#so i could try to make a lot of money with holiday jobs and part time maybe i could earn like 6k until then | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

callmeagardengnome · 2 months

Text

˚ʚ paint my world ɞ˚ | SONG MINGI

pairings ᯓ idol!mingi x painter! fem!reader

genre ᯓ soulmate au, one-shot

synopsis ᯓ you’ve been seeing in black and white for all your life - until a popular idol comes in and changes things

w.c ᯓ 2.7k

author’s note: make sure to like and repost!!

not proofread!

masterlist

blue. you’ve never seen blue before.

you stood in front of the clothing rack in shock, trying to process what you were looking at.

from the moment you were born, you were cursed by your soulmark. colour was something that was foreign to you, something that didn’t seem real. you never understood why your friends would fight over certain crayons or when people looked up to the sky, admiring its beauty - it all looked the same to you.

as depressing as it sounds, seeing in black and white wasn’t too bad. you weren’t distracted by the things around you and you could actually focus in school for the most part.

sure, you had a few awkward moments. like when you wore a completely mismatched outfit - highlighter yellow shirt paired with murky orange pants and pastel pink shoes. if anything, it taught you a learning lesson to always ask your parents for fashion advice.

ironically, you became a painter after you graduated. you were always a creative kid and being colourblind wasn’t going to hold you back from releasing your works into the universe.

you slowly rose to fame, with your artworks capturing the eyes of millions around the world. you even managed to earn a lot of money from it, leading you to buy more supplies for your job.

you stood up from your chair, cracking your back. you’ve been working on this certain art piece for at least 7 hours and you decided to finally take a break. it’s been a while since you’ve painted - you took a short holiday to one of your favourite countries which led you to forget the long hours of sitting down.

you reached for your phone, dialling your best friend’s number.

“hello?” your best friend’s voice echoed in the room.

“i’m boredd,” you groaned out, flopping onto your bed. “can we do something?”

she chuckled. “i’m guessing you’re done painting?”

“i’m taking a break,” you said, shifting, making yourself more comfortable.

“if you want, i can pick you up and we can go shopping?” your best friend suggested, her voice sounding more excited.

“you know me so well,” you replied, hanging up almost immediately. you ran to your closet and picked out a simple outfit, one that you knew matched each other.

you scrolled through your phone, waiting for your best friend to text you. when she finally came to pick you up, the both of you went to your favourite shopping centre, looking at the different stores.

that was what led you to.. blue? pink? yellow?

in all honesty, you had no idea of what colour you were looking at. when your best friend decided to stop at a random clothing store, you thought that it wouldn’t hurt to look around a little bit. while she was in the women’s section, you went over to the men’s section - you never know if they have better clothes.

you browsed through the selection of clothes mindlessly until a shirt caught your eye. “ayo what-“

you went closer to the shirt, one that stood out in a vibrant colour against the monochrome background. you touched the sleeves, the material. it was alien to you. for all of your life, everything was in greyscale. you’ve never seen anything as bright, or beautiful as this shirt that was in front you. you took a moment to inspect the shirt, wanting to imprint the colour into your mind. after all, you never know the next time you would see actual colour.

“‘____’?”

you turned to look at your best friend, who stood a few steps away from you, looking confused.

“…are you okay?” she asked cautiously, not knowing why you looked so stunned.

“dude-“ you coughed out, glancing between the shirt and your best friend. “i can see colour.”

her jaw dropped. “wait- really? can you see the colour of my shoes?” she pointed at her shoes eagerly, nearly dropping the pile of clothes she was carrying.

“well- no..” you replied, disappointed. “but i can see the colour of this shirt..?”

“hm..” your best friend hummed, moving closer to you. she awkwardly reached into her pocket, before starting to google about your soulmark.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

when mingi found out that ATEEZ was going on tour, he wasn’t exactly thrilled. of course, he was happy that he got to meet the international ATINY, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed that he couldn’t properly enjoy the trip.

to him, he didn’t really see the fun in leaving the country, or even going outside. everything looked the same to him. no matter what, he couldn’t see the true beauty of the things around him - so what was the point of feeling excited to go overseas?

mingi flinched when the lights shined intensely in the plane. he slept throughout the entire plane ride, not even bothering to look outside the windows. he absentmindedly followed his group, trailing behind everyone as they got off the plane.

“what..?” his thoughts echoed in his head as he looked around at the airport.

it was.. bright. unusually bright.

it was almost comical how bright the airport was - it even hurt his eyes. he had to blink a couple of times to make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating.

he stopped following the group, taking in his surroundings. was this what normal people saw?

everything was so.. vibrant and bold. he couldn’t even comprehend that people could see this on the daily and not talk about it more. sure, he bumped into a few people by stopping suddenly, but that didn’t matter - in fact, nothing else mattered. mingi could see colour, and he wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.

“dude are you okay?” yunho snapped his fingers in front of mingi, finally catching his attention.

mingi furrowed his eyebrows, hitting yunho’s hand away from his face. yunho looked at mingi, concerned. “we’ve been calling you for the past five minutes, why are you standing in the middle of nowhere?”

mingi turned away from yunho, shifting his eyes around the airport. “i can see colour.”

a collective ‘WHAT’ was heard from the group as they gathered around mingi, attacking him with questions.

“i don’t know, maybe this airport is just.. different?” mingi said, unsure.

“does that mean your soulmate is here?” wooyoung asked, looking at his members curiously.

“maybe,” seonghwa shrugged, typing in his phone. “i just googled it, apparently you can see colour of the objects your soulmate touches or the places they’ve been in often.”

yunho whistled. “that means your soulmate in the same city as us,” he said, nudging mingi.

mingi smiled, running his fingers through his hair. “how long are we staying here again?”

“..four days?”

“i only have four days to find my soulmate?” mingi exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock. “how am i supposed to do that?”

“i mean.. we have one rest day..?”

mingi groaned, his face in his hands. he was so caught up with the thought of finding his soulmate that tour completely left his mind. he had spent all of his life in black and white and he didn’t want to return back to that.

mingi asked his members to teach him the different colours. he ended up learning that colour can have different hues, brightness and he didn’t want to stop being surrounded by these colours.

unfortunately, they had to leave the airport due to their packed schedule. everything became ten times more boring. the cars passing by, the trees, the pavement, nothing interested him anymore.

his member’s obviously noticed his change in mood and did a small detour to a nearby shopping centre. they wandered around, going to different stores, looking at the different items the city had to offer.

mingi cheered up a bit when he entered a clothing store that was his style. he made a beeline to the men’s section and tried on a shirt that he liked. unluckily, his manager had to drag him to the car, preventing him from buying the shirt.

luckily for you though, fate brought you to the shirt. you unhooked it from the rack, bringing it closer to your face.

“what colour is this?” you asked your best friend.

“it’s blue,” she answered with a wide grin on her face, barely containing her excitement.

you nodded, unable to take your eyes off of the shirt. “where is blue found?”

“the sky,” she said eagerly. “the ocean too, it’s really beautiful.”

she added, “blue is normally used for sadness though. a lot of films portray it that way.”

you didn’t know that a beautiful colour like blue, could be associated with such a depressing emotion. it didn’t make sense to you.

however, you put off your feelings of confusion. now wasn’t the time to question these sorts of things. now was the time to find your soulmate.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

it was day 3 of ATEEZ being in your city. with each day passing by, mingi felt more and more anxious. he hated the fact that he didn’t have time to find you and how he had to spend most of his time performing.

obviously, he was extremely grateful that he got to meet his fans, but there was a part of him that always felt irritated.

not only that, on the day that he was planning on resting, he got interrupted.

“shouldn’t you ask someone else?” mingi asked, raising an eyebrow.

“no one here likes art,” hongjoong groaned, sitting next to mingi. “i get that you’re colourblind but pleasee accompany me.”

hongjoong was begging mingi to follow him to an art museum. there was art exhibition going on that was intriguing to hongjoong - but unfortunately, was not interesting to his members. this led to hongjoong asking his colourblind member as a last resort to follow him to the museum.

“maybe you can find your soulmate there,” hongjoong mentioned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“i doubt it,” mingi scoffed. “but you know what? i’ll follow you.. cuz i’m a good friend.”

hongjoong rolled his eyes before running off to get ready for the art exhibition.

˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆｡☆ ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆˚ʚɞ ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

you looked at yourself in the mirror, debating what outfit to wear. should you go casual? formal? after a year of working on it, the launch of your art exhibition was finally here. it was an important milestone in your life and you did not want to mess it up.

you sighed, walking over to your closet. your eyes immediately landed on the vibrant blue shirt hanging on the side of your dull wardrobe. was this the right choice? it was a nice shirt, and it did feel nice to know what colour you were wearing for once.

after considering it, you grabbed the shirt from the rack and hurriedly put it on. you needed to make it to the museum quick - after all, you didn’t want to be late to such an important event.

you booked a taxi to the museum, going over to where your artworks were stationed. you looked at your art pieces in pride, unable to stop yourself from smiling wildly at them.

mingi and hongjoong reached the museum slightly later than they wanted to. they had to squeeze through the swarm of art enthusiasts crowding at the front of the exhibition.

when the two men finally reached the start of the exhibition, they’re eyes widened in shock. while hongjoong was impressed by your artistic talents, mingi’s jaw was on the ground for a different reason.

it was fully coloured.

he’s never seen a coloured picture before, let alone a painting. when he glanced over at the other art pieces, he noticed that they were too, coloured vividly.

“why- why is this coloured?” mingi muttered to himself, moving closer to the painting.

“you can see this?” hongjoong asked in surprise.

mingi nodded, walking over to another painting. “yeah.. all of the paintings actually.”

the two of them stood in silence, both thinking about what this could mean.

“dude- is the artist your soulmate?” hongjoong exclaimed, staring at mingi with wide eyes. “you can see colour of the objects your soulmate touch right?”

“uhuh..”

“you need to find her,” hongjoong said, squeezing mingi’s arm. “it’s the first day of the exhibition, she’s 100% here.”

mingi wasn’t prepared at all to meet you. the idea of even being in the same area as you terrified him. he was thinking about finding you on their last day in the city, he hadn’t even finished planning out what he wanted to say to you.

unfortunately, hongjoong pushed mingi away, forcing him to look for you.

mingi had zero clue of what you looked like - he had no idea of who he was looking for. after a while, he noticed that one of his shoe laces were untied and kneeled down to tie them. that was when he noticed something strange.

he saw blue-coloured footsteps littered all over the ground. he quickly stood up, looking around the room like a madman. at first, he was was searching for you without any real evidence of you being at the museum, but now, everything changed.

you were actually there, and he was going to do his best to find you.

as creepy as it sounds, mingi followed your footsteps, trying to trace where you were going. it was obvious that you were frantically running around the museum, for reasons that he did not know.

while mingi was trying his hardest to find you, you were trying your hardest to prevent any issues from happening. there had been certain entry problems or people requesting you to explain some of your artworks, which led you to scurry around the museum.

your eyes were glued to your clipboard that had all of the things you needed to take note of jotted down. you were so focused that you accidentally bumped into someone.

“sorry-“ you apologised quickly.

mingi picked up your clipboard and handed it to you. not expecting much of the interaction, he almost immediately moved away from you until.. you made eye contact.

the world around you seemed to stop.

the colours came in gradually at first - the blush of red in your cheeks, the rich colours in your eyes, the vibrant blue of your shirt. it was like the first brushstrokes of a painting, the colours spread and bloomed, saturating everything around you.

you blinked, staring at the man in front of you. the moment you locked eyes with him, you knew. he was the one - your missing piece. your soulmate.

“hey,” he spoke up, his deep voice surprising you slightly.

“hi..” you replied, barely above a whisper.

the both of you stood up, the universe revealing itself to you. for the first time, you saw the world in its true beauty - it was alive.

the museum held different hues, different shades of colours you could barely recognise, each colour filling you with a joy you didn’t know you could feel.

mingi smiled. “i can’t believe it,” he said softly. “it’s so.. beautiful.”

you could feel tears welling up in your eyes, your emotions bubbling to the surface. “it really is,” you said, unable to pull your gaze away from him.

mingi wiped the tear rolling down your face, pulling you closer to him.

“you’re so pretty..” he muttered, studying your face.

there was a pause - one that was comfortable. the two of you stared into each other’s eyes, not wanting to look away.

“can i try something?” mingi asked, tilting your jaw up.

your heart raced as a blush crept up to your cheeks. “sure,” you replied, feeling a flutter in your chest.

mingi leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to back away if you wanted to. but you didn’t. instead, you closed the distance between the two of you with your lips meeting in a tender kiss.

the world around you seem to overflow with colour, with the blue in your shirt mixing with the brown of his jacket. the colours in your paintings swirled, creating a beautiful illusion of contrast.

the both of you pulled back, smiling at each other. you saw his warm brown eyes, his hair and how his cheeks were dusted with a light pink.

“i’m so glad i found you,” he said, tracing his thumb across your jaw. “i don’t feel so blue anymore.”

any and all feedback appreciated <3

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series taglist [OPEN] - @jiwoongsblondehair @hwasbabygirl @chngbnwf @passerbyforfun @butterfliesinthesky @ismelllikechlorine247 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @forever-atiny @arki-sha

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jkslipppiercing · 9 months

Text

So show me | Part 1 | jjk

♡ summary: your boyfriend has always been a fan of PDA, unlike you.

♡ genre: angsty, not really fluffy, a lot of frustration, miscommunication

♡ pairing: boyfriend!jk, frustrated!jk, whipped!jk

♡ warnings: oc is self-conscious, both of them are severely frustrated, not much in this lol, little bit of cursing, y/n is super horny, suggestive content.

♡ WC: 2.5K.

♡ a/n: well hello again! i'm back lol. this is the first part of the "show me" series! i hope you like it <333 this is my first go at angst, and im trying to ease myself into it 😭😭 i have zero clue as to what im doing please help <3

▪︎ general taglist

▪︎ index

▪︎ previous/next

enjoy!!

"That'll be $22.50."

You smile sweetly at the cashier, opening your purse to pay.

Handing over the money with a grin, you thank her.

"Can I get it gift-wrapped, please? That would be great."

Christmas is about a week away, and the holiday vibes are clear as stockings and ornaments hang on every wall of the store. Decorated christmas trees shine with bright colorful lights and the festivity of the shop you're in makes you feel warm on the inside, in addition to the amazing smell of cinnamon.

On that note...why does it smell so good in here?

Christmas has always been your favorite holiday, multiple reasons why. one of the many is spending time with your loved ones...and buying them gifts.

Something about seeing them so happy just makes you feel happier by ten-fold.

The cashier smiles in return before she nods, holding the item as she turns her back to you and starts wrapping.

Meanwhile, you take the time to admire the little details of every single decoration-taking it all in- just when you feel a presence behind you.

Jungkook steps close, engulfing you in a tight embrace and humming softly. You welcome the feeling of security, humming back at his body warmth as he back-hugs you.

"Hey baby."

you giggle. "Hi."

"You done shopping?" He asks from above you, his chin pressing into the tip of your head. He had drifted off earlier on and left you to do your shopping, telling you to call for him if you needed any help.

"Yep. I asked for gift wrapping. Should be done in a few."

"Mmm, good."

Jungkook hums, dipping his head down. he inches towards your neck, resting into the crook of it and humming in a deeper- more suggestive- manner.

The sole sound has you kind of- blushing? Even though your cheeks never got that red, your eyes water and your breath hitches. You call it 'blushing' in your book.

He always does that kind of hum when you're doing a good job pleasing him...stuffing his cock-

His hands that were once wrapped around your arms and trapping you now release, only to circle around your waist instead, this time more intimately.

You love these kinds of moments, though you can't help but notice that the cashier is almost done wrapping your gift.

You find your eyes glued to her movements, almost anxious.

Jungkook's hand inshes dangerously close to your tit, and you grow slightly self-conscious in response, eyes still set strictly on the cashier's hands.

Her seeing you and your boyfriend in this situation would be kind of...awkward?

It's not that you don't appreciate the affection, you've just been more of a private person. Always loved to show love when alone, but never been a fan to do so publicly.

Jungkook, though? If PDA (Public Display of Affection) was a person? It would definitely be him.

Trying to voice out your thoughts, you whisper to him.

"Jungkook."

"Hm?" Again, that oh-so-beautifully-deep hum.

Fuck.

He snuggles his head even deeper into the crook of your neck, making it harder for you to think.

"We're in public."

He raises his head a tad bit, so you can hear him better.

"We're the only people here."

"Still, the employee could find it uncomfortable-"

"Are you uncomfortable?"

You're not.

You love jungkook.

Of course you're not uncomfortable.

You just care about people's opinions...a little too much.

Privacy is your thing, and you've always stuck to it- making sure not to make anybody feel a certain type of-

"Oh."

When you take too long to respond, your bad habit of overthinking the simplist of things pulling you under, jungkook's arms slip and waver.

He stays silent.

Jungkook was never silent.

He completely untangles and detaches himself from you.

"That's not-" You try to explain yourself, but the cashier beats you to it as they turn around and walk over to you.

"Here you go."

You accept the neatly wrapped box and thank her, rushing to leave. Your breath catches in your throat when you see jungkook already through the exit of the store.

You fucked up.

---

Under any other circumstances, you would've welcomed the pitter patter of the rain against the car's surface with wide, open arms.

But instead, you want to shrink; let the world split in half and swallow you whole.

Jungkook hasn't said a single word since you've left that store.

He went straight to his car, waited for you, then directly drove off as soon as you got into the car with him.

Not. A single. Word.

You observe him, taking note of how automatic- distant- his actions are. With one hand on the steering wheel, he rests the other on the armrest as he stares straight ahead. It's like he can feel your gaze burning a hole to the side of his face, but he's numb to the heat. Your eyes beg his own to look, but his are deaf...far; so far away.

