of you really wanted to take control in fear of losing the other one again.

“I’ve missed this”, he said as he continued to move his lips against yours, snaking his hand round to rest on your waist. You pulled away from his abruptly after that and leant your forehead on his. “Don’t say or do anything you might regret. It’s the alcohol talking”, you stated and looked at him, lips almost touching again. “You saw me walk in, I’ve not had a drink all night”, he told you and pulled away so the warmth of his body no longer comforted you as the atmosphere around you both suddenly became heavy. He was right though. You were the only one that was intoxicated after a few shots and two cocktails.

“I want you back”, he confirmed bluntly and tried to make eye contact with you but you denied him. “Okay - but we need to talk about this, not here”, you gestured to him, he nodded in agreement as a group of people stumbled out of the door, after clearly consuming more alcohol than they could handle. It had also started to drizzle slightly, the moisture weighing down the loose curls in your hair. “Come back to mine? Please?” His gaze still on you when you met his eyes but were deep in thought given his invitation. You weren’t prepared to let him smooth talk you into his bed like you knew he was capable of doing, and catch feelings again, only resulting in you tearing yourself apart again when he dips out of your life. Over the months that you’d been apart, you’d learnt your own worth - he wasn’t going to have you that easily.

“Okay”, you nodded as a grin appeared on his face. “But only to talk”, you added making him laugh and sling an arm round your shoulder. “Of course, babe. What else?” He raised an eyebrow at you and threw you a cheek wink before knocking on the window of a taxi that was parked nearby. “Have I told you how good you look in that dress?” You jabbed him in the ribs and rolled yours eyes, hoping that the dim streetlights would hide your blushes. “Don’t you dare say what I know you going to!” You warned him, knowing he was going to make a comment about how he thought the dress would look better on his bed room floor. He threw his head back as a laugh left his lips whilst a hand casually fell onto your thigh when he sat down next to you, just like it had done hundreds of times before. You laced your fingers over his, content with the company you were in.

#ben chilwell #football imagine #james maddison #kai havertz #mason mount #christian pulisic #dele #harry winks #jason sancho #jack grealish #dominic calvert lewin #tyrone mings #premier league #footballer imagine #trent alexander arnold #jude bellingham #marcus rashford #eric dier #john stones

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cafedanslanuit · 4 years

Text

↪ commissioned work! for more info about my commissions, check my blog ♡

summary: it’s been a while since you arrived at devildom and made yourself feel at home, but asmodeus still can’t figure out why you always looks really tired. a late night visit gives him the opportunity to solve the mystery once and for all.

pairing: asmodeus x reader

warnings: none <3

words: 2k

Asmodeus sat in front of his giant boudoir and let out a long sigh. He stretched his arms to the ceiling, feeling tension release with a few cracking sounds from his back. He grabbed one of his makeup remover tissues and started softly wiping the makeup off his face. His mascara faded a little under his eyes as he did so, making it appear like he had bags under his eyes.

He couldn’t help but think about you.

At first, he had thought they were hereditary. Your eye bags were the first thing he noticed about your face. Your face structure was beautiful and your eyes gleamed whenever you laughed, yet the thing that first struck him was how tired you looked. His hypothesis of it being hereditary crumbled down when he noticed you falling asleep during classes, almost matching Belphie in how many times Lucifer had had to loudly clear his throat to make you wake up with a youepish smile.

Once his face was clear of makeup, Asmodeus threw the tissue away. He grabbed his bottle of tonic and put some on a cotton pad, softly patting his skin. Knowing you were into the same videogames Levi was, he figured you may have been spending too much time after hours playing them.

His second theory was disproved when weeks later, after sharing a table with the third oldest and you, he overheard Levi complaining about how you didn’t have time for him anymore and warned you you would lose your ranking in the game if you kept missing your daily missions. You excused herself and blamed it on the amount of French homework you had. Asmodeus stayed silent, even if you were taking the same class he was and he knew for a fact there hadn’t been any homework for weeks. He still wasn’t as close to you as he was now, so he decided to indulge you a little and keep your dirty little secret.

That was how his curiosity started. Even if he wouldn’t tell anybody, he had to know what were you hiding. What was that you desired that was enough for you to lose sleep.

Asmodeus set the toner aside and grabbed his vitamin C serum. He poured a few drops on his palm, rubbing his fingers together before applying it to his skin.