You shouldn't have stayed quiet.

Mentally groaning at your stupidity, you lean your head against the window.

The rest of the ride home is silent.

---

"Jungkook."

No answer.

"You can't keep ignoring me like this."

Well, he can.

He proves that to you when he lets the barbell join the floor with a hard thud.

Only a small grunt of triumph escapes him, but otherwise; silence.

He hasn't spoken to you.

He parked the car under your apartment building- in its usual spot- exiting the car and heading to your home.

-silently.

He entered the apartment and left the door open for you, changed into his usual workout attire, and headed into his personal gym.

-silently.

It has been an hour since he's been in here, not sparing any effort to check on you.

You're getting quite frustrated with him. It's just- unreasonable.

He has his reasons for acting this way- you'll give him that- but where'd all the communication go?

You've been with Jungkook for well over a year now, and it feels weird; whatever this is. It hasn't ever happened before, probably because a similar situation has never occured.

You'd always hold hands in public, and it was never a problem for you.

But as a first real relationship...guess you were growing self-conscious about it.

What if they saw?

Will they speak?

Your train of thought cuts off as the sulking man grunts again, this time louder; intended to grasp your attention back to him.

He must've seen you zoning out.

"Enough, Jungkook."

Your words leave a tangy taste on your tongue. You really don't want to argue with him what-so-ever, but this is ridiculous.

he's being ridiculous.

You two could've talked it out to figure what the problem was- you should.

Instead, you're running after a person that keeps looking back to make sure you're still there.

He wants you to feel like you're genuinely being ignored, which is just- again- unreasonable.

Okay, the earlier...incident hurt him a little bit- and maybe a little more than that- that much is evident.

Jungkook merely scoffs at your words,

yet again ignoring you.

Fucking hell,

he's actually pissing you off.

"Giving me the silent treatment?" Your eyes sharpen with challenge, and his own light up with one of their own.

He leaves whatever he was doing to cross his arms and properly stare you down, almost belittling you- no, not almost, he is.

You've always known just how much Jungkook loves a challenge.

"Fine by me." Your smile is so sweet- but it's wrong. It's not the kind of smile he's used to.

And with that, you exit the gym, grab a random book, make yourself a cup of coffee, and prepare yourself for the long night ahead.

---

It's been...two hours.

Two long hours of utter torture.

And you've read a total of five pages.

Dammit.

Instead of reading, you're embarrassed to admit how instensely you've been ogling him for two hours straight.

He's just so hot.

The way he lifts weights like they're nothing.

The way his groans and grunts fill up the quiet space- and the whole entirety of your thoughts, leading them to other, much more sexual, places.

The way those exact sounds resemble the ones he's likely to make during sex.

You can basically feel your underwear sticking to you, your arousal evident.

For the first time since you've sat on this bench, stubbornly so, with your book and cup of coffee, he flicks a gaze over you.

Indifferently.

It makes your blood boil.

Your eyes lock.

his cold,

yours set ablaze by intense emotions of frustration.

You rip your gaze away from him to set it on your book, only to look back up at him two seconds later.

He slings a towel over his shoulder, grabs a bottle of water and unscrews the lid.

gently placing the bottle on his lips, he opens his mouth and chugs a mass of water all at once.

He repeats the motion once...twice... and your eyes are glued to the way his adam's apple bobs.

A thick lump forms in your throat, your breaths quickening. Must be...horniness.

You take the chance to properly look at him;

hair ruffled, body hot, muscles bulged.

Theres a slight sheen of sweat highlighting his neck, and a vein pops out from the way he's angling his neck up.

Your senses heighten.

He sets the bottle down, only to turn to you.

You try your best to hide the hormones.

Your eyes then trail down his neck to his collarbones, and you almost drool.

Scratch that, you're definitely drooling.

He looks fucking divine.

Well, of course.

He always does.

He looks as divine as it feels to love him.

You've always loved Jungkook. You still do. From the moment he waltzed into your heart with no foul intention and swept it off its feet, you knew you were absolutely done for.

Wrecked,

Ruined,

No longer containing any available capacity in your whole being to love anyone else.

Anyone but him. Even saying you love him more than you do yourself wouldn't be over-exaggerating...it would be true.

Call it obsession?

So be it.

A subtle scoff turns your attention back to him; body erect and all guarded up, his body language almost makes you tense up yourself.

You know for a damn straight fact that this is going to lead to an unpleasant conversation- even more so an argument- but whatever it is that's sizzling between you two like static electricity needs to die down.

It was never like this.

Tension,

Frustration,

Miscommunication.

"Bold of you to stare at me like that." His eyes never leave yours a second when he speaks.

He locks his hands behind his neck and rests them on his nape. His forearms bulge, and your eyes physically hurt from how hard they're trying not to gape at him.

Knocking his head back, he stares at you through his lashes with hooded lids and the most beautiful dark eyes.

You would've found the sight quite attractive- you do- but the subtle dig aimed at your staring attracts your attention more.

"Better get used to it, then." You stand, maintaining a protective stance yourself.

You're not angry, or...defensive, thought you might be a little shameless.

You just want this to end. For everything to go back to the way it was.

He smirks.

Your eyes harden.

"Oh yeah?" He lazily strides in your direction, and you cross your arms, almost acting nonchalantly.

Your irritation is evident and so is his, but the tension is so heavy on your shoulders, it makes your muscles tense.

His steps shorten until he's only a few feet away.

Not too close,

Not too far,

Yet feels like hundreds of miles apart.

"Wonder where that's coming from."

"Guess you'll have to find out."

This time, it's you who smirks when a sudden spark of challenge ignites in his irises.

"What i'd like to find out," He lowers his voice, his tone calm; in contrast to the dark storm reflecting the thoughts of his mind through dark, fogged up orbs. "...is what the hell on earth it was that happened today."

You stare at him, contemplating your options.

"I felt self-conscious."

The response is quick, but you're satisfied. You want to be completely honest. That's the best way to go at it.

You notice how he blanks out before you look away. Almost like he's fighting with himself over what to think of the response, his eyes portray the most intense feelings of complexity.

Quickly covering the slight feeling of confusion with frustration, his brows tug together, and in another context, you would've found the action to be adorable.

"Self-conscious? About us? What-" He scrambles to understand, and your eyes widen by an inch. "-are you- like- not sure about us? Anymore?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" You directly jump to answer his questions with one of your own. Your own brows join together, and the frustration builds further.

"Fuck, y/n." He gives you his back, walking in the opposite direction.

"What- I didn't even mean it like that!" Your voice raises slightly, purely in expression of desperation.

Why is this so complicated? It wasn't even that big of a deal.

He looks at you over his shoulder, his features bitter.

"How did you mean it then?" He scoffs, but his words come out quiet, serious, and clear of sarcasm. They come out hurt.

"Look- I just-" You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. "I don't want to fight."

You look at his feet, directing your gaze to a place where your mind doesn't feel overwhelmed. When you look at him, you want to look at his eyes, nose, lips...all of him. When you look at him, you see nothing but him. The whole world disappears when you do.

When you look at him,

You can't think about anything but how much you love him.

And right then it's like the whole world stops.

Like it's just you and him, in this gym, with nothing and no one else but each other.

"Fight?" His eyes rage with a thousand different broken emotions all fighting over dominance at once.

He shifts closer to you, only eager to show you the true weight of his love for you.

His index finger hooks under your chin and tilts it up to meet his eyes, only making your breath catch.

"I'd drop to my knees and beg if you wanted me to."

You feel your eyes water. There's nothing you could possibly think to say to him in this moment, except...

"I love you."

He returns a sad smile.

"Show me."

He cups your cheek.

Strokes it with his thumb, once.

Twice.

And in his presence remains a cool gust of air as his touch lingers and leaves a fire awakening.

Just then you realize: the fire that seems to spread further and further is that of love, nestled in between the teeny crooks and tiny nooks of your heart; the wildfire seemingly one of pleasurable pain.

Gone is jungkook, and welcomed is the loneliness as you hear the shower turn on.

@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotz @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog @ash07128 @bangtans-momma @yourbobaeyestell @laylasbunbunny @btsnpniff @olimpiiaa

hope you liked it! dont hesitate to share your opinion <3

#jeon jungkook #jungkook jeon #jjk #jungkook #bts fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #angst #jungkook angst #jungkook twoshot #twoshot #<3

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forever-once-gone · 4 months

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Day 3: Yoongi - You Meet Your Fated at a Coffee Shop <3

Part of the Love, Amour, Aur Pyaar drabble series for February! (lol)

Word count: 3.7k (can't keep them short for the life of me)

Content and Warnings: soulmate au, coffee shop au, gn!reader, sharing preferences, arguing, frustration, they're both a bit dense lol, but other than that nothing too terrible in this, just sweet honestly, almost throwing up, coffee snob!Yoongi, barista!Yoongi, mocha slander, terms of endearment: baby, dear, Y/n is ready to FIGHT

Author's Note: Hey! So like I know it is well past Feb, but tbh it was crazy of me to even think id have time to publish these things during midterms season. Even though I had reading week, it was just not going to happen. Even though I did manage to write some of the days, I obviously couldn't every day. And posting? Forget about it. Anyway, even if it's past Feb, would you want me to post the ones I did write? It won't be instantaneous, but I would like to share what I did write, and maybe even finish all the other days as I had already planned out what I wanted to write each day. Let me know if you're interested! Anyways, as always, enjoy! <3

Another mocha, just another mocha to fill up in the takeaway cup for another person who is trying to get through the February cold. Yoongi gets a lot of mocha requests before the winter holidays season. When so many are hyped up with Christmas cheer. Even people who do not celebrate Christmas tend to indulge in peppermint mochas when the snow hits the ground. And the trend trickled into the post holiday months every winter season. To the point when people ordered mochas even into early spring.

Yoongi, ever the coffee enthusiast, hated having to make so many mochas.

Frankly, he considered mochas just snobby chocolate milk with the smallest hint of caffeine. Like do mochas even deserve to be considered coffee-based beverages? He thought not. You could barely even taste the coffee in between the thick, tongue-coating taste of chocolate and the heaviness of way too much milk.

Everytime he had to make mochas, every single time, he’d be cursing in his head about how he would rather just be able to make his espressos, black coffees, and iced americanos. Iced americanos are the most he’d be willing to go when it comes to diffusing the taste of coffee.

Adding milk? Forget it.

Adding sugar? He’d rather just pour it down the drain than drink it.

Alas, when it comes to his job, he has to fulfill the customer’s wishes. No matter how much he hated the sugary, barely-even-coffee, more-like-milkshakes drinks, he would make the drink for them. A waste of good coffee in his books, but he needed the money that came from his overpriced caffeinated chocolate milk

So, when it came to a coffee-novice coming into his coffee shop asking for a mocha, he would grit his teeth but make the drink nonetheless, the underline he requires to be able to pay his shop’s mortgage and keep all of his employees.

It was another one of these spring days when he’d unlocked the front doors of the café only to see someone new. Normally, only a few select people would come to his café so early in the morning, after all, most people started work at 9 or later. Only a few people would come at 5:30 when he opened. But today, there was someone new.

There was you, a person he’d never seen before standing behind his regulars. A cheery looking person, giving him a smile when he unlocked the door and opened it for the small group of people to trickle in.

He made his way behind the counter as he began his small routine with his regulars, smiling at each one of them as they gave him their orders, even though there really was no need as he had gotten each one of them memorized ages ago.

He took and prepared each order with practiced ease, until he got to the last person in line. The one who had spent the last ten minutes scanning the chalkboard menu with an analytical look.

You.

“Good morning,” you said to him with a kind smile.

“Good morning,” he replied. “What can I get started for you today?”

You wrung your hands, scanning the menu again, before looking back at him. “Can I get a large mocha?”

He scoffed. Seriously, chocolate this early in the morning? Typical from a cheery-looking person like yourself.

“What?” you asked, wondering if you’d broken some unspoken social cue. You’d seen the way he’d kindly spoken to the customers before you, making small talk, so what happened when it came to you?

“Nothing, nothing,” he waved you off, before pressing some buttons on his cash register’s screen. “That’ll be 5000 won.”

“No, no. That definitely was something. Did I say anything wrong?” You insisted, brows furrowed together in a mix of worry and a bit of indignation.

“No, not at all. It’ll be 5000 won.” He tried to force a smile, but your eyes were squinted together just as you did before when you were scanning the menu, but this time your object of interest was him.

“What? You just don’t like me or something?” You felt a bit uncomfortable, out of place in this cafe with a barista who seemed to hold a certain disdain for you from the moment you opened your mouth. But that didn’t mean you were going to back down from this entitled man. You eyed him up and down, letting him know the contempt was mutual.

He let out a small scoff, before seeming to recompose himself with customer service professionalism. “Of course not. I’m sorry if it seemed that way. Your total is 5000 won.”

You could see through his poorly reconstructed composure, but nonetheless gave him the requested money. You were already running late to your job interview, and you needed this job if you hoped to actually be able to rent a place in this city. You had already spent three weeks staying with your friend after moving here from your old city. You couldn’t stay with her forever, even if she was willing to keep you for forever if you needed it.

You stepped away from the register after he had given you your change and moved away to make your drink. You took the time to continue admiring the interior of the cafe as the barista flew around his counter space. You took in the worn furniture resembling something half between industrial and contemporary. The hanging lights and the various maps lining the walls of the place. Very hipster. Fitting for a coffee shop.

The call of: “One large mocha?” brought you back from your inspection. With a hum, you took your drink from him, feeling the drink warm your gloved hands.

“Thanks.”

“No problem, have a nice day.” And with that he was moving back to his dishes to clean up the dishes he’d used before the next customers wandered in.

You turned away from him, moving towards the door. Before you pushed open the door to brave into the cold, you flipped open the flap on the top of the to-go cup. You took a quick sip, ready for the delicious drink to coat your tongue, but instead your tastebuds were assaulted with a heinous amount of sugar. It tasted like you’d boiled a pool full of chocolate and dumped a truck full of sugar and then reduced the entire pool full over a roaring fire until only a cup of the concentrated mixture remained full of pure chocolate and sugar.

You immediately turned back on your heel. Pressing your tongue against the tip of your mouth, trying to rid it of the sweet assault. “You messed up,” you slammed the cup on the counter, seeing the barista’s shoulders jump at the loud thump.

“What’s the issue?” he asked, as he wiped off his hands on a hand towel before flipping it onto his shoulder. He leaned onto the counter with the palms of his hands, not even trying to hide his annoyance with you anymore considering the frown he sent your way.

“This is way too sweet. Like what, did you dump a whole bag of sugar into this thing?” You nudged the cup towards him. “If you didn’t like me, you could have just refused to take my order, you didn’t have to do all this!” You gestured to the cup.

“Please, I need you to calm down. I didn’t do anything to your drink. It’s just a regular mocha. Mochas are sweet, you should have known that before you ordered it for the first time.” He rolled his eyes slightly.

“First time? Oh, honey, no—I know what mochas are meant to taste like and this is not it. It’s practically the only thing I ever get!”

He scoffed yet again. Typical, he thought to himself. Never would've guessed. “Just take your drink and go, I don’t have time for this.”

“You don’t believe me do you?” You said in disbelief. You never would dare fight with someone like this, but for some reason, this one guy was just getting on your nerves. Typically, even if your order had gotten mixed up you would just swallow your disappointment and try to enjoy the drink anyway. Even if it was something bitter and boring like a plain black coffee. But the way this man had been acting from the moment you ordered has been rude and completely ruined your confidence. Not what you needed at all before trying to get this job. And for some reason, it felt like all your senses and emotions had been turned up to 100, so controlling your anger was a lot harder.

“Drink it,” you told him, holding his eye contact. “Yeah, drink it. If you can drink even one gulp without making a face, I’ll admit I was wrong and leave.”

The barista tongued his cheek for a moment, contemplating what you said. “I don’t want to. I don’t like mochas, besides, I can’t drink a customer’s drink anyway.”

“I’m just gonna take your refusal as you admitting that you fucked with my drink.”

By this point the two people left in the shop were watching the two of you fighting at the counter. A middle aged man walked up to the counter, stepping in to try and defuse the situation. “Why don't you just take a sip of it, Yoongi? Just to prove them wrong?”

“I refuse,” the barista, Yoongi, said to the man. “It’s a matter of principle at this point. I’m not drinking it. I know my abilities, and I know that that mocha would be as good as mochas get. I’m not gonna take a sip of a nasty ass mocha just cause this person wants to throw a fuss at five in the morning.”

“So you admit you fucked with it?! You admitted it’s nasty!”

“No,” he rolled his eyes at you for the umpteenth time this morning. “I just hate mochas, they taste like shit. But anyone who likes those chocolatey messes will admit mine are as good as they get. I might not like them, but I still put all my effort into making sure they taste good.”

“Just fucking drink it then! I’m not joking, this tastes like shit. Maybe something is wrong with your milk steaming machine or something—this just isn’t right!”

The middle-aged man decided to try and put the fight to an end. “Why don’t I just give it a try, huh?”

“No!” But Yoongi and you said at the same time, before turning back to each other again.

“He refuses to admit it, and he has to be the one to try it!” You crossed your arms.

“And they’re the one who is making a big situation over nothing, you should never give in to people like them.” He glared at you. Now that his patrons were getting involved, he wanted to get you out as soon as possible.

“Just try it! I swear it’s unbelievable. Just give it one sip!” You threw up your arms in frustration. “Come on, I’m not even asking for a refund or anything, I just want you to admit that you took your anger out on me for no reason. That’s all, I don’t even want an apology!”

“I don’t need to apologize! I didn’t do anything wrong! That mocha is PERFECT! I’d bet my life on it.” Yoongi was fuming now, chest heaving with frustration and annoyance. He was this close to calling the cops on you and calling it a day.

“Oh shut up with the ‘perfect’ nonsense! It’s not perfect! Just try it! This whole thing would have been over ages ago if you just gave it a try!” You pulled the cap off of the cup. “If you’re afraid it’s poisoned, I’ll take a sip of it before you drink it. See look.”

You took a swig of the drink, nearly choking on the sugary beverage as you tried to keep the concoction from coming right back up. You gagged for a second or two, before finally straightening back up, wiping your mouth with the back of your gloved hand.

The two men around you exchanged expressions, their anger turning more to disbelief. Either you were a great actor or that drink really, really sucked.

“There, see. I didn’t tamper with it. Now, please, please just try it. Please. Don’t make me look insane. Just try it.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll try it. But if it tastes fine, you need to leave my shop and never come back, you hear me?”

“I swear. I won’t come back, don’t plan to anyway.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow at that, before grabbing the lidless cup from the counter. He held it up, hesitated, and then said, “I really don’t like mochas,” with a scrunch of his nose. He took a breath and then took the smallest sip you’ve ever seen a human being take before slamming the cup down. His hand immediately came up to cover his mouth, his eyebrows furrowed.

You couldn’t bear to hide your smug look. How was he gonna hide how terrible the drink was now? He looked like he was going to throw up. Ha! That will show him!

But then he did the weirdest thing. He took another sip. A long sip this time. Other than his furrowed brows, he didn’t choke, gag, or even dry heave for a millisecond. Just watching him drink was making you nauseous.

“Oh my god!” you yelled, snatching the cup from his hands before he could take another sip, holding it up behind you, away from him. “You’re going to give yourself diabetes if you drink that whole thing!”

Immediately he tried to reach across the counter and get it back from you. “Hey! Give that back! This makes no sense!”

“Yoongi, calm down!” The man said, pushing the barista back off of the counter that he was practically leaning his whole body onto at this point.

“Why does it taste good?!” The distress that the barista was under put even you on pause. You watched the barista scramble around, rubbing at his head as if it was aching him. Was this the effect of all the sugar?

“Hey, man, you doing alright?” You placed the cup back down on the counter, holding a hand out to him to show you meant no harm.

He just shook his head, picking up a half empty mug from behind the counter that you had seen him periodically sipping from between the preparation of yours and the others’ drinks. He took a large gulp only to immediately run to the sink, spitting the drink right into the drain.

“Why does my coffee taste so heinous?! Why does it taste like fucking bitter gasoline? Why does the mocha taste so fucking good?!” He was still hunched over the sink, the only thing you could see of him was his back a bit of his lowered head. His arm reached to grab the hand towel on his shoulder to throw it to the side.

You had no answer for him. This was all so bizarre.

“This—” the middle aged man brought both your and Yoongi’s attention to him, as he brought the cup back to his lips for another sip. When had he taken your mocha from you? Was it when Yoongi was losing his mind?

“This tastes…” He took another sip. His brows furrowed in concentration.

“This tastes like a regular mocha.” He put the cup back down. “I think you guys need to calm down for a moment and think about what this means.”

“What do you mean?” you asked him.

“I think you know what I mean, dear.” The man had a kind-hearted look on his face as his eyes flitted between both you and Yoongi.

“OH MY GOD.” Yoongi grabbed the edge of the counter, seeming to understand the man’s insinuation. “There is no way.”

“What? What am I missing?” The man only shook his head as Yoongi raised his head to meet your gaze. He just pushed his half empty mug to you. Inside was black coffee.

“Try it. I need to see if it’s true.”

“Um, no. I don’t like black coffee. Yuck.” You nudged the mug right back to him only for him to stop the movement halfway.

“That’s exactly why you have to try this,” Yoongi said as calmly as he could, though you could swear he looked almost like he could faint right then and there.

“Fine,” you took the mug from him. “Just cause you did drink the mocha.”

You swirled the dark liquid in the mug, debating whether it was worth it to drink the bitter liquid. But when you looked up to see that both the man and Yoongi were watching you like scientists inspecting their latest mutant rats for their observational notes, you just took a sip only to get them to stop staring at you.

Instantly your throat was soothed as the smooth taste of the perfectly roasted coffee made its way through your mouth. You’d never drunk anything so refreshing, so calming as it warmed you up from the inside out. Even though there was no sugar or cream, you surprisingly didn’t mind it as it allowed the rich flavour of the black coffee to shine through strongly. It tasted so good.

You didn’t put down the mug until you’d finished the whole thing.

The middle aged man had a small smile on his face, while Yoongi seemed to be still in his inspector mode.

“So,” the man began. “How was it?”

You thought about it for a second. “Good. Like really good. Like surprisingly good.”

The man clapped his hands. “Well there you have it. Congrats you two.”

You shook your head for a second, scrunching your face in annoyance. “What are you talking about?”

Yoongi came around the counter, finally coming to stand beside you without anything between you two. “Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“Easy, Yoongi. Don’t want to scare them off now do you?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes at the man but then nodded his head in understanding. “You don’t like black coffee right? Too bitter or something?”

You nodded. “Yeah, too bitter. I need more sugar or else I just can’t get it down.”

“And I hate mochas. They’re too sweet and you can’t even tell there is coffee in it since it's so overpowered by the sugar, chocolate, and milk.”

“Okay… What does that have to do with me though?”

“But I just liked the mocha. Not just liked, I loved the mocha. And you loved the black coffee.”

“Yeah…” You waited for him to clarify further.

He waved his arm as if urging you to think further, but when you just cocked your head to the side in confusion, he dropped his arm back down to his side. “Seriously?” he asked, exasperated. “I hated my usual coffee and loved your mocha. And you hated your usual mocha and loved my coffee.”

You nodded your head, trying to understand what he was trying to get at. Until it just clicked, your eyes widening instantly, reaching to grab his elbows. “OH MY GOD! We’re soulmates! Oh my god! We switched preferences! We’re soulmates!” You threw your arms around him, pulling him as close to you as you could through your thick winter jacket.

“Took you long enough,” he huffed, his arms reciprocating your grasp.

“Oh my god! I knew I was meant to move here! I have to tell my roommate! But wait—” you pushed him out of your hold.

Yoongi let out a light groan, as he caught himself from stumbling.

You pointed a finger at him accusingly. “You hate mochas, you black coffee supremacist!”

“Seriously?” Yoongi asked you. “That’s your biggest concern now?”

“Well yeah! I mean, I don’t know if my preferences will change back, but if they do, I can’t stay with a soulmate that thinks he’s superior to me because of his coffee preferences!”

Yoongi let out a small laugh, his lips tugging into a smile. “If it makes you feel any better, I think I will never be able to hate mochas after today.”

Even with your finger still pointed at him, you felt your lips pull into a wide smile at the hidden meaning behind his words.

You both jumped at the clearing of a throat behind the two of you. The man had made his way to the front door of the coffee shop with his order in his hand. “Sorry, sorry. Just wanted to let you know that my wife, Maria, had been recording the entire thing in case you needed to call the police.” He nodded towards the other patron who had been at the shop when you and Yoongi had started fighting who was now standing holding the door open as she waited for her husband. “Let me know if you want the video of your first meeting, I’m sure your friends and family would love to see it,” he said between kind-hearted soft laughs, before leaving hand-in-hand with Maria.

“Maybe even our future grandkids,” you teased him happily, taking a step back towards him.

Yoongi just smiled in reply, showing off his perfect teeth to you.

You felt your heart swell.

He took another step towards you, grabbing a hold of your hands by your side. “I would like that.”

You heard the door chime as a customer walked into the coffee shop before their steps halted somewhere behind you.

“Uh, is this a bad time?” The customer asked from behind you.

“Give me a second,” Yoongi replied.

“Alright,” the person cleared their throat. “Just don’t want to be late for work.”

That seemed to jolt you out of your Yoongi admiring stupor. “Shit! I have an interview!” You tightened your hold on his hands before letting go.

By the time Yoongi realized what was going on, you were already halfway out the door.

“I’m going to be so late! I’ll be back later, okay, baby?” You had pushed the door open taking a step out before turning back to him. “I am allowed to come back right? Or am I still exiled from your shop?” You asked with a smile.

“Seriously?” He laughed, shaking his head as he made his way back behind the service counter. “Maybe you’ll just have to try your luck.”

“You’re impossible.” You laughed into your hand, waving your hand at him. “When I come back, if you don’t let me in, I’ll tell all your customers that I almost threw up after drinking your mocha.” You stuck out your tongue at him as he fake gasped, before finally actually leaving the shop.

Well, there's that.

So if you didn't get it, in this case, soulmates have different ways of finding out if they're meant to be in this universe. For Yoongi and Y/n, they met and ended up switching coffee preferences (or maybe even more preferences but the only thing they noticed so far is the coffee). Even though their reactions may seem extra, when you meet your soulmate all your emotions/feelings/everything is meant to be heightened. So they had each other's preferences, but n times stronger. So that's why they loved the other's preference like it was ambrosia, but their own preferences tasted like so bad to them. Y/n found the mocha wayyyy to sweet like Yoongi would usually, and Yoongi found the black coffee wayyyyy too bitter cause Y/n likes her coffee well sweetened and with a lot of stuff to mellow the coffee flavour.

But anyway, yes they're in love.

So yeah, do let me know if you want me to post the rest of these. It will be a slow process, but I would like to do so.

Take care!!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #bts drabbles #yoongi drabble #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts oneshot #bts drabble #soulmate au #coffee shop au #Ev's writing #series: love amour aur pyaar

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deathsmallcaps · 2 months

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Adam The Raven Cycle Headcanons

I think we all underestimate how much Adam’s rural poverty affects his looks and history, especially towards the beginning of the series.

1. Rural Appalachians often have mostly British ancestry. The British often have narrow mouths that are prone to overcrowding. This sort of problem takes money to fix. Therefore, Adam probably did not have nice teeth at the beginning of the series. He might be fixing it as an adult in college, but that really depends on how much money he has and/or is willing to throw at it right now. He may smile close-lipped a lot, or has the urge to cover his mouth with his hand. They might be yellowish, they might be crooked, he could have an under or overbite.

2. Adam most likely kept his hair really short for a good amount of his life, because lice. And/or, he had a mullet at one point, just because they’re good at keeping hair out of your face if done well, and keeps your neck warm when it’s cold. This practice likely changed once he entered Aglionby for fitting in purposes, but yeah. He may have mustache, if he can grow one (I don’t remember), because that’s very popular for young men in the South. And certainly taking scissors to it to ‘style’ it occasionally is cheaper than buying razors all the time. There’s a good chance he cuts all of his hair.

3. His hands are likely still calloused from all his jobs. It’s said in the books his hands are dry and cracked, and that he used to lick them to try and soothe them. Maybe he bought lotion once in a moment of ‘weakness’ (because he doesn’t want to waste money) and his friends top it off occasionally and hope he doesn’t notice it’s a different color or smell. Because he’s not going to buy more.

4. He’s either a huge neat freak or genuinely doesn’t know a lot about cleaning. That’s how you cope if you live in a trailer year round. You either keep everything as neat as possible, looking cleaning tips like a bored housewife. Or you leave crumbs and cooking scraps because having roaches in your kitchen is just a part of life.

5. I’m going to do some math, skip down to END OF MATH if you don’t care :/

Virginia’s minimum wage in 2012, when the books started being published, was $7.25. If Adam SOLELY used the money from his jobs for the reminder of his tuition ($18,423), that means he had to work 2,541 hours and 7 minutes a year to make that money. Let’s round that up to 2700 because he might need schoolbooks or food or occasionally pay for transportation.

Considering he has to make $18,423 a year, he’s skirting the next tax bracket pretty close *unless* he is working under the table. Since it’s already crazy that he’s doing this shit, let’s assume he’s working under the table. Because otherwise this gets even more miserable. In any case, if he needs to work 2700 hours to make it, he‘ll end up grossing $19,575.

Average American summer is about 8 weeks. So if transportation to each job is 45 minutes, including getting up and ready, etc, because of weather and iffy transportation options, and let’s say he’s working two shifts at two jobs, maybe eating lunch during work or transportation, that means if he allowed himself 6 hours of sleep a night during the summer, he would be ‘transporting’ 2.25 hours a day (I’m going to round it up to 2.5 to account for lunch and to make it easier), that’s a 15.5 hour day.

7 days a week times 15.5 hours times eight weeks is 868 hours, he’s made $6,293 out of the $19,575 needed. Leaving $13,282 to make.

Winter break is about 2 weeks in southern states like Virginia. A week for Spring. Three weeks. Assuming he can get similar hours at his jobs as he did in the summer, that’s 325.5 hours, and $2359.875. I’m going to round it down to $2359. So now he *just* needs to make $10,923 (lol).

Now, using those season break numbers, that leaves 41 weeks in a year for school. However, the average school week is 5 days, and school years in VA are 180 days. So if there never were any holidays and snow days, etc, school would take 36 weeks to complete.

In the interest of not going crazy, let’s work with the average school week of 5 days and say there’s 36 of those. I’m sure Adam worked holidays, but this will roughly amount to the same thing.

I think I remember Adam did early morning shifts and pulled 16 hours on the weekends during the schoolyear. So we’ll work that into his average school day.

Adam still needs to make $10,923. If he works 15.5 hours on a weekend day (using the same numbers as the summer calculations)(Saturday and Sunday that’s two days) for 36 weeks, that’s $8,091 out of the $10,923. That kid works to the bone. Leaving just $2,832 to make to reach that necessary minimum.

$2,832 comes out to about 390 hours and 37 minutes left needed to work. Let’s round it to 391.

That means if spread out over 36 weeks, he needs to work 10 hours and 52 minutes a week. Let’s bring it up to 11 hours.

The average high school day is 7.5 hours, including lunch. So that leaves 16.5 hours in Adam’s weekday.

HOWEVER. He still needs to do schoolwork. The average American teen spends 3.5 hours of time on schoolwork. I think Adam could probably power through it, and not really get distracted like ya girl but also it’s a private school and he’s taking all the hard classes. And hard classes like to pile shit on. So let’s go with 3.5 hours, every weekday. Yes he skips school for injuries a lot, maybe he gets more schoolwork done or job work done during that time. That’s harder to account for.

So that leaves 13 hours for non school activities.

He likely works in 2-3 shifts to cover the eleven hours each week, or maybe it depends on the week - maybe this week he has to work all 5 mornings, maybe the next week he works none. But let’s assume he splits it over all five days for averages sake. That means that 11 hours a week is 2 hours and 12 minutes a day (let’s bring it up to 15 minutes.). So 2.25 hours. Meaning he now has 10.75 hours left in the day.

Assuming transportation including getting ready and going to bed etc is as usual 45 minutes, that means he’s going to work, to school, to home every day. That’s another 2.25 hours. Now he has 8.5 hours left in the day.

Let’s assume he dedicates one third of his available weekday hours to friends. At 8.5 hours for non school non work non homework non transportation time, that means he spends 2 hours and 50 minutes with friends. Let’s round it to 3 hours. Because having fun with friends really does take that kind of time! And he’s really close with those peeps.

END OF MATH

That means he’s getting at most 5.5 hours of sleep on the weekdays.

I don’t remember if he works like this *throughout* all the first series’ books or just the first book. But your boy is tired as fuck. His skin is terrible. His eyebags have eyebags. He probably has a lot of wrinkles and grime under his nails. And he’s going to look even more haggard after ‘breaks’ and on Mondays especially.

I don’t remember how he affords that apartment in later books.

In any case, our boy does not look well at all.

6. This is going to fuck him up severely once he hits college too. I don’t remember if he got loans or scholarships or what. But even if he got a full ride, he’s going to be recovering sleep and health wise for years to come. He probably struggles to eat a salad sometimes. He needs to, for sure, but it’s so outside his taste buds’ usual range and his wallet’s usual range. And no one ever helped him figure out what dressing or vinaigrette made it tolerable for him. That boy has been living on canned food sales and ramen forever. He might get a meal plan and get sick from trying new foods or still act like he’s paying for each piece of food at the grocery store.

7. Very good chance he’s a coupon clipper and still has a little trouble convincing himself that he doesn’t need to buy 6 cans of beans just because they’re $5 all together. Instead of the just one can that he needs this week.