He started to spend more time with you in order to discover what was going on. Even if that was his plan from the start, he ended up befriending you and enjoying the times they got to be together. Not realizing he was actually following you, you had started feeling more at ease with him, and shared stories about your life back on Earth. You had apparently been a very diligent person and were in charge of a lot of activities in the different groups you were a part of. One day, while having some ice cream after a long day of class, you confessed to him you had two younger siblings, a pair of twins that were four years old and the apple of your eyes. It suddenly made sense how motherly you were to the demon twins, always making sure there was enough food for Beelzebub and sharing your lap when Belphie was sleepy and wanted to take a nap while you were reading in the living room. He learnt you were very mature, always providing Satan with advice to manage his temper and had even shared conversations with Lucifer, helping him with time management.

Asmodeus days with you were filled with laughter, tea, ice cream and, of course, your tired eyes that remained a mystery. He took his eye cream and started applying it, pursing his lips in frustration as he hadn’t found out the reason behind your tiredness. He was about to open his moisturizer cream when he heard soft knocks on his door. He walked to the door and opened it to reveal you wearing your pajamas with a shy smile on your face.

“Hey Asmo,” you greeted. He smiled back at you.

“Hey beautiful, what’s up?”

“Uh, I remembered you mentioned you had lavender candles? I was wondering if you could lend me one,” you said, putting your arms on your back and softly swaying your body.

“Sure, sure,” Asmo said, letting you inside his bedroom as he walked to the shelf filled with different candles. “I never knew you were into candles as well”

“Oh, I heard they were relaxing so I wanted to try it out,” you shrugged, sitting on the edge on Asmo’s bed. You bounced a little, giggling at how soft it was.

“Having trouble falling asleep?” he asked, trying to sound as casual as he could. His eyes were still occupied looking for that candle, so even though he missed your expression, the silence after his question let him know you were preparing a lie.

“A little? It’s okay, though, I just promised Mammon I would try and jog with him tomorrow so I wanted to be able to rest before that,” you said, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. “It’s okay if you don’t have the candle, though, just thought it would be nice.”

Asmodeus finally found the lavender candle and turned on his heel. He walked to the bed and sat beside you, holding the item in his hands.

“Are you sure?” he asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Yeah,” you smiled, your eyes not meeting him.

“You know I can sense when people really want something, right?” he asked in a teasing tone. “I feel you really desire something right now. And my gut tells me it’s not my lavender candle.”

Asmodeus noticed you tensing up for a couple of seconds before letting go with a long sigh. You passed your hand through your hair and finally looked back at him, your smile no longer bright but rather sad, as if you had finally been found out after doing a prank.

“I haven’t been sleeping well recently, to be honest,” you admitted. “I’ve tried almost everything and nothing seems to work. Seems nothing can replace it-- I mean,” you quickly corrected yourself, your face burning. “Nothing can help me with it. The falling asleep part,” you clarified, your eyes again on the floor.

“I heard you!” Asmodeus teased you, scooting closer. “C’mon, I won’t judge you. You know me,” he said, a friendly smile on his face. You turned your head at him and sighed once more.

“I… I always slept with a teddy bear a friend won for me at a fair. And… when I came here I realized it was really pivotal in helping me sleep,” you said, your words too fast and low, but good enough for Asmodeus to listen. “But I’m okay! It’s just my head messing up with me. It may be the bed, I can ask Lucifer if I can somehow change the mattress and--”

“I know what could help,” Asmodeus interrupted you, a knowing grin on his face. He quickly got up the bed and walked back to his boudoir, taking his softest brush and then kneeling on his bed behind you.

With care, he passed the brush across your hair, earning a pleased sigh from your lips. Contently, he did it again, taking his time to detangle your hair as soft as he could. His brush made your hair shine and turn soft in a matter of minutes, but he kept brushing it for quite longer. You were quiet, and he noticed how you were nodding off at his ministrations, too focused on relaxing under his touch. He then let the brush on the bed and started massaging your scalp with his fingertips, loving the way your head seemed to lean into his hand, your shoulders way more relaxed than they were when you first got into his bedroom.

“This is so relaxing,” you mumbled in a haze. Asmodeus smiled behind you, feeling accomplished.

“And I’m not done yet,” he announced with a giggle. He put the brush back in his place and then took his items from his nightly skincare routine. Sitting next to you again, he grabbed a cotton pad and poured some of his cleanser. Even if you weren’t wearing any makeup, he wanted to make sure your skin was as fresh as possible. You chuckled as he took his time taking care of your skin, letting him use all the creams and oils he had brought to the bed. You weren’t sure what most of them were for, but you did notice the difference when he was finally done. Your skin felt clean and so soft you kept running your fingers across your cheek to feel it.

As a response, Asmodeus took your hand and started massaging it with some moisturizer.

“Don’t touch your skin so much or you’ll get it oily again,” he teased, massaging the pulse point between your index and thumb. You hadn’t noticed your hands had been to tense before.