#adam parrish #the raven cycle #the raven boys #maggie stiefvater #idk #I used to lick my hands #I’m taking these details from friends and peers #I didn’t grow up this way #but my mom pretty much did and a lot of people I go to school with do

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spiralling-thoughts · 2 months

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Some brandy headcanons

She lives with her mother and grandfather and has 3 younger siblings on the edge of town in district 10

- she used to have an older brother named gabriel who along with her father were the main providers for the family unfortunately both were killed by peacekeepers when a fight broke between them and the workers gabriel was one of the people fighting in the riot and was shot for it and brandy 's father was killed for trying to defend gabriel when brandy was 12 y/o

- this caused the family to struggle very badly to put food on the table and they almost starved to death if it wasn't for some kind neighbours who gave them some food they had

-after that brandy was forced to join the slughterhouse and at first she really struggled to kill animals and would be on the brink of vomiting every time she slughters one , she really hated her job there until she made friends with a girl named tiaga (whose tanner's cousin)who basically told brandy her own way of how to cope while working, eventually brandy got a second job as a ranch hand wich she preferred alot more even if the money she got from it was lower compared to her slughterhouse job but it was still manageable

- she named her horse poppy and liked to braid her hair and love take care of her

- is a girly girl at heart but because she was forced into the role of a provider she doesn't get to dress up or get to be a girl despite how much she wishes to

- part of her ( that she's not proud of) is resentful of her brother and father's deaths because it forced her into adulthood very quickly when she wasn't ready for it and it made her a lot more hateful towards the peacekeepers , she breaks down every time she gets to talk to her father and brother when she remembers them during the day of the dead

- I like to think that Mexican traditions survived in D10 along with Christianity , so brandy always anticipates the day of the dead she loves every aspect of the holiday and she gets to wear her dress and dance and celebrate the memory of her loved once and all members of district 10 share food as best as they can

- she gets really overwhelmed when her siblings come to her for advice she often doesn't know what to say to them and what to do and doesn't find herself as a good person to come to advise for so it can cause her to lash out on her siblings and it escalates into a flight with her and her mamma and grandfather

- despite that she is really protective of her siblings and braids her sisters hair get them flowers and stand up for them when someone bullies them no one dares missing with her siblings because they know brandy will make them pay for it

- have her own recipe on how to cook a sheep stomach and a cow entrails and make them into a pie

- like to add lots of salt to her food

- like to watch the sunset and also her grandfather works in pottery and she likes watching him work and even did some pottery of her own although she wasn't really good at it and often made small cups

- meet and befriend tanner a year prior to her reaping when tiaga intredocid him to her and they would vent about their families together, tanner also once suggested that they try smoking but brandy refused because she doesn't like the smell of cigarettes

- she actually adored Lucy gray's dress and wished she could try it on although she would never tell anyone that

- when she was reaped she couldn't help but wonder if it was a punishment for her because of how often she would lose her timber or lashes out on her family and how she sometimes resented her life

- so she was determined to try to win she had to get home to her family and to apologize to her mom and hug her siblings and tell them how much she loves them

#brandy tbosas #brandy deserve better #tbosas headcanon #tbosas tributes #district 10 #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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abubblingcandle · 1 year

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Personal Beliefs and Headcanons about Jamie Tartt's upbringing

This is a continuation of a discussion with @fanficfanattic that was kinda derailing talk about Phil Dunster's approach to Jamie Tartt's accent but is something that I am super passionate about so did want to put somewhere and foster discussion with other people about it.

Disclaimer - Again I am not someone who grew up in this exact situation that we see Jamie in but it permeates through my life and my family. I can only talk about things like this from personal experience and how much I relate to Jamie being from a working class Northern family and currently being in my mid 20s with parents who were in poverty and one who lived in council housing. Those of you who have read my fanfics know that I put a lot of my specific experiences into talks about Jamie's backstory (I have literally today been writing more of a chapter where Jamie talks about cheap ways that his mum tried to keep him out of trouble during the summer holidays lol) and so I am always happy to talk about hyperspecific headcanons or my experiences if anyone wants to

So yeah, the discussion was about Jamie being a battler partially because of where he was raised not just because of his father

Jamie as a battler is something that is so so important to me. He even says it in S1 “do you think I could have got from a council estate in North Manchester to the Premier League just by doing what everyone else did” and it gets sort of brushed off as a teachable moment with Keeley saying people are just trying to help him and he needs to let them. It doesn’t get talked about much more than as a part of his smugness and selfishness in S1 but it is more than likely that given Jamie’s history there would have been so few if any people in his past that did just want to help him for the sake of helping him. It also ties into his obsession with Ted’s actions being mind games. Because having people genuinely wanting him to succeed just because he’s Jamie ... foreign idea.

I can just see Baby Jamie at a criminally underfunded primary school in North Manchester telling everyone that he was going to be a premier league footballer and getting fond laughs and being told that maybe if he worked hard he might be able to get into a good trade, like an electrician. (For me I wanted to be an journalist and was told that maybe a simple good paying job like an air hostess or a hairdresser would be a much better target, not like that’s stayed with me or anything).

Even if you take James Tartt Sr out of the picture, Jamie would have had to fight for everything and stand up for himself to achieve his goals. It is likely as a young single mum that Georgie would have been out a lot working leaving Jamie to look after himself from a young age and do things like making sure he got to football training (showing that drive and that fact he mentioned, he had to be different to other people to succeed) and little things like making sure he looked after his kit himself so it was ready and lasted as long as possible.

The second part to this is the fact that mindset is so so so hard to lose. My mum worked her arse off and got herself out of that cycle of extreme poverty through smarts and luck and even though we now have enough to live on, there are little things about being raised in an environment where you were an afterthought and didn’t have enough that don’t leave you - either through over compensating the other way (when you have money spending it frivolously because suddenly buying that nice thing you want wouldn't mean that you don't eat) or refusing to spend money on something because you don't need to and it's a waste to spend it (even if the amount of money doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things anymore). I see Jamie mostly in the first category (the designer clothes, fancy cars, sculptures in his house, willing to buy everyone PS5s to get them to like him without batting an eye at the cost) but likely with little money saving things that he just can't shake.

#ted lasso #jamie tartt #character analysis #tw poverty #personal experiences projected onto fictional characters #headcanons #candle writes

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imaginethathaikyuu · 1 year

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don’t lie to me - part one

akaashi keiji x reader

a con-artist, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers au

the GUIDEPOST the MASTERLIST

synopsis: You have nothing to lose, and that’s exactly why you love to go after those who do. Lying is as easy as knocking down a house of cards, revealing truths of corruption underneath. You and Akaashi are leaders of your own team of Robin Hoods, but you can’t keep up the act forever, can you? When you threaten trading this life in for something more romanticized, you and Akaashi fall right back into your old, hateful ways.

tags: lying stealing robbing etc., lovers to enemies, con-artist/spy!au, haikyuu x the great pretender crossover, not very relationship forward, but a lot of fluff sprinkled in, arguments, fights, angst, a break up

word count: 8535

Hitoka Yachi was a liar. She was a thief. She was a con artist. And she could not tell you how she got to this point in her life.

And there she sat in the living room of an affluent old lady who knew nothing about the telephone package Yachi was trying to sell to her.

That’s what made her the perfect target, an ideal victim to scam out of a few hundred bucks. Just like the others in this neighborhood Yachi had already meticulously gone after.

“Let me make it simple for you,” Yachi told her, putting on her best and brightest smile, “You can give me a down payment now - of eight hundred dollars - and when our team comes for the installment, you can make your decision then. We can deduct any extra payment from next month’s bill.”

The woman took a deep breath and used the pause for thought to adjust her shawl on her shoulder. “Well…”

“And this is the last day for this offer! Remember, this is a huge holiday discount. Even if you wait until tomorrow - it would be triple the price!”

It wasn’t a holiday or anywhere near.

“I probably shouldn’t pass this up, then…”

The woman reached for her large purse and Yachi shot out of her seat in excitement, raring to snatch the payment from her.

“Thank you! We’ll be in contact about the installation day! Thank you!”

With the money in her hands she darted out the door, leaving behind every pamphlet and example photo she had brought with her. All she cared about was getting outside so she could do her happy dance in private.

What she was doing wasn’t wrong. These people already have enough money to afford their nice homes and retirement dreams. Yachi was simply taking advantage, and she was doing it to survive.

She started walking in a random direction and stopped at the first restaurant she came to. She stuffed her hand deep in her pocket to tuck her money inside - first, she pulled out a sliver of paper. Written on it was the name and phone number for the woman she just had a meeting with.

As she walked inside, she wadded the note up and threw it toward a trash can nearby. It bounced off the edge and landed on the ground.

Yachi’s only friend was a woman older than her, cooler than her, and meaner than her. Tanaka Saeko played drums for a band, drove a beat up van, and frequented all the restaurants Yachi loved. That made them friends by default.

She was telling Saeko all about the recent job and how she made a new eight hundred bucks, while Saeko was barely listening, stuffing her face and kicking rocks under the picnic table.

“I actually need a favor.”

Saeko grunted.

“Help me out, and I’ll give you half.”

Yachi pulled a brown wallet out of her back pocket.

Saeko rolled her eyes. “Again? Really?”

The two of them did this every day.

“Come on,” she whined, “it’s fun! Look, the woman in the purple ordering at the counter - she’ll be perfect for it.”

The street was nearly empty, save for the few people eating at tables or walking by. It was the perfect day for making more money, and Yachi would do just that.

You were standing in front of a food stall sipping lemonade when you got a tap on your shoulder.

“Excuse me - did you drop this?”

“I’m sorry?”

“This wallet was on the ground, it’s yours, right?”

The girl opened the wallet and showed the cash inside, knowing it would pique your interest, and then let you take it from her hands.

Yachi put on a sweet smile until Saeko came over to wipe it off.

“It’s mine. Hand it over.”

Saeko took the billfold from you, but Yachi snatched it right back from her then stuffed it in her back pocket.

With her arms up in innocent defense, “You know what, I’ll just take it to the police.”

“I told you, it’s mine.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“What, do you want a reward or something?”

While they bickered, you finished your drink. Then, you pulled two twenties from your purse.

“It is mine, actually. Here’s your reward.”

And Yachi smiled at you, pulled the wallet out, and handed it over to you as she took your money.

“Thank you so much,” you said, being so sweet it felt fake, and then you wrapped your arms around her, giving her the most awkward hug of her life. “I appreciate it so much, thank you. Have a great day.”

Then, you walked off.

You were hardly out of earshot when Yachi started laughing to herself as she pulled the real, money filled wallet out of her pocket.

“It’s just so easy these days!”

Saeko held her hand out expectantly. Yachi slapped a bill in her hand.

“Thanks for playing,” she said, and Saeko said nothing. “You still hungry? It’ll be my treat!”

Just to brag, she pulled the wallet open, showing Saeko her earnings. The extra twenty she just stole from you didn’t seem like much in comparison to the hundreds in the pouch, but it all adds up. Every cent counts when you’ve got rent to pay.

And Saeko was laughing. Cackling like a bird.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“What are you going to buy?” she said through bursts of laughter and tears, “free samples?”

“What are you talking about?”

She looked down at the wallet and -

- it was empty.

Empty.

Her money was gone.

“You gave away the wrong one!”

Yachi felt her heartbeat in her ears. Her eyes nearly popped out of her head and landed right in the money pouch. She could have laughed, too, out of pure anger.

“I didn’t. I didn’t - I’m not stupid! I wouldn’t mess up that badly - did she…?”

She turned around, looking all over for you, then went running in the direction you had gone.

Yachi already figured out what you had done.

When you hugged her, you pick-pocketed her.

You knew she had given you an empty wallet, so you took the one with the money.

That’s the only explanation.

She ran down the block and easily found you, standing in front of a stall selling jewelry. And she was more than ready to make a scene in order to get her money back.

“Hey! Hey!”

You ignored her until she was standing right next to you.

“You stole my money!”

You glanced over at her, then said, “Hm? Aren’t you the one who found my wallet?”

“It wasn’t yours!”

You let a smile slip. “It wasn’t?”

“Look, just give it back.”

You walked away from the jewelry booth, but Yachi peddled behind you.

“Why would I do that? You gave it to me, said it was mine - so, it’s mine.”

“Well, it was a mistake! It wasn’t yours - it was mine, so I need you to return it.”

“Are you trying to steal from me?”

“What? No! I’m trying to get my money back!”

You didn’t reply, and Yachi didn’t know what else to do, so she kept following you.

She was stuck walking in your footsteps, letting you guide her wherever you were going, because she had no other ideas.

The only thing she could do was nag you until you gave in.

“All of my money was in that wallet. Like, all of it. At least eight hundred dollars. You’re stealing all of my money, and I’m already poor, so you’re just making me even more poor. Are you really okay with that?”

You said nothing.

“My name is Yachi, by the way. Hitoka Yachi. I’m pretty popular around here, actually. Are you new to town? I could show you around. For a price, anyway. Hey, if you give me my money back, I could show you how to make all the money in the world - I know the easiest ways.”

She meandered around you, stopping you in your path, finally getting the chance to speak to your face. She gave you a smile that was as genuine as it was frustrated; all you could do was laugh.

“How long do you plan on following me?”

Her smile fell. “Until I get my money back.” She was pouting, looking like she was trying too hard to look angry. You gave her a look that turned her anger up higher. “The money you stole from me.”

“In the wallet you said was mine?”

She stomped her foot; you didn’t hold back your laughter at her.

“What a con artist you are. Aren’t you clever?” you joked as you walked ahead of her, and her footsteps quickly followed yours.

“Look, I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are, but I know what I’m doing here. So maybe you should watch your tone.”

You tried not to laugh, you really did, but the sound erupted from your lips before you could seal them shut. Yachi stopped in her tracks at the sound.

You turned around, continuing to walk backwards as you said, “It seems like I’ve scammed the scammer, then, haven’t I?” And then you turned again, not stopping until you reached your destination.

Neither of you said a word until you were opening the gate outside of a quaint home.

“Where are we? What are you doing here?”

“I’m going home,” you said. “Do you want to camp out here, or come inside?”

Yachi peered behind you to look at the house, but the only thing that caught her eye was a man standing at the door. He stood there like he was a guard.

“Who is that?”

“Who?”

Yachi pointed, and you turned to glance behind you.

“He’s just someone I work with. I’m not sure what he’s here for… maybe something I owe him.”

You sighed, and Yachi got the idea that you weren’t happy to see this guy. She was immediately intimidated by the man - his gaze alone was enough to send her shrinking into herself. Dressed in all black, his strong looking arms crossed, and his jaw locked - according to Yachi’s low standards, he looked like someone she wanted nothing to do with.

You began walking away, into your gate and toward the house.

“Hey! What about my money?!”

“You mean my money?” You walked back over to her then pulled an ink pen and an old receipt out of your purse. “Here’s my name and number. Call me if you need anything, alright?”

You shoved the paper in her hand and then you left, into your house, and the man didn’t follow. He stood in the same spot, watching Yachi’s every move. She kicked herself out of his eyesight, fast.

The money in that wallet you stole was for a late rent payment. Her shitty apartment wasn’t worth what she paid for it every month, but it held her few belongings and kept her warm enough. And it was getting harder and harder to lie her way out of paying the bills on time.

And now that money is gone.

She could have just followed you into your home, but even she isn’t stupid enough to walk into a situation like that one.

Besides, that guy was scary enough that she was grateful for being out of his sight.

She’d just have to cut her losses. You can’t win ‘em all - she’d happily lose this time if it meant she never had to see that guy again. And that wasn’t the first time she had less than a dollar to her name. She’d just have to work a little harder tomorrow.

She looked down at the note you gave her. It did in fact have a name, and a few numbers written down, but it wasn’t enough to make a phone number. Of course. Yachi didn’t expect any better, but she swore the next time she saw you, she wouldn’t let you go.

Her walking was directionless, and she didn’t know where she was, but eventually the neighborhood turned familiar enough that she felt alright to slow her pace and catch her breath. She was only wandering, looking for something to stop her, when -

“Oh my god! There she is! Right there! That’s her - that’s the girl!”

One second she was kicking a pebble down the street - the next, she barely had the time to turn and run from the two cops chasing her, who were directed by the old woman from the telephone scam.

It was one thing after another.

She turned one corner then another before she found her escape. It looked like it was placed in front of her by God himself - too good to be true - and, of course, she took the path that was laid out: a taxi stopped on the side of the road with a familiar person getting into it - you. Yachi dived into the door you had left open and slammed it behind her.

“Let’s share the ride!” she said, trying to hide how out of breath she was. Your mouth hung in surprise but you only nodded, and the driver took off. Yachi looked back - not a cop in sight.

Safe at last.

“Back already?”

Yachi sat back in her seat and relaxed, because she finally could. But the silence took over fast, and she had to strike up conversation.

“Seriously, who was that guy?”

“Oh, don’t mind him. I took care of him.”

“You - did you -”

“Kill him?” Yachi gasped, you laughed. “No, god no - who do you think I am?”

“I have no idea who you are,” she said, and you laughed. Then, she realized, “Where are we going?”

“The airport,” you replied. You turned to look at her, your makeup still perfect, your hair only slightly messier than it was before, red lips in a sweet sneaking grin. “Then to LA.”

“LA?”

You nodded.

In the rush of the series of events, Yachi thought of this as an offer. A way out. A new market.

Technically, she was on the run now, and she still had to get back what you took from her, and she had nothing here to leave, anyway. Most of her things were in the tattered backpack she took everywhere with her.

“I’ll come with - if you buy my plane ticket.”

You refused. But she’d convince you.

“What are we doing here, anyway?”

“I’m here for work - I don’t know where you’re going. I need to make a stop by my place.”

“Well, you’ll let me stay with you for the night, right?”

There were hours of traffic between the two of you and your destination, and Yachi got to sleep through it until you forced her awake and brought her inside of an extravagant house. She didn’t get the chance to examine the outside - you walked too fast for her to keep up.

She developed a quick habit out of following you around. She didn’t know what else she was supposed to do, and her one goal was to take her cash back from you, afterall.

But when you led her into a big, open room, it seemed like you had enough of having her as your shadow.

“Can’t you go somewhere else?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere,” you sighed. You plopped down on the long velvet couch that faced the large window, then said, “Show yourself around. I’m waiting for company.”

“Fine.”

Looking as if she was trying to be passive aggressive, she trotted back out the door the two of you came through. Outside of it was a long hallway with many doors on either side; she didn’t know which room she should go into first.

With the blue carpet catching her footsteps, it was a soft walk to the first door. Yachi swung it open brazenly to find - a bathroom.

Plain and boring as they come. A stark opposite from the rest of the house that she’d seen - the main room was lavish, filled with furniture and decorated perfectly, windows lining an entire wall with beautiful paintings hanging on the rest of them.

She thought mansion bathrooms were meant to be fancy - with toilets made of gold and water fountains rather than sinks and a swimming pool for a tub.

Maybe you sunk your budget in the living room.

She decided to leave the door open, just to be rude, before she went to the next one.

There wasn’t time for her to open it before a door at the main end of the hallway opened seemingly on its own. Yachi was curious, wondering what kind of person would be walking through it.

When she saw him, she ran, and she loudly encouraged you to do the same.

The lazy way you stood up made it obvious that you weren’t bothered at all.

“What are you doing?”

“Running away, because that scary man followed you all the way here and it’s probably because he wants to kill you,” she said, all in one breath, the entire sentence sounding like one word.

You only crossed your arms. Yachi didn’t understand.

“Excuse me.”

The sound of his voice behind her made her yelp, and she ran straight to hide behind the couch.

“Whatever she did has nothing to do with me!”

The only part of her body visible was her eyes, peeking out just enough to see what this man’s next move was.

He completely ignored her, gunning straight for you. He reached his arms out and Yachi didn’t want to look - she couldn’t bear to see what he was about to do to you.

The man looked strong, and maybe you were capable of fighting but Yachi wouldn’t bet her stolen money on it. You weren’t even stepping away, in fact - you were stepping toward him.

He wrapped his arms around you and that was it, Yachi thought - he was probably going to squeeze you until you popped. She clamped her eyes shut, but then opened one of them because she couldn’t help herself. She just had to watch as he -

Kissed you.

Yachi really did not understand.

“Keiji, I missed you to death.”

“You couldn’t stand a couple days apart?”

“It felt like forever. I think I should just stitch myself to you, I’d be happier that way.”

Yachi shot up out of her hiding spot.

“I thought this was the guy you owed!”

“I did owe him. I told you I took care of him, didn’t I?”

The wink you sent Yachi’s way had her dropping her jaw in a realizing, disgusting anger.

“By the way,” Keiji said, “Where’s the big scary man who’s trying to kill you?”

Yachi didn’t care about a thing the man said, and she didn’t care about the joyous look on your face. All she cared about was getting answers.

“Who the hell are you? What do you want from me?”

“I told you who I am. You’re the one who’s been following me around this entire time - remember?” You weren’t even looking at Yachi. Instead, you were busy straightening Keiji’s collar. You kissed him once again and then stepped away, saying, “Could you bring me that briefcase, babe?” and he did as he was told.

She stood on the couch and then jumped over it, landing on her feet with a punctuating thud. “Because you stole my money. All of my money! And I want it back!”

“Right - about that money… Where’d it come from, exactly?”

Keiji sat the briefcase on the table in front of you. You opened it and pulled out three different things.

Yachi didn’t try to explain herself. You already had all of the answers, and you held them up for her to see.

The terrible pamphlet for the phone company she handmade, the contract signed by the woman she had scammed, and the crumpled note she had thrown away.

And she felt like a child again, being scolded by her mother for her bad grades. Like she was small, like you were bigger than her so that meant you were right. It didn’t feel fair.

“Where did you get those?”

You offered no explanation. “That poor, innocent woman,” you said with a tut. “But she wasn’t the first, was she?”

“So what? Are you going to rat me out or something?”

“No. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about it.”

“So what is this for?” Yachi took a loud step toward you, trying to make herself feel bigger, stronger, smarter. “Just give me my money so I can leave.”

“I never said I had your money.”

Yachi froze.

“What?”

You shrugged. “I don’t have it. You assumed I did.”

“Then who does?!”

“The girl you were with - she got a hold of it.”

“Saeko?!”

Then, Keiji stepped into it. “I think you might’ve taken this one too far, sweetheart.”

“But she knows what she’s doing,” you said, and the sweet voice you used with him sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “I didn’t do anything. Every choice she made was completely independent.”

The worst part?

You were right.

Yachi chose to take that old lady’s money. She chose you out of the crowd to play the wallet scam against. She chose to follow you home, to leave you at your house, to seek refuge in the taxi you were in. And then, on top of it all, she followed you to a brand new city.

And you didn’t suggest she do a single thing. You just let her.

It was her own fault. So she crumpled to the ground, because there was simply nothing left for her to do.

She fell for every word that left your mouth - and you didn’t even ask her to.

It was pathetic. She was pathetic.

You stood in front of her, tossed the pamphlet on the ground for her to look at. “It doesn’t feel good, does it? Being stolen from?”

Yachi didn’t reply.

“Do you want some advice?”

Yachi watched as you knelt down in front of her. She looked up at you, at your too sweet smile. Still, there were no cracks in your image. It was strange, and it was enticing, and it was maddening.

“Learn how to choose your targets, sweetheart. Maybe you should pick a different line of work.”

You wadded up the note and threw it down in front of her, just like she had thrown it to the trash. Your words were cutting, even as you got up and walked away. You had just given her a failing grade on the one thing she felt like she was good at - it hurt.

And she was all alone now, on the floor in a random home in this strange city. And she wished she had somewhere to go.

Until a hand reached out to her.

Keiji.

She took it, because she didn’t have any other choice - besides sitting there forever.

“She can be a little mean sometimes. Don’t take it too personally.”

Yachi didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.

“Do you want to make your money back?”

Yachi nodded.

“Then let’s go. We’re already late.”

Maybe you were too mean to the young girl, but it definitely wasn’t your fault. It’s just the way things happened to play out.

Keiji obviously believed otherwise.

“I’m just saying - she’s just a kid. You didn’t have to go so hard on her.”

“I was teaching her a lesson!”

“You could’ve been a little nicer about it. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Keiji, you were in on it.”

“Hey, you were the boss - I was just doing what I was told!”

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not right here?”

The both of you turned around to see Yachi behind you, tagging along like a third wheel. Keiji mumbled a quick apology; you continued walking without a word to her.

“Where are we even going?” the girl asked.

“To strike up a deal,” you said, feigning excitement so it would get her in a better mood.

And it worked like you were rubbing paint off your hands onto her. She piped up immediately, getting a spring in her step.

“Okay, what’s the plan?”

“You’ll see.”

“Nothing you need to know yet,” Keiji said as you all stopped in front of a large ornate gate; behind it, the biggest house Yachi had ever seen.

“Whoa. Is this some door-to-door scam for millionaires or something?”

You groaned loud. “Something like that.”

Keiji dropped your hand and moved to press a button on the intercom next to the fence. In less than a minute, three men came walking down the path on the opposite side; one of them used a key to open the gate.

All of them looked rough and mean. Dressed in leather jackets and lazily buttoned patterned shirts, gold chains around their necks and rings on their fingers, Yachi could easily assume these guys were cheap security for whoever lived in this mansion. She didn’t like the look of them.

The man in the center pulled his sunglasses off then shook Keiji’s hand.

“About time,” he said, then started leading your group inside.

Around the back of the house was a pool and a party. The bright blue water looked refreshing enough to jump into fully clothed, and all of the beautiful girls in bikinis had Yachi feeling self conscious of the little effort she put into her appearance. You had thrown a button up shirt and black pants at her and made her get changed in the car, and she was feeling far from herself.

She watched you and Keiji shaking hands and making conversation with the person who seemed to be the owner of this house - a tall woman who wore glasses and had long, pin straight, jet black hair.

Yachi wasn’t doing such a good job at following your conversation, but she heard the tail end of what the woman was saying.

“...This will be so great for both of us, I’m so excited to finally be finishing this deal. Um - where is the… supply?”

“The delivery should be here soon,” Keiji said, checking his watch. “Set to arrive around back.”

“Right - of course. No point in risking traveling alone with something so important.”

“In the meantime,” you said, and you wrapped your arms around Yachi’s shoulders and pulled her to stand in front of you. “This is an intern of ours - the one we were telling you about. She has been paramount in developing the new product.”

Yachi forced a fake, awkward smile at the woman.

“Oh, it’s amazing to meet you!”

“The two of you should get acquainted. Just don’t spill any secrets.” You winked at her and then took a step back. “The two of us will head over to the warehouse and we’ll give you a call when the goods arrive. Sound good?”

Leaving no chance for Yachi to reply, you and Keiji left her alone, walking past the party down a path that led behind the house.

Keiji asked you, “How do you think she’ll do?”

You shrugged. “She can’t fuck it up too badly. We’re already in the homestretch.”

The warehouse was exactly that - a large building with two garage doors and no windows, with its only entrance door guarded by two men. One of them short, thin, and balding; the other tall, with salt and pepper hair and too much muscle. You greeted them both then swung the door open and walked into the fluorescent lights inside.

The building was mostly empty now; Ten, your current client, had gotten rid of nearly all of her inventory after the first meeting she had with you. To make room for the stock you’d promised.

Arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you in. “We’ve got time to kill, baby.”

You looked back at him, kissed his cheek. “Not as much time as you need.”

“You only need five minutes.” He pulled away just enough to turn you around, then pulled you right back against him, teasing a kiss against your lips. “I thought you missed me?”

He kissed you soft, just enough to get you to want more - to remind you what you were missing. As headstrong as you were, Keiji was the only one who knew how to crack your resolve.

You let him kiss you as much as he wanted to, because you weren’t ready to put up a fight yet.

“You know I missed you,” you whined against his lips. He caressed your pouting bottom lip with his thumb.

“You’re a sweetheart. My sweet girl. Why don’t we just get this over with so I can show you how much I missed you?”

You kissed his finger, then his palm, and looked up at him with bright eyes and a swelling smile.

“I think we have five minutes to spare.”

Yachi had been alone with this woman for half an hour, and getting through the conversation felt like swimming in putty.

At this point, she felt like she deserved a fucking degree in bullshitting, because even though her words made no sense to herself, the woman ate them up like candy.

Yachi had learned very little, and yet way too much about the business practices here.

The woman’s name was Ten, and she’s worked in Hollywood as a film director for nearly twenty years, and the product she was buying off of you was… drugs. All of her money didn’t come from the shitty movies she’s made, but from the drugs she’s been peddling.

So Yachi had gotten tied up with drug dealers. She could handle your lying and stealing, but this was too far for her.

She wouldn’t realize the irony in that sentiment.

“I was skeptical before, to be honest. But after meeting you, I’m nothing but excited,” Ten told her.

It all felt surreal even though she was clueless of the situation. She had Ten convinced that she was a pharmaceutical technician who lacked experience but had an abundance of knowledge - a great mind who would become a pillar in the industry, someone who would change the drug industry and make people like her even richer.

Your call to Ten was a saving grace.

“Perfect. Send one of the guards up to escort me with the money. I’ll be right down.”

Yachi joined Ten, a muscular guard, and four briefcases to the warehouse around back. On the walk, Ten explained how she did all her business in cash, because it was easy payment with no risk of being tracked - even though Yachi never asked.

When they entered the building, Yachi held her breath, preparing to witness her first ever drug deal, and she had no idea what she was in for.

It was a giant room that was completely empty. There was a table in the center, a briefcase on top of it, and the fluorescent light shining directly onto it looked like a spotlight.

Yachi was confused, and Ten seemed even more so.

High heels echoed on the concrete floor as the woman walked to the case. She opened it, and then she snapped her head around to glare at Yachi.

The briefcase was empty.

“What’s going on here?”

She made her way back to Yachi quickly; arms came out to grab her, and she ducked underneath them. She fell onto her hands and knees, turned around, and crawled toward the door before clambering back up to her feet.

“Honestly, I have no clue!” she called back.

She pushed the door open, she saw safety in the sunlight outside. She only got to take one step on the grass before she was cut off by the guard who was with them before, still carrying the cases of money under his arm.

There was no way she was fighting him off, so when he picked her up, she let him. He threw her over his shoulder and all she could do was beat on his back with small fists.

“Let me go!” she cried. “I have nothing to do with this! Seriously! I don’t even know those two! Just let me go!”

When he finally put her down, it was onto warm metal. She opened her scared eyes to find she was in the bed of a pickup truck and so was her kidnapper.

With the truck moving she had almost no balance, but she was able to find her way to her hands and knees so she could look through its back window.

You stared at her in the rear view mirror. You even gave her a little wave, one that was all confidence and cockiness and made Yachi want to scream.

“What the hell was that?” She turned around, glared at the man who had captured her. “Who are you?”

He laughed, grinned wide, and stuck his hand out for her to shake.

“Bokuto - nice to meet ‘ya!”

You had been pulling the wool over Ten’s eyes for months now, building a relationship and rapport that seemed fruitful for the both of you. Ten shared secrets with you that you never needed to know, because you already had a plan scratched out before you ever met her.

She dealt the kind of drugs that killed people. The deeper the cut, the bigger the profit - that’s how she spoke of her cheap sales. It was easy to take advantage of her greed, convince her to only buy from you, pretend you were bringing something to the table she couldn’t pass up. So she cut her ties even though she was already bleeding money, and she put her last couple millions into the briefcases you stole from her, and if she ever recovered you’d give her a round of applause.

Maybe she would learn her lesson. Or maybe she wouldn’t. But your work with her was finally done.

The group of you were gathered on the terrace, drinks in hand, for an evening celebrating a job pulled off.

“All that work for one day of fun,” Bokuto sighed.

You were quick to scold him, “It’s not meant to be fun, Bo, it’s supposed to be work.”

The night sky was clouded by city lights; the stars were replaced by lampposts and neon signs. This town was alive beyond the balcony rails ahead of you. But you were only watching Yachi, who sat across from you, on the ground behind the table. She had her knees up, hugging them like she was afraid of taking up too much space, as if she had ever seen a terrace this large.

You sat up from your seat - which was Keiji’s lap - and placed your drink on the table, before sitting down on her level.

“How much did you say was in that wallet?”

She huffed and avoided your eye contact.

“I don’t know… eight hundred dollars.”

You slid a stack of cash across the table to her. Her eyes grew, and she sat still.

“For your work today,” you said.

“How much is that?”

“A few thousand. You weren’t too integral - just a distraction, really - so it’s not much.”

“...Thanks.”

“You could stick around, if you want.” It was a delicate offer, one that didn’t mean much to you, just like the money you handed over. “We always have room.”

She didn’t reply, not at first, but after a moment she gave you a meek nod.

“And I’ll get paid more?”

You stood back up then sat next to Keiji, and he pulled you in close; a kiss on your head, then your cheek, then your neck, and you were ready to forget about the world and only think about his lips.

“There’s always more to be paid,” you told her. “If you’re going to stick around, you should probably get acquainted with everyone.” You pointed to your left, “That’s Bokuto. You already met him, I think. He’s the muscle.” You meant it as a joke, but he flexed a bicep that proved your words. Then, you gestured to your right, looking at the old man laid across the wicker couch. He still wore the security guard disguise. “That’s Kudo.”

He gave a weak hearted salute. “Sure am.”

“There’s others, but they don’t always come around. You’ll meet them if you’re on the team long enough.”

“Team?”

It was innocent, the way she said it - with her head turned to the side and her eyes squinting. You were sure that you had felt the way she was feeling, back when you were five years younger and just meeting this group for the first time.

“Yeah, we’re a team, I guess. That’s the best word for it.” Try as you might to be nonchalant, you couldn’t completely cover the pride in your tone. “You’re in, if you want to be.”

You already knew she would stick around, because she had nowhere else to go. Anybody else who offered her refuge wouldn’t have good intentions, and you weren’t sure if she knew that or not - and that’s why you were making this offer in the first place. When you had heard about Yachi from Saeko, you knew she needed a place to fit - and that you had just the spot.

Even if you had to teach her a tough lesson the hard way, you meant well. And those lessons were far from over.

“Think about it,” you told her, and that was all of the time you were willing to give for the moment - because the alcohol had you buzzing, and Keiji’s arms around you were pulling you away.

So you let him take you off your seat and toward the door, but you had one more bit of information to share with Yachi.

“Oh, and - remember the old woman you stole that money from?”

Yachi perked up.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.”

Something about spending the evening outside made you wish to be swallowed up by the night time. Your bedroom was perfectly warm yet your hands were frigid. You were completely relaxed but your shoulders still felt tense.

Nights like those carried a different feeling. One free of planning, lying, and conning; it was the release of all of those things settling in the celebration of success. Like the clouds finally parted and you could see the stars with childlike relief. You no longer had to worry about getting away with something.

With your back to Keiji, you let your face fall. You took a breath and held it, because no one was waiting for you to exhale.

“What a day,” you said to yourself. “Now that it’s over it feels like a perfect night for running away.”

“Away from me?” Keiji joked.

You turned your head only slightly. Enough that he could see that your guard was down, but you didn’t dare give him your eyes.

“With you.”

He pulled his t-shirt on and came to sit next to you. “And where would we go?”

“Anywhere,” you said with a shrug. And you thought about his question, and if your answer would be the right one. If it should be the truth, or another lie. “Somewhere normal, maybe.”

Keiji laughed. “Normal? You’d get bored of that in a day.”

“I would not,” you replied, “not if you were with me.”

“Don’t get all romantic on me now.” He got up, got into bed.

You might have been sitting on the edge of something you didn’t want to fall off of.

“You don’t want to run away with me, Keiji?” You couldn’t tell if you were making a joke or not, and you didn’t know if you wanted to hear his answer at all.

Because, in reality, you knew what his real answer would be. You knew his honesty was ugly and that’s why he showed you half truths.

You guessed he decided to ignore it all together. “Come to bed with me, baby.”

You stood up, walked around the bed and sat too close to him. He pushed your hair back away from your face, held you and looked at you.

“Why are you pouting?

“I’m serious,” you said.

“About what?”

“I don’t know.”

He laughed at that, all lighthearted and soft, and kissed you like it’d make you drop it. “Let’s talk about it later, baby - turn around, let me unzip your dress for you.”

“No, Keiji,” and you pulled away just enough that you didn’t have to look at him. “You don’t ever think about what it would be like?”

“It feels like we’ve talked about this before,” he said. “What are you getting at?”

“I just think it would be nice if things changed.” You stood up, and for a split second you thought about dropping it.

The last time you had a conversation like this was years ago, when you finally had enough money to retire and live easy. Keiji had brought it up, just offering the idea, and you had to remind him that it would never work out. Not with the two of you, anyway - not with the relationship you had.

Because nothing lasts forever, and you’re better than settling down, and you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again. You promised each other that either of you could walk away any time, so don’t get too attached.

And if a break up never came, well - both of you had been scarred by the vision of death, witnessing it literally - viciously. You don’t have a particularly safe job, and history tends to repeat, and it was easier to move on if your life didn’t revolve around the other’s beating heart.