“You are the best, Asmo,” you breathed out with a content smile. He winked at you, earning a chuckle.

It was almost half an hour later when Asmodeus finished pampering you with his different creams. For the first time since you had arrived at Devildom, your eyes were getting tired with every minute that went by. You finally let out a yawn and stretched your arms in front of your chest.

“Thank you, this was what I needed. I feel so relaxed I don’t want to walk back to my room,” you pouted. Asmodeus was putting back everything to its place when he listened to you, and an idea struck his mind.

“You can stay here. This isn’t a queen size bed for nothing,” he offered. You looked back at him and he loved the way your cheeks were noticeable red. Even if what you were thinking wasn’t an idea he would be opposed to, he wanted you to know it wasn’t his goal for the night.

“What? Really?”

“Definitely. C’mon, it’ll be like a sleepover,” he said. You stayed in silence for a moment, considering your options, the demon staring back at you with a small smile.

“Okay, I’ll stay tonight,” you accepted. Grinning, Asmodeus turned off the lights. His night lamp was on, giving his room a cosy ambience.

Both of you got under the sheets, a small distance between you. You sighed happily against Asmodeus’ soft pillow.

“Thank you for not laughing at me,” you whispered, your eyes closed.

“I would never,” he replied, turning to face you. “If you need to snuggle anything, I smell good and love late night cuddling,” he added, your eyes opening wide immediately.

“Don’t make fun of me!” you pouted, covering your face with your hands.

“I’m not!” he assured you. “I mean it. We both smell like fancy cream and our skin is as soft as it can be. If you were used to hugging your teddy bear back home, I have nothing against you snuggling up to me. It would definitely help me sleep better too,” he said. You peaked between your fingers and saw Asmodeus’ honest smile. You took a deep breath and uncovered your face. Looking at his eyes, you nodded and got closer to him.

What started as a shy hand on top of his chest turned into a full-body hug once you fell asleep. He knew you needed your rest but was still surprised it had happened so fast. You must have been really tired. With his free hand, he put a rebel strand of hair away from your face, not wanting anything to disturb your sleep.

You were strikingly beautiful. He had always thought you were, but somehow seeing you in your most vulnerable state, your arms and legs wrapped around his body made him see you in a tender light he hadn’t noticed before.

Asmodeus grazed his lips against your forehead and whispered an almost inaudible good night wish. The smile you had painted on his face lasted until the very last second before he fell asleep as well.

#obey me #om #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus x mc #asmodeus x reader #om asmodeus #om asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo #obey me scenarios #obey me headcanons #allie does commissions

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

Humility

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, mentions of misogyny; this story will get darker as it progresses. Words: 1380. Summary: Everything was too different now. He fell out of time, and he didn’t need another reminder about that. P.S. Yeah, I know Sam in this one is more like Anthony Mackie, but this man is just incredible! And yep, the question Bucky asks the reader is the exact question Sebastian Stan was asked during one of his interviews. _____________________________________ Bucky never felt so stupid in his entire life. Sitting at the counter in probably the fanciest club in New York, he stared down at his glass filled with whiskey. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, and all those ridiculously dressed people around him didn’t make him feel any better. Bucky had no right to object, though, since he felt he was even more ridiculous than any of them. He wore that expensive black suit Sam got him – they spent the whole fucking day trying to find something that would fit his massive body – as if he were a businessman of some kind. He let out a dark chuckle when Sam said it out loud. Bucky didn’t look like a businessman, he looked like a bloody mob.

It was Sam’s idea to get him acquainted with NY nightlife when he learnt Bucky was going to the same small bar close to his house after every mission. Barnes didn’t protest much thinking it might be a nice change, but it was not even close to be as good as he had imagined. It was nothing like before. The music was wild, too rhythmic, thundering, getting on his nerves. How could they dance to this? Although the way people moved was making him sick too. Yelling, spinning around themselves, shaking their asses – it was utterly disgusting. The only good thing was lack of light since Bucky couldn’t see all the sodomy.

He expected everything to change, but it was like a completely different planet. Where were all those nice slow dances? Where was the intimacy between the dancing couples, gentle touches, and humble smiles? These people behind his back were grinding on each other like fucking dogs.

Bucky emptied his glass in one shot and looked at his expensive watch he got from Natasha and wore for the first time. This place was getting on his nerves, and he intended to leave in the very next minute after paying for his drink.

“Enjoying yourself, man?” Sam’s jolly voice forced Bucky to turn around and see him with a group of pretty women, all wearing flashy revealing outfits and shiny jewellery, their hair and makeup done as if they were some fashion models.

Though in his time models looked way more reserved than that.