But it was too late for those sentiments to matter anymore. It had been almost three years since then, and you didn’t fear the future anymore. Keiji stayed, even though you thought he never would - even though no one ever stuck around that long - and you were starting to think that, maybe, he was going to be there forever. Maybe it was okay for you to ask him to.

So you wouldn’t let it go.

“We could have more than just… this. You know? What if we just bought a big house in a suburb? We could have pets, and… We could get married, even! And go on a honeymoon to some place nice - and we’ll be there to have fun instead of - I don’t know - rigging sports bets or stealing paintings! And it would all be so simple and easy!”

“Where is all of this coming from?”

You didn’t even know. But you meant it, all of it, and you wanted him to understand.

“I just - I… I want to have a life with you, Kei.”

“We have a life together,” he said, like he was confused, and he got up and walked over to you, he tried grabbing at you like he could put you back together. Like he could fit you in his hands. “This is our life. Can you seriously imagine us living like that? Getting married?”

“Can’t you?”

He knew his answer, he just didn’t want to say it.

“This is too much,” he said. “We’ve talked about this. I thought you didn’t want that.”

“What if I changed my mind?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say -”

“I want you to agree with me!”

“I don’t! And you know why - I…” He reeled his next words in, it seemed. He took a breath and calmed down and tried to speak softer. “You just want to… quit?”

He pulled you closer, like he could tell you were trying to run away.

“We’re so close to figuring everything out. We can’t just give up.”

“I know that.”

“Okay?” You looked away from him and he let you. “That’s why we’re here. That’s why we’re together.”

“Have all of these years together just been a waste, then? If you can’t even entertain the thought of having a life with me other than this?”

You were holding onto him so tight and you didn’t care if it hurt. Keiji had been your one constant for years now - there was no way he was still afraid of committing to you, when he had basically already done so.

But it was like tying down a wild dog. You couldn’t.

“Why didn’t you bring this up sooner? Our goal was never to settle down and have kids some day - it’s not - we’re not like that!”

“Not like what?” you asked. You were completely disheartened, now, dropping the grip you had on him. “Not serious? Not real?”

“Not normal!” he said, loud, and then he laughed, like he thought you were being funny. “I mean - we’ve never even been an actual couple - did you really think we would end up like that?”

“Maybe I did. What’s so wrong with that?”

“You know I don’t want that,” he said. “We aren’t together to have some happy ending - I never wanted that with you.”

And that was it. The last push.

But it was into anger rather than sadness; a rage instead of a broken heart; a free fall instead of a straight plummet.

“You did a great job at acting like it, Keiji.”

He laughed again, and you realized the irony in your words. The fact is that all he ever does is put on an act for other people because lying for money was his job, and you had the heart to believe he’d been real with you.

“I was never acting - obviously you can’t say the same.”

For the first time in your life, you let him have the last word. You were quick to collect some of your things and leave the room with a slamming door, and you stormed to a guest bedroom without a thought in your mind.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t let yourself feel sad. You were angry and annoyed and exhausted - maybe even a little embarrassed. And that anger kept you distracted, so you latched onto it and let it burn.

The next morning, you assumed everyone had already left. When a job was over and everything finally settled, most of the crew found other places to go - because they had money to spend. So you weren’t expecting to interact with anyone.

But Yachi was waiting in the hallway, still in her pajamas.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting forever for you to wake up. What took so long?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Fine. Gosh.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, I just had a few questions.”

You walked to the bathroom and she followed you into it. She closed the door behind her and then hopped up onto the counter next to the sink.

“Now that I have my money back I need to figure out what to do with it. I think I should get some new clothes, but mostly I just want to find some good food - what are the best restaurants around here, by the way? Honestly, I think you owe me lunch for the last few days. It’s the least you could do to make me feel part of the team.”

Out of nowhere, the door opened. Keiji was standing behind it.

“Can you knock?!” you immediately said, making him scoff.

“Can you learn to lock the door?”

You slammed the door in his face, and it made you feel marginally better. Then you looked over to Yachi, remembering her existence, and opened it again.

“Can I get some privacy? Please?”

“Yeah,” she said, stumbling over her words to land on her feet. “We’ll catch up later, I guess.”

You hoped later never came.

And instead of a peaceful, empty home, you were met with a full house of expectants, because you had already promised them more work to do.

“I thought you liked to get an early start.” It was Keiji, and he was talking like he wanted to start a fight. “It’s noon.”

“You could have started the meeting without me. You have all the information I do.”

“This one was your idea.”

“They’re all my ideas,” you said.

You pushed by him and went into the living room where everyone was waiting for you.

The only silver lining was seeing Ms. Kim, who had finally arrived sometime last night. She sat on the couch with a giant ball of yarn next to her, and the makings of a blue scarf sat on her lap as she knitted away. Her straight hair was shorter than it was a few weeks ago, and she had new glasses that sat on the tip of her nose, but she had the same familiarly grumpy look that always made you smile.

If you were honest, you didn’t even know what you were supposed to be talking about with them. Keiji always helped you get things in order, line up plans, and work out the tempo of meetings like these.

“Do you have the layout of the bar?” you asked him.

He was just sitting down on the couch when you looked at him. “No,” he said, arms crossed.

“Why not?”

“You didn’t tell me to get it.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you. Did you do nothing? Where’s the list of the employees?”

“Do you think I’m your assistant? Do you think I spend twenty-four hours a day doing shit for you?”

“Am I supposed to do it all on my own?”

“It’s not that difficult, I’m sure you’d figure it out if you put in some effort. But it might take a few tries.”

“Fine,” you said. You looked around the table in front of you to see empty folders and blank papers. “Since Akaashi didn’t do his job we’ll just have to delay this a few days. And everyone can thank him for that.”

“Just because you say it’s my fault doesn’t mean it’s true. You haven’t figured that out already?”

“Since you don’t want to help I’ll just go ahead and cross you off the list of team members needed for this job - does that work for you?”

“Sounds great,” he said. “It sounds wonderful, actually - I can’t wait to see you try to do something all on your own.”

“And I can’t wait to stop hearing your voice!”

Both of you stormed out of the room at that, and slamming doors were heard on opposite sides of the house.

The silence in the living room was deafening.

“Did something… happen?” Yachi eventually asked among the group.

Ms. Kim was the first one to speak up, “They used to act this way… Must’ve had a fight.”

That made Kudo perk up with a gravelly laugh, “Oh, a lover’s quarrel.”

Honestly, Yachi couldn’t believe it. She had never seen the two of you act any way other than repulsively in love. She would have thought you had never fought before - everything seemed just perfect between the two of you.

But she was immediately interested in knowing about your past. No one had told her anything about how they got started, or what kind of work they did before now, and she was dying to know something.

“What do you mean? They used to argue a lot?”

“Ha - you could say that.”

“They were unbearable,” Bokuto said. “More unbearable than they are now, if you could believe it…”

“I don’t,” Yachi said. “Tell me about it.”

Her request was directed at Ms. Kim who did nothing but blink at her.

“Can’t you ask someone else? I’m not a storyteller!”

“Come on, Kim,” Kudo said, “we all know you love reminiscing on the good old days. Tell the newbie all about it.”

“Five years ago aren’t the good old days,” she said. “Fine. I’ll give you the quick version and spare the details. Don’t get comfortable.”

... ... ...

thank you for reading!

#don't lie to me #akaashi keiji #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu #hq x reader #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x you #akaashi keiji x y/n

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pancake-breakfast · 10 months

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It's difficult to understate the influence Nanami has had on my life. There have been a lot of stories that have touched me and moved me in my life, but very few have spurred me to meaningful action. I'd argue that the overall story of JJK itself is probably still unlikely to have that effect, but Nanami specifically already has.

When I first started watching the series a couple years, a friend who had already watched the show suggested I'd probably like him best, but I wasn't really expecting much. I don't always connect with (and sometimes actively resist connecting with) characters people expect me to connect with. But when Nanami showed up spitting truths about how both the business world and Jujutsu Society were full of shit, it struck a chord.

I'd been working for too many years in a job that was, in brief, Not Good. Like Nanami during his hiatus from Jujutsu Society, my company was based on making the rich richer with a lack of benefit to much of anyone else... though unlike Nanami, I was working in an industry that claims to benefit everyone, one that should benefit everyone and would theoretically be missed if it were gone, except that those who need it most often can't make use of it to begin with.

Like Nanami, I was often pulling crazy hours to get work done. This was particularly bad from October through January, leading to fights with family about whether I'd be attending holiday gatherings and a great deal of (justified) concern from a few loved ones about my well-being during the season. Unlike Nanami, I wasn't making bank for doing this; I was salaried, but all that meant was they didn't have to pay me more than lowest-end middle-class wages while still forcing me into overtime.

It was a job that was going to put me in the ground sooner rather than later, and for what? No benefit to me or to those one should look after in society. Just lining the pockets of those who already had too much money. It was a job I should have quit years ago, but for some reason or another, some legitimate and some less so, hadn't got around to doing yet.

Then I watched JJK. And read JJK. I saw Nanami and realized there was a character who "got it," and an author behind the character who "got it."

I got a Nanami sticker that I placed on my phone case to remind myself of important things. That work is shit. That the 9-5 grind to make money for those who already have it is worthless and there's far more nobility in the simple jobs that provide us with food and cleanliness even though those jobs pay pennies. That there's no point in draining one's self needlessly for a worthless, crap job.

I started working on a Nanami cosplay. I'd wanted to do cosplay for a long time, but rarely had the money and never made time for it. I still didn't have a lot of money, but Nanami's costume can mostly be purchased cheaply at second-hand stores and I'm clever enough with cheap supplies that I figured I could make his cleaver.

Most importantly, I started looking for a new job in earnest. I told myself there was no way in hell I was going through another round of feeling trapped and hopeless at my job from October through January, especially when my attempts to get help from my boss resulted in a bunch of good words and no actual help.

It worked.

I have no illusions that my new company isn't shit; it is still part of a very broken system and thus is, at best, shit in somewhat different ways. But the pay is better and the work load is more realistic, and again like Nanami, I'm somewhat better suited to it. And while it may not provide me with the opportunity to do things that have the kind of meaning being a Jujutsu Sorcerer might provide, at least for once I have both the time and the energy to do more meaningful things outside of work.

It's still a work in progress. It takes time to unlearn over a decade of bowing one's head to just try to get through and survive. Like many elder Millennials, I have no illusions I'll be able to retire or own property; I'd have needed to be making what I make now ten years ago, at least.

But I have a bit more freedom and peace in my life, and I can use at least some of that to do the things that feed my soul and make life worth living.

So as I wrap up my own personal Nanami Appreciation Week, I want to say thank you, Nanami, for being a symbol for the small ways we can seek our own peace in a world that seems determined to take it from us. It may not all be blue skies and sea breezes, but my life is still markedly improved because of your example. And thank you, Akutami, for writing a character that so many find so relatable, and helping us all feel seen. I saw so very many Nanami cosplayers my first year cosplaying as him, and I know most if not all of them "get it," too. We are not alone.

Even if the rest of the story falls flat for me, Nanami will still shine brightly as an icon of undying hope in a world that often seems all too dark, and for that I will forever be grateful.

#nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #oversharing #pancake thoughts #nanami appreciation week

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kjmsupremacist · 1 year

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poison sweet off the vine (chan/felix)

Chan, a poor student hoping to make a little extra money while he pursues a masters in music production, lands a gig as a super rich family's pool boy. He thinks it's pretty sweet at first. He'll get to stay in a fancy house and eat fancy leftovers and all he has to do is clean their pool and help out around the house. And then he meets Felix, the bratty, sharp-tongued, skirt-wearing son of his employers. He knows he could get fired for just looking at Felix the wrong way, but Felix, even with his stormy, unpredictable moods and ignorant selfishness, is alluring and beautiful.

Part 1 | next mlist

Characters: Chan, Felix, other members of skz throughout

Genre: smut, eventual romance, angst, I cannot overstate how much of this is sex

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: alcohol, family dysfunction, mentions of homophobia, slut-shaming (both the fun kind and the not fun kind), feminization

Rating: Explicit

Length: 12.4k

Felix has got some shit going on in this one. It's not, like, super serious and we don't really get into addiction territory, but I will say it might be triggering for some people, so please just proceed with caution.

On that, we also don't really see what I would say is a realistic path of recovery or whatever. The ending is by no means meant to be read as "and then they lived happily ever after the end" but I leave a lot out because ultimately this is a horny fic within a sort of fucked up setting, and I didn't want it to turn into a pedantic exercise. So I guess this is sort of me saying the dove isn't dead, per se, but it's not doing well. I'm in no way trying to glorify mental health issues brought on by neglect and self-loathing, so please just keep that in mind.

Chan probably should’ve known what he was getting himself into.

After months of searching for side jobs and apartments, he finally found what seemed to be a perfect solution—pool boy and general assistant around a grand estate, with room and board covered. The house is huge, with large, comfortable staff quarters. It’s a short bus ride away from the University of Sydney, where Chan will be pursuing a masters in music composition and production starting in February. And while the family who owns the place are rich and snobbish, they’re nice enough, and seemed reasonable during his phone interview.

Chan had no reason to say no. So in early December, he packed himself up and moved back to Australia from Korea, away from all his university friends and into a house of strangers. He’ll be missing the holidays with his family, but he wanted to start making money, so here he is. And up until this moment, Chan thought everything was going to be fine.

“You’ll sleep here.” Mrs. Lee shows Chan to his room personally—a basement level bedroom with a small connecting bathroom and a sizable closet. There’s even a small desk in the corner—perfect for when Chan will stay up late studying. “You’ll use the small kitchen to make most of your meals, but we have luncheons and dinners sometimes to which all the staff are invited. Additionally, our cooks usually buy a little extra on groceries in case something goes wrong. If there are any leftovers, they of course go to our live-in staff members. So don’t worry too much over your grocery bills. For tonight, of course, I hope you’ll join the family for dinner so we can get to know you. I understand you’ll be taking classes after the break?”

“Yes ma’am,” Chan says, nodding as he tentatively drops his bags on the floor.

“If you could just send me your schedules as you get them, that would be helpful,” Mrs. Lee says. “I will try to let you know in advance if there are any important events where we need you, but for the most part I’ll leave those decisions to you. I just like to know when we can expect you to be home or away.”

“Will do,” Chan agrees.

“Mostly, you’ll help with outdoor maintenance. We do have a gardener, but we let him know that he can feel free to ask for your help with more menial tasks.” Mrs. Lee gestures for Chan to follow her down the hall. “Here’s the staff laundry. There is also our main laundry room, where our maids take care of the family’s laundry. Since the holidays are coming up, we might be a little short-staffed over the next month or so. If our maid needs a hand with the laundry, can I ask you to assist?”

“Certainly,” Chan says.

“Perfect.” They head back up the stairs. “I believe that’s all I have for you, except to give you your key. Please use the staff entrance through the back. Do you have any questions for me?”

“Ah, yes,” Chan says. “Are there specific hours I’m expected to keep? Such as being up at a certain time?”

“Unless one of us requests your presence earlier, I don’t mind when you get up as long as your sleep schedule doesn’t inhibit you from performing your duties,” Mrs. Lee says. She rummages around in a drawer in the study. “Here.” She produces a silver key on a plain keyring, handing it to Chan. “Try not to lose it, but if you do, just tell us straight away. We know a good locksmith, so it will be a quick fix. You have all our contact information?”

“Yes,” Chan says, attaching the key to his ID protector that also has a few of his other things on it. “Thank you.”

“I think we’re all set, then,” Mrs. Lee says, leading Chan back out into the foyer. “I think introductions will wait until dinner, as my husband doesn’t get home from work for a few hours and goodness knows where Felix is—”

“I’m here, Eomma.” Chan turns at the sound of a deep voice, and sees his undoing poised at the top of the grand staircase.

He’s the prettiest thing Chan has ever seen. His hair is dyed a pale pink, and grown out so his bangs sweep low past his ears, the longest strands just brushing his shoulders. Chan can make out freckles scattering across his face, and delicate silver jewelry dangles from his ears and neck, glinting in the light as he makes his slow way down the stairs. Most notably, though, he’s in a baby pink blouse, tucked into a short white skirt, with matching pink knee-high stockings.

Chan’s world tilts. He knew that this family had kids, that they were around his age. But at the time, Chan had reasoned that it wouldn’t be a problem. He’d be too busy between work and eventually school to develop much of an interest, and besides, they were probably all boring, spoiled brats that Chan would become disenchanted with the instant he saw them.

Now, he has to grapple with the fact that he was sorely mistaken. Everything is not going to be fine, because his new employer has a beautiful, skirt-wearing son, and Chan has to fight to tear his eyes back to Mrs. Lee instead of staring at Felix’s thighs when his skirt flutters with every step.

“Is this the new pool boy?” Felix asks, and Chan doesn’t miss the lofty tint in his tone. He bristles a little, but it’s hard to stay mad when he glances back and catches sight of Felix’s cute little button nose scrunched just slightly against the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

“Yes, this is Chan,” Mrs. Lee says. “Chan, this is Felix, my son. He’s just finished his first year at university and is home for break.”

“Hi, Felix,” Chan says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” Felix replies as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “You’re studying music at Sydney Uni, aren’t you? For your masters, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Chan says, realizing that Felix must already know all about him; he has no doubt the parents shared his resume and details with their children before agreeing to hire him. “Where are you studying?”

“UWA,” Felix replies, smiling politely. “I’m not sure what I’ll be studying yet.”

“Perth,” Chan says, nodding. “That’s quite aways.”

“Not as far as Korea,” Felix says, and Chan can’t tell what he means by that. “Besides, Perth has some of the best schools, so it’s worth it.”

Chan decides that he’s being put down, but can’t figure out how, exactly, so doesn’t bother trying to piece it out. It hardly matters, anyway; Mrs. Lee is right here, so it’s in Chan’s best interest to remain ignorant and well-mannered. “That’s true,” he says simply.

Felix looks between Chan and his mother for a moment. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he says, and walks down the hall.

Mrs. Lee watches him go with a small, fond shake of her head, then turns back to Chan. “Feel free to head back to your room, wash up, maybe take a nap,” she offers. “I’m sure you’re tired from traveling. Dinner will be at seven.”

Chan ducks his head in lieu of a proper bow. “Thank you again for everything,” he says, and makes his escape. As he weaves back through the house, Chan catches a glimpse of Felix padding out into the garden. He’s got a full bottle of wine in hand, almost as pink as his stupid little stockings.

Chan sighs. It’s going to be a long summer. His only consolation is that Felix will go back to Perth at the start of the next semester and only be back for breaks, and Chan will be able to drown in his homework in peace.

* * *

Dinner is served at the big, fancy table in the dining room just off the foyer. Chan makes his way through the maze of hallways and sees an army of staff setting the table. He counts four positions—the parents, Felix, and him, then. The daughters aren’t supposed to be back for another week, if he recalls.

Mrs. Lee is directing her staff, positioned in the threshold of the kitchen entrance, tasting dishes and sending some back. She spots Chan during a lull and steps into the dining room fully.

“Please, take a seat.” She gestures him to the spot furthest from the head of the table. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Ah,” Chan says, pulling out his chair but hesitating to sit. “Just water, please. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, don’t worry,” she replies, ducking her head back into the kitchen. “A glass of water, please.” She pops her head back out to the dining room. “Though if Felix doesn’t appear by the time my husband arrives, I might ask you to go fetch him.”

Chan inclines his head, though the thought of it makes him tense. He doesn’t like the idea of being alone in a room with Felix. He’s not sure if it’s fear over what Felix will say to him, or fear of his own impulses. Maybe both.

The table is set before Chan; eventually, Mrs. Lee is satisfied with her staff and takes a seat, too, to the right of the head of the table, opposite side as Chan, which means Chan’s seatmate will be Felix. Great.

Mrs. Lee checks her watch. “I think he just got home,” she says. “Would you mind getting my son for me? We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Sure,” Chan agrees, pushing his chair back cautiously and standing. “Any places I should check first?”

“Out in the garden, most likely,” Mrs. Lee replies. “If not there, then the pool, and if not there, then his room.”

“Got it.” Chan heads through several rooms to the back door, shoving his feet into the slippers Mrs. Lee had laid out for him there when he first arrived, and punches in the code on the alarm system so the siren doesn’t go off before opening the door.

The air is muggy and thick and oppressive. Chan feels the moisture on his skin as soon as the door shuts behind him. He trudges across the vast second-story patio and over the bridge that looks down onto the smaller patio below, as well as the pool. No sign of Felix there. He crosses into the gardens, venturing deeper until he comes upon a clearing. It’s lined with carefully-maintained plants and a few statues. There, on the other side, sprawled on an ornate bench beneath the grand weeping willow, is Felix. He had one arm draped over his eyes, the other hanging off the bench, clutching the neck of the wine bottle, which rests somewhat precariously in the grass.

“Ah, Felix?” Chan tries. Felix doesn’t budge. Sighing, Chan makes his way across the clearing, swatting a bug away as he nears him. There’s a nearly-red tinge to Felix’s cheeks, obscuring his freckles. He must have gotten some sun, despite the fact that this entire clearing is in shade. Then again, he’s been out all afternoon, Chan supposes. He comes to a stop a few feet away from the bench, unsure. The skirt Felix is wearing is riding up his thighs. Chan clears his throat and tries not to stare. “Felix, your father is home and your mother asked me to bring you to dinner.”

Felix raises the hand over his eyes, squinting up at Chan. There’s a blankness on his face for a few moments, and then a detached sort of recognition falls into place. “Pool Boy Chan,” he says, voice slow and syrupy. “Your welcome dinner, right. It’s seven already?”

“Seven-twenty,” Chan supplies.

Felix sighs, peeling himself up from his perch and bringing the bottle into his lap. Chan sees it’s almost completely empty, and understands the flush on Felix’s cheeks. He watches as Felix yawns, runs his eyes, and then surveys the contents of the bottle. “Ugh, it’s all warm,” he mutters, but downs it anyway before pushing himself up to his feet, now-empty bottle swinging at his side. He sways for a second but rights himself before Chan can reach out to help him. “Well?” he prompts, looking at Chan. “Are you gonna stand there, or are we gonna go to dinner?”

Chan wonders how Felix’s parents will react to the wine, but decides it’s not his place to say anything. “Right, yeah,” he says, turning and shuffling back the way he came, checking over his shoulder every now and again to make sure he hasn’t lost his charge.

Felix picks his way through the garden with ease. How are his stockings still so perfect? How is his blouse still tucked and smooth? How is he pretty even with a sour attitude and alcohol warm in his cheeks? Chan balks at this last thought. Stop it. You cannot be thinking about how pretty your boss’s son is. On day one. Get a fucking grip, Chris.

Felix does trip going from the grass and dirt of the garden to the concrete and tile of the bridge. Chan catches him, staying steady even when the wine bottle hits him right in the elbow. Chan makes the mistake of inhaling when Felix is pressed close. He smells like wine, certainly, but he also smells like lemons and sugar and something that makes Chan want to press his tongue to Felix’s skin.

“Sorry,” Felix says in a tone that’s just a touch too silky for his loss of balance to have been accidental. Chan steels himself, making sure Felix is solid before simply letting go.

“No worries,” he replies mildly. If Felix wants a reaction out of him, he’s not going to get one. “You okay?”

Felix nods, lifting the bottle a bit. “Drank most of it sitting down,” he says, offhand. “Thought I would sleep it off, but…”

Chan nods wordlessly, continuing across the bridge and patio, back to the door. He unlocks the door, sliding his shoes back off and waiting as Felix struggles a little with his. When he offers his hand, though, Felix gives him a look of disdain.

“I’m tipsy, not catatonic,” he says, tone icy. Chan retracts his hand quickly before he can stop himself, stung.

Felix gets rid of the empty wine bottle somewhere between the back entrance and the dining room. When they return, Mr. Lee is just settling into his chair. He looks up and, upon seeing Chan, offers his hand to shake. Chan hurries to accept.

“Chan?” Mr. Lee asks.

“Yes, sir,” Chan says. He doesn’t miss the slightly sharper inhale from behind him—thinly veiled amusement from Felix. He doesn’t turn his head.

Mr. Lee also ignores this intrusion. “Mr. Lee, and no need to call me sir,” he says. “Please, sit.”

“Thank you for getting Felix,” Mrs. Lee adds, picking up a dainty bell beside her empty wine glass and ringing it once. “He’s often late, though I must say it’s not like him to… indulge so much before dinner.” There’s a sharpness under the polite tint of her tone, Chan notes as he slides into his chair and reaches for his napkin—disappointment, edges jagged with embarrassment.

“I just had a couple glasses of wine,” Felix defends. Staff members file into the room, carrying pitches, dishes, more wine. “I’m on break, Eomma. I’m relaxing.”

“Only one glass with the meal,” Mrs. Lee says.

“Eomma,” Felix complains.

Mrs. Lee’s eyes flick to Chan, then back to her son. “Fine. Don’t do it again.”

Felix nods. Chan files this exchange into his mind to study later.

Wine is poured, soup is served, and dinner begins.

“So, you’re studying music, Chan?” Mr. Lee asks.

Chan is grateful the soup is made from cold cucumbers; he swallows quickly and painlessly so he can respond. “Ah, yes, music production.”

“The arts are very important,” Mr. Lee says. “But they require a passion.”

“I believe I have that,” Chan says as politely as possible.

“That’s good,” Mr. Lee says. “We are nothing without drive, ambition.”

Felix takes a long pull from his wine glass.

The rest of dinner goes this way—polite drivel bounced back and forth like a casual tennis match between Chan and the Lee parents, while Felix mostly ignores all of them in favor of his meal. Each new course resets Chan’s expectations for just how horrendously rich this family is. A dish featuring caviar is followed by a truffle risotto, and then lobster. The wine is endless, so Chan keeps to sips.

He also gets the distinct impression that family mealtime is rare, a practice that is stored away in a cabinet with the nice dishes, taken down and used only when necessary.

Chan doesn’t keep track of how much Felix is drinking, but by the time dessert comes around, the flush has crept down Felix’s neck. Still, he seems steady enough, and when he is pressed for a comment, he provides one with ease. So is that what he is? I guess every rich family has its functional alcoholic. More money, more problems.

“Thank you for the meal,” Chan says earnestly when the staff come to clear the last of their dishes away.

Mrs. Lee offers him a smile. “Of course,” she says. “Thank you for joining us.”

“Congratulations,” Felix cuts in before Chan can formulate a reply. “She’s impressed with your table manners.”

“Felix,” Mrs. Lee says, tone cool but meaning clear. “It wasn’t a test, Chan,” she adds. “We just would provide some… instruction if you had been… less practiced. So you could be prepared in the case of a more formal event.”

“Ah,” Chan manages.

“Well, on that note,” Mr. Lee says. “I think we’ve held Chan here long enough. You must be tired from traveling.”

“A bit,” Chan admits. It is true, but he’s mostly interested in getting away from the awkward tension at this table.

“Go on and get some rest, then,” Mrs. Lee says. “Both of you. The staff will clean up here. We—” She gestures to her husband. “—will likely be gone when you get up and will return later in the evening. That’s typical of our schedules. Meals are whenever you’re hungry. Our kitchen isn’t fully staffed at the moment, but Chan, please help yourself to any leftovers. Maya—one of our senior employees—will be able to help you.”

“Thank you,” Chan says. Felix is already standing. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Chan takes this as a final dismissal, and hurries to follow Felix’s retreating footsteps down the hall.

He doesn’t catch up to him; the steps leading down to the staff quarters are closer. As he descends, he looks back and catches a glimpse of the swishing white of the skirt and the faintest whiff of sugary lemons.

* * *

Chan collapsed into sleep as soon as he got settled in his room, exhaustion pulling him down into unconsciousness almost violently. When he wakes, the house is still and dark, the air in his room stale. There’s a damp patch directly beneath his body on the sheets from a small accumulation of sweat—he must not have moved a muscle since shutting his eyes.

Though fatigue weighs on his limbs, his mind is decidedly awake, so Chan pushes himself up, slapping around for his phone and then groaning when the bright screen sears his eyeballs.

Eventually, he discerns that it is 5:17 a.m. Chan’s an early riser, but not this early, so he blames it on the nap he took before dinner yesterday. In any case, it can’t be jetlag, since Korea is an hour behind Australia. Chan gets up and dressed, bumbling around his room quietly and trying to kill a little time.

Around six, his stomach growls angrily, so he resigns himself to human interaction and opens his door, making for the kitchen.

The light is on when he gets there, and an older woman is stacking dishes in one of the cupboards. She must have heard Chan approach, or else simply has a great sixth sense, because she turns as he enters.

“Chan?” she asks. She’s white, unlike most of the staff, with weathered skin and crooked teeth and piercing eyes. Chan guesses she must be in her mid-fifties; her hair is just beginning to grey.

“Ah, yes,” he says, realizing it was more a question than a greeting.

“Maya,” the woman says, and some neural pathway manages to fire in Chan’s brain and reminds him that this must be the woman Mrs. Lee mentioned the night before. “Good to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Chan replies.

“You hungry?” She returns to her task, sliding some plates into place.

“Yes,” Chan says.

“Me too.” She takes the last handful of silverware and files it into a drawer. “How about some bacon and eggs?”

“That would be amazing,” Chan says. “Can I help?”

“If you want toast, it’s in here,” Maya says, tapping a long, skinny cabinet door as she shuffled past on her way to the fridge. “Could you grab me a slice? Not toasted, though, just leave it on a plate. Do you want coffee?”

“Yes please,” Chan says, taken aback by her blunt but warm welcome, lurching into motion and crossing to the cabinet.

Chan makes toast and Maya cooks at the stove, coffeemaker brewing to the side. “Mr. and Mrs. Lee are already gone,” Maya tells him without him even asking. “Felix will get up anywhere between seven and noon. The girls will be the same. Generally, as long as you’re polite and you don’t get… underfoot, you’ll find your time here to be quite pleasant.”

Chan registers that she’s offering him some valuable advice. “I’ll keep it in mind, thank you,” he says.

Maya looks him over out of the corner of her eye. “You seem like a nice young man, though,” she says. “I doubt you’ll have a problem.”

“Have there been… problems before?” Chan ventures.

Maya is quiet for a moment, but eventually she responds. “Yes, we’ve had a few pool boys in the past. Of course, some simply moved away, but.. we had a few get in trouble for making passes at the girls.” She turns and Chan sees she’s done cooking—she’s holding two perfect plates of bacon and eggs. “Not just the pool boys, of course, other staff members have been fired for similar reasons. It’s usually that, or stealing.” She offers Chan one of the plates.

“Thank you,” he says. “And thank you for explaining. I am just here to earn some money while I’m in school, though, so you’re right, I doubt I’ll have a problem.” That is, unless Felix takes over my brain, he adds silently.

The leathery skin of Maya’s cheeks wrinkles as the corners of her mouth tug up in a small smile. “Good.” She nods towards the door. “Go on, find a spot at the island. Take your toast. I’ll bring the coffee and jam.”

Chan’s just finishing up his food when Felix stumbles in, head in his hands. He’s barefaced and puffy-eyed and wrapped in a simple silk robe. It hangs loose at the chest. Chan snaps his gaze back to his plate before he can get caught looking. Felix slumps into a seat at the far end of the island.

Maya has already finished eating, and was in the kitchen cleaning up, but she comes in now with a mug of coffee and a small tablet of medicine in the other hand, tsking at him softly.

“Thank you,” Felix grumbles quietly. “I haven’t thrown up yet, but if I do, I’ll clean it myself.”

Maya hums her approval. “Just toast for now?”

“Yes please,” Felix says.

Chan listens to this exchange attentively. This Felix is entirely different from the one he met yesterday. He kind of expected him to snap at Maya, to be antagonistic the way he was before, but instead he’s small and quiet and contrite. Maybe Chan misread him. Or maybe his hangover is just that awful.

Felix downs the pill Maya brought him with a soft groan. There’s a heavy silence save for the soft scraping of Chan’s fork against his plate. And then—

“No, I don’t usually drink like that,” Felix says flatly, and Chan nearly jumps out of his skin.

“I didn’t say you did,” he replies quietly once he recovers.

“You were thinking it,” Felix says. “Last night. And yes, I’m usually polite to our staff. I’m spoiled, but I’m not a monster.”

The Felix Chan met yesterday had been a bit of a monster, rude and arrogant and selfish, so Chan doesn’t know if he buys that, but he just puts his utensils down and looks up at Felix, holding his gaze. “Okay,” he says.

“You’re not smarter than me, okay?” He says it with such finality.

Chan’s not exactly sure what he means. “Uh, okay,” he agrees anyway, taking his final bite of toast and washing it down with the last of his coffee.

Felix nods and goes back to being miserable into his palms. Chan almost feels bad for him—almost.

He brings his dishes back to the kitchen, protesting weakly when Maya takes them.

“Your job isn’t in here,” she says. “Go on, tend to the pool before it gets too hot.”

“Thank you,” Chan says, and slips out the front entrance so he doesn’t have to confront Felix again, heading back to his room for some sunblock and a bottle of water.

Though it’s only a bit past seven by the time Chan makes it outside, it’s already punishingly hot. He tries to make quick work of it, skimming off dead leaves and dead bugs and other unidentifiable debris. He tests the water, tests the filters, tests the temp, and clears the pool deck of debris as well. He checks the stock of towels, water bottles, liquor and ice and mixers behind the bar on the far end of the patio. By the time the pool and deck look spotless, it’s nearing eleven and Chan is drenched in sweat. He retreats to the shade, treating himself to a bottle of water.

He doesn’t see Felix approach, but suddenly the boy is standing over him, dressed in nothing but short black swim trunks, sunglasses pushed back over his hair.

“Come float with me,” he says. “You’re gonna die of heatstroke if you don’t.”

Chan grunts, taking another swig of water. “I'm supposed to be working.”

“Well, are you?” Felix asks. “Working? The pool’s already clean. Jerry isn’t here today, so there’s no gardening to do. Your only responsibility now is keeping me company.”

Chan’s still not sure how to take this shift in attitude. “I don’t think that was in the job description.”

Felix’s eyes narrow, his eyebrows furrowing in displeasure. “Fine, sit here and melt then, I don’t care.” He turns to go; Chan finds himself wounded somehow by the sourness in his voice.

“Hey, alright, alright,” he says quickly, pushing himself up onto his feet and tugging his tank top off. “You’re right, anyway, I’m melting.”

Felix turns back, and his gaze is bright again. “Good,” he says, and slips into the deep end.

Chan joins him, and has to admit the relief of being in the cool water is almost overwhelming. He paddles out to Felix, tipping onto his back. “Feeling better?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” Felix says. “Toast, coffee, and antiemetics work wonders.”

Chan can’t help but laugh. “Oh, that’s what Maya gave you?”

“What, did you think it was an antidepressant or something?” Felix asks. When Chan hesitates, he groans. “We’re not that stereotypical. Rich family with tortured children. No, we’re just about regular in terms of dysfunction.”

Chan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to respond to this, so he just kind of hums.

“What’s your family like?” Felix asks. He floats into Chan; their shoulders bump and settle against each other. Neither of them move to pull away.

“Ah, I dunno, we’re pretty boring,” Chan says. “Grew up here, actually. Moved back to Korea. I have two younger siblings, a sister and a brother. Hannah’s in secondary school. Lucas is still in primary.”