“I do.” He said in a firm voice, and Sam immediately read through the lines. “Didn’t know you were a ladies’ man.”

Women he brought started laughing at his remark, their skin glistening in the warm light coming from pendant lamps above the counter. One of them had her hand on Sam’s arm just above his elbow. Were they prostitutes? Bucky watched them intently.

“It’s all my natural charm,” the man winked to the girl close to him, and she sent him a smug grin.

God, females became too full of themselves. Bucky didn’t hate bold women, but there was a huge difference between a girl like Peggy Carter and these narcissistic sex-obsessed furies.

“Don’t be fooled by his façade, this gentleman over here is a great guy and my best buddy!” Grinning, Sam patted him on the shoulder. “His name’s Bucky, we’ve been serving together for quite some time.”

These women started saying hello and introducing themselves, but he didn’t care for any names. His memory was too precious to waste it on this.

Then they were talking about some stupid things like why they were here – one of the girls got a promotion, and Bucky was almost sure it had nothing to do with her being a hard worker – and what they did for a living. Sam briefly mentioned both of them were in Air Force before but didn’t push it. Then all of them had more drinks, and then they talked again, and drank again. Bucky thought he was rather unlucky: if he could get drunk, he wouldn’t need to listen to all this bullshit.

“Hey, let’s go dance!” The woman Sam took liking to pulled him by the arm gently, and he smiled at her. “Are you coming, girls?”

“Sure!” Most of them were ready, leaving their empty glasses on the counter. “Are you, Bucky?”

He shook his head apologetically, thinking of nothing but leaving this place and never coming back again. Everything was too different now. He fell out of time, and he didn’t need another reminder about that.

Most of women had already left when he ordered his last glass of whiskey. There was one of them sitting close to him and smiling to her friends dancing. Apparently, she drank too much to move from her spot. When she realized he was looking at her, she suddenly got all red and turned away from the crowd, staring in her half-empty glass of champagne.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.” She said slightly embarrassed. “I just don’t dance much.”

“You’re not bothering me.” Bucky replied shortly and made a sip of whiskey, burning his throat again. Her closeness almost annoyed him. “Why don’t you dance?”

“I don’t know. It’s just… I don’t feel very comfortable.”

Interesting. He glanced at the girl in a long sequined dress, her knees covered by a strange shining fabric. Her cleavage wasn’t on display either. Although her outfit was too extravagant to his tastes, she looked the most modest among her friends. She was probably the humblest one, too, since he couldn’t remember her speaking much.

“Besides, I can only waltz. I don’t think I can fit in here with my dancing skills.” She laughed a little and took her glass, watching the little bubbles going upwards inside.

Waltz. He remembered dancing a waltz with his mother when he was a kid, stamping on her feet constantly. Regardless how clumsy he was, she kept teaching him until his legs were sore, but he was grateful for her lessons later. Girls loved dancing with him.

“Me neither.” He smirked, and she stared at him with wide eyes. “In fact, I’m not a big fan of places like this.”

The girl smiled again, and he find himself smiling back at her. Maybe coming with Sam wasn’t as bad as he thought. Beautiful women like her never payed him any attention in normal circumstances.

In the next few minutes, he found himself talking to her about some small things like favourite music and movies the two of them watched not so long ago. To his pleasant surprise, she liked old Hollywood movies – the ones that came out after he had been captured, but still old – and their charm. She said those movies had a soul, and Bucky couldn’t agree more. Sam took him to the cinema multiple times, but most modern blockbusters, thrillers and fantasy movies felt empty and too unreal to relate.

“My most favourite one is “12 Angry Men”, I think. Have you seen it?”

“Guess I did. It’s about 12 juries deciding upon whether a kid is a murderer or not, am I right?”

“Yeah, exactly!” Her face was glowing, and he found himself staring at her excited expression. “Don’t you think it’s impressive that almost all the action took place in one small room? It was nothing but pure actors’ skills that made this movie so good. It had neither special effects nor big budget comparing to movies today, and yet nothing could compare to it.”

For a few seconds he was just watching her, her cheeks pink from slight embarrassment and the alcohol she had. He strangely adored the way she spoke and how she looked at him while explaining why she was so passionate about the movie. Maybe she had too much makeup on her face, but he could easily wipe it off her face. He could take her fancy dress off and see her perfectly human body, no different than any other women’ of his time. She would moan beneath him like a few of them did, too. And the next morning he could give her another dress and dance a waltz with her like all those years ago.

“What is the first thing you see in a person?” He asked abruptly, and she blinked, seemingly uncomfortable but still ready to give him an answer right away.

“Humility. And… and kindness.”

He chuckled. She was definitely the one.

#bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier

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