“And you’re going into music,” Felix says, like he’s reviewing a file.

“Trying to, anyway,” Chan replies.

“I wish I could go into music,” Felix says. “But Abeoji says it’s not sensible. So I’m studying business and communications. He wants me to take over for him.”

Chan can’t conjure up much sympathy. No matter what Felix does, he’ll be doted on and provided for for the rest of his life. He has a path laid out before him; all he has to do is walk it. If he says he wants to walk it but is too tired, his parents would probably conjure up a gold chariot to carry him down it instead. Maybe it’s not what he wants, but it’s secure. Chan wishes he had security.

He feels tiny fingers on his bicep and looks up. Felix is ghosting a hand over the muscle, watching Chan, waiting.

“What?” Chan asks.

“Do your parents know you’re gay?” Felix asks bluntly.

Chan blinks. “Uh, how did you know I’m gay?”

Felix gives him a look. “Please,” he says. “I already told you, you’re not smarter than me.”

“Yes, my parents know I’m gay,” Chan says, sighing. “Why?”

Is Felix moving closer? “How do they feel about knowing?”

“They’re supportive,” Chan says uncertainly. Felix’s hand is still on his arm. His lips have gotten color back into them, pink-red and plush, Cupid’s bow all dramatic corners and enticing. Chan can smell him over the chlorine and sunscreen. Lemons and sugar and something else. He swallows, hoping Felix doesn’t see.

“Lucky you,” Felix says. “How do you feel about knowing it?”

“I’m not emotionally constipated, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Chan says. He can’t stop staring at Felix’s lips. He wants to grab his little wrist. He wants to grab both of them, wrap his arms around Felix’s waist, pin his hands behind his back, and kiss him. And kiss him. And kiss him. “I’m very comfortable with who I am.”

“Lucky you,” Felix repeats. Closer still; his eyes are half-lidded. Chan could count his freckles. He could kiss every one. “Lucky me.”

We had a few get in trouble for making passes at the girls. Felix wouldn’t be any different, Chan knows. Chan would be fired on the spot. He needs an escape, so he blurts out the first thing that pops into his head, wrenching himself from the lust-addled stupor Felix has somehow coaxed him into. “If you don’t usually drink like you did last night, then why did you? Last night?”

It works, at least; Felix pushes away. “I’m hungry,” he says instead of answering, paddling over to the ladder. “Let’s get lunch.”

Chan accepts this, hurrying to follow him.

* * *

The next week passes mostly in this way. Chan gets up early, cleans, spends the midday either lounging or helping one of the other members of the staff. Maya cooks a lot of his meals. Felix comes to bother him on occasion, demands for his time or attention. When Chan accepts, Felix is bright and sunny. His air of general superiority never goes away, but he’s fun to hang out with when he’s not actively trying to get Chan to touch him. When Chan rejects him, too busy with work or too tired to withstand the teasing, Felix’s entire disposition shifts, dour and sulky and often rude. He retreats into himself for the rest of the day, punishing Chan by punishing himself. I guess he’s just used to getting his way, Chan thinks to himself. Not a monster. Just spoiled.

Still, in the back of his mind, Chan remembers the first day. What had Chan done that day to elicit the moodier Felix? Was it something Chan had done at all, or was he simply a convenient target for Felix’s ire? He’s not sure. He’s not sure which option he dislikes more.

The girls arrive that weekend. Chan meets them briefly; Rachael, the eldest, is much like her mother, and will be out most days because she has an internship. Olivia, the youngest, is sweet and funny but spends most of her time chatting on the phone with her boarding school friends. Their parents, at least, had the foresight of putting all of them in separate wings, so there’s very little chatter about the house, even when all three are home. Felix has rooms on the fourth and highest floor of the house, and overlooks the back patio, gardens, and pool. Olivia is in a tower to the east—like, a literal, actual tower; Rachael sleeps on the third floor in the western area of the house, nearer to the elevator and overlooking the front drive. The primary suite takes up a majority of the rest of the third floor, which is about all that Chan knows. He’s only been as high as the second floor once, and it was to fetch something for one of the maids. It’s mostly guest rooms and entertaining space.

Felix’s sisters are friendly, but they generally keep to themselves even when they are at home. Chan imagines they’re skittish around new male hires, and can’t blame him. He wants to tell them they don’t have anything to worry about, but knows it won’t do any good. Still, the idea does give him some dark amusement. Don’t worry about me, girls. It’s your brother I want.

And god, does Chan want. Felix is always in short little skirts and dresses, sometimes with stockings and other ridiculous little accessories, and is usually made up too, with sparkly eyeshadow and dark eyeliner and smudged mascara and sticky lip gloss on his pouty lips. He always ends up in Chan’s space whenever he can get away with it, coming up to him when he’s working on the pool or settling in the grass beside him in the garden or perching on a running washer while Chan works on a new load of laundry. He leans in close until Chan’s head is filled with the smell of him, taunting Chan, daring him to take.

Chan maintains his composure as best as he can over the next couple weeks, better than the first day at the pool now that he knows what he’s in for. Felix asks him about himself, and Chan answers delicately. He doesn’t pry into Felix’s personal life. He tells himself it’s because he’s being professional, or that he doesn’t want to give off the impression that he’s interested in Felix, which he fears will only make him bolder. But really, he knows it’s because he’s afraid that he’ll like what he finds, dragging him impossibly deeper into this weird psychosexual vortex, or else that he won’t like what he finds, but will nonetheless be enraptured by Felix’s terrible beauty.

He even jerks off to the thought of Felix despite his guilt, hoping it might cure him of his desire, but it does little to curb his impulses. Instead, it fills his dreams with Felix. Tortured, awake and asleep.

It’s not like Felix is helping in the slightest. If it were just in Chan’s head, he could probably bear it, stuff it away in some dark corner of his mind and soldier on. But the problem is, Felix seems to be determined to make Chan crack. He’s not even sure if Felix actually wants him, or just loves to toy with him. Either way, it’s kind of working. Chan is a man possessed.

Some days are like the first day, though. It doesn’t happen often, but Felix will disappear, and when he returns, it’s with alcohol in hand and an invisible veil over his features. He gets drunk and doesn’t speak to Chan or anybody else and stumbles off to bed. The next morning he pays the price for his indulgence, miserable but resigned. It’s almost like he’s punishing himself, but Chan doesn’t know for what. Still, by noon, he’s his regular self again, probing and selfish and dripping sweet poison that makes Chan nearly lose all sense.

Chan does all he can to cling to his sanity. Keep your hands to yourself so you’re not tempted, he tells himself one hot morning as he pours himself a lemonade behind the bar, chores finally done. No matter what he does. You can’t control him, but you can control yourself.

And, of course, Felix appears. He’s in a little skort-bottomed bikini, baby pink with cherries smattering the surface of the fabric and heart-shaped pink sunglasses slung over the string in-between to the two cups on his chest. Chan feels a heat rise to his cheeks immediately, and fixes his gaze determinedly on Felix’s face instead.

“Can you mix drinks?” Felix asks, hopping up onto one of the barstools. “You used to bartend, right?”

“Uh, yes,” Chan says.

“Make me a Sex on the Beach,” Felix says, and Chan tries not to choke on his next sip of lemonade.

“D’you even know what’s in one of those, or are you just saying it because you like the name?” he asks with raised eyebrows, suppressing a cough.

“Vodka, peach schnapps, orange juice, and cranberry juice,” Felix rattles off immediately. “And sometimes those cherries or an orange slice. But I like mine with more peach schnapps and less vodka.”

Chan sighs at him. “I can’t just feed you alcohol. I don’t care if you’re old enough, I shouldn’t enable you. Your parents will kill me if you swan into dinner drunk on cocktails I made you.”

“I won’t get drunk off one cocktail,” Felix says. “Especially if you make it with less vodka and more schnapps.” When Chan hesitates, Felix wheedles, “Fine, no vodka at all. I just wanted to watch you make it, really. That’s all.”

“What?” Chan blinks at him stupidly. “Why?”

“You have nice arms,” Felix replies, like it’s simple. “I like strong guys, you know.”

“Well, I’m definitely not doing it now,” Chan mutters.

“Chan.”

“Felix.”

“Please?” Felix makes his eyes big and sad and pitiful.

“Will you lay off if I do?” Chan barters.

“Pinky-swear,” Felix says, offering his pinky.

Chan links his reluctantly. “Okay, fine. Just one, though. No vodka, just schnapps.”

Felix keeps to his word. He doesn’t say anything else suggestive or flirty. What he does instead, Chan thinks as he lifts a bottle to measure and watches Felixfollow the line of his arm, is much worse. His eyes darken, his tongue poking out to swipe over his gloss-covered lips. He drags his gaze over Chan’s body, hiding nothing about it, about where he’s staring and why. Chan is embarrassed by the attention, of course, but mostly it all just goes straight to his dick. Felix is practically begging Chan to fuck him, and Chan wishes more than anything he didn’t have to say no.

He finishes making the drink, dropping a couple of maraschino cherries in, and even finds a pink umbrella to garnish it along with a matching straw.

“Thank you.” Felix’s voice is even deeper and huskier than usual. Chan clenches his fist around the neck of the schnapps bottle as he moves to put it away. “Ooh, this is really good. You must’ve been popular as a bartender.”

“I got good tips.” He cleans off the counter and dries his hands. “I’m, uh, gonna go in and see if Maya needs anything from me. Leave the glass in the sink when you’re done. I’ll clean it later.” He starts walking before he even gets an answer.

But Felix’s voice floats over to him on the wind, sweet poison just like the drink in his hand. “See you later, Chan.”

Chan doesn’t go see if Maya needs anything. He heads straight to his room, locks the door behind him, and turns the shower on. He strips quickly, throwing his clothes on the floor and steps in under the cold water, chest heaving.

He comes with his forehead pressed to the cool tile, icy water pounding against his back and fist wrapped around his cock. It barely keeps the heat beneath his skin at a simmer.

When he goes back to the pool, Felix is nowhere to be found. The glass is clean and drying on the rack.

* * *

It’s on a particularly hot day that the last of Chan’s resolve melts into nothing.

Felix’s parents are both out, his father at work and his mother at some kind of social gathering; his sisters are gone, too—Rachael at her internship and Olivia at a friend’s house, and most of the staff have already taken leave for the holidays—Christmas is less than a week away. So it’s just Chan and Maya, and Felix.

Felix came down to breakfast that morning in something rather modest, actually—a light, flowy skirt that fluttered a few inches above his knees, and a plain t-shirt tucked into the waistband. Simple and demure. Chan had let it lull him to a false sense of security, thinking, it’s too hot today for mischief anyway, right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong. Chan’s checking one of the filters in the shallow end of the pool, water lapping at his thighs, when Felix pokes his head out the back door. “Chan,” he calls.

“Yes?” Chan looks up, rinsing his hands off in the pool water.

“Can you help me? The zipper on my skirt is stuck, and I can’t twist it around to the front to see what’s wrong.”

Chan knows it’s dangerous. His promise to himself from the week before echoes faintly in his head. Keep your hands to yourself so you’re not tempted. But Felix looks genuinely upset. And it’s not like there’s anyone else to help him—Maya’s probably busy with the laundry, or working on lunch since their private chef is off until Christmas Eve.

It’s just a zipper, Chris, he tells himself. You can handle a fucking zipper. “Sure, lemme just dry off.”

“I’ll be in the bathroom,” Felix replies, disappearing inside again.

Chan grabs a towel and runs it over his legs, just so he doesn’t drip all over the floors, and then chucks it on a nearby pool chair and ducks into the cool relief of the house. He pads across the hall and knocks on the bathroom door.

Felix opens it and Chan slips inside, trying not to stare. Felix is shirtless, wearing just his skirt and a pout. Unlike Chan, he doesn’t try to hide his staring at all; Chan considers only now that he should’ve put a shirt on before coming in, or at least kept the towel as some kind of buffer.

Not that it would’ve done anything, he thinks wearily as he gestures for Felix to turn around so he can look at the zipper. He’s as incorrigible and fickle as they come.

The zipper is, in fact, stuck—Chan has to wrestle with the fabric as delicately as possible, but growing up with a little sister wasn’t for nothing, and eventually he manages to free it without putting a snag in a single thread. He doesn’t unzip it all the way, just far enough that it’ll be easy for Felix to reach. He’s honestly a little bit afraid that Felix is naked under the skirt, and that interaction is the last thing he needs.

“All set,” he says, cringing at the way his voice comes out, hoarse and weak.

He turns to leave, but one of Felix’s tiny hands curls around his wrist, pulling him up short. “Finish unzipping it for me,” he says. “It’s hard for me to reach.”

“Felix.” Chan turns back around. “You can do it yourself.”

“Why don’t you wanna do it for me?” There’s that pout again, the pretty pink lips, glossy and so inviting; the wide, pitiful eyes. Chan almost falls for it, too entranced.

“You know why.” Chan tries to gently pull away, but Felix’s grip is too strong. “Felix,” he repeats. He thinks maybe he’s pleading with him, please, have a little mercy on me.

But Chan isn’t sure Felix knows how to be merciful, at least not in the face of something he wants. “Unzip me,” Felix demands, voice soft and almost petulant. “You said you’d help.”

Just unzip him and run, then, Chan thinks, sighing and moves behind Felix again, shaking his hand until Felix lets him go. He pulls the zipper down all the way and nearly bites his tongue so he doesn’t curse out loud.

He’s cursing a lot in his head, though. Fuck, shit fuck fuck fuck shit, oh fuck. Because Felix isn’t naked under the skirt. It’s worse.

Felix shimmies his hips a little so the skirt falls to the floor. He steps out of the puddle of fabric, then bends at the waist to pick it up. Fucker, Chan thinks. “What? D’you like them?” Felix asks, throwing Chan a glance over his shoulder. “Hyung?”

What a stupid question. Chan tips his head back, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling instead of at Felix’s cute little ass wrapped in a baby blue swimsuit bottom that’s only a few square centimeters of fabric away from being an honest-to-god thong. Felix has them hiked up over his hips, leaving very little to Chan’s imagination. He wants to escape before he sees what the front looks like and abandons all of his feverish promises of goodness right here and now.

“Felix,” Chan says through gritted teeth. “I don’t think your parents would appreciate this behavior. I certainly don’t.”

“You don’t?” Felix’s voice sounds closer, but Chan doesn’t dare look down. “Are you sure about that?”

Chan is absolutely sure about that. His body, however, has other plans. He can feel himself getting hard, and he knows if he doesn’t get out now, Felix will be able to see it through his swim trunks, and he’ll be done for.

He feels fingertips on his waist, soft and warm. “Hyung,” Felix murmurs. “Look at me.”

Chan can’t help it. He crumbles completely at the sound of Felix’s voice, low and sweet and so enticing. He brings his head back to center, eyes focusing on Felix, and his breath catches in his throat as his gaze instantly travels lower. The front of the swim bottoms barely cover him; one wrong move and Chan’s certain Felix’s dick will pop free—which, he reflects, is probably exactly what Felix wanted. He flicks his eyes back up to Felix’s face, and is met with a devious little grin.

“I’m looking,” Chan says. “What else do you want from me?”

“I think you know exactly what I want,” Felix says.

“We can’t,” Chan says. “It’s not—appropriate, you know it’s not.”

“Why, because you’re working for my parents? So what?” Felix says. His hands are still on Chan’s body, trailing up his stomach. “They don’t have to know. It’s not that big of a deal! You’re only a couple years older than me, it’s not like it’s that scandalous. I want it. Don’t you?”

Chan swallows roughly. His skin is hot where Felix is touching him, even though goosebumps have broken out over his back where the A/C is blowing. This is it. Chan’s going to ruin his life for a terrible, pretty boy, and he finds that he doesn’t even care. “I do,” he whispers. He grabs one of Felix’s hands, the one that’s trying to sneak a little too low. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Victory shines through on Felix’s face, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Fucking finally,” he goads.

“Shut up and come here,” Chan says, and leans in and kisses him.

Felix squeezes Chan’s waist with his other hand, gasping into his mouth. Chan takes a step forward, and another, cupping Felix’s jaw with one hand and nearly crushing his fingers in the other, backing him up against the wall. He licks Felix’s lip gloss off his lips, his teeth, his tongue. It tastes like artificial strawberry, gooey and sickly-sweet. He drops Felix’s hand, breaking away from him for just a second so he can take his baseball cap off, so the brim doesn’t get in the way. He throws it over in the direction of Felix’s discarded clothes without looking, and surges forward to kiss Felix again. Felix moans, taking hold of one of Chan’s biceps.

“Fuck,” Chan pants, reaching down and palming Felix’s ass, groaning when Felix hums out a noise of satisfaction. “God, if your parents weren’t gonna kill me before, they’re definitely gonna kill me now.”

Felix giggles. “No, they won’t.”

“I don’t care,” Chan says, dipping his head so he can nip at the sensitive skin of Felix’s neck, kissing over the hollow of his throat. “I’ll tell them it was your fault. You were the one who kept flirting with me, kept riling me up. Always wearing your shortest skirts, always looking for an excuse to touch me.”

“I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t looked at me like that on the day we met,” Felix shoots back, and Chan flushes in embarrassment. He should’ve been more careful, he shouldn’t have even wanted it in the first place, but—well. It’s far too late now. “You made it so easy. It was too fun, I couldn’t resist.”

“You’re such a brat,” Chan bites out. “Don’t act like it was just for fun. You wanted me to fuck you from the start.”

“So are you going to?” Felix asks. “Fuck me?”

“Well,” Chan says. “We’re gonna need lube. And probably a condom. And we probably shouldn’t be in the bathroom, what if Maya walks by? What if your mum gets home early and comes looking for you?”

“We could go up to my room,” Felix says, but he makes no move to pull away, and neither does Chan. Instead, Felix’s fingers find the waistband of Chan’s shorts. He toys with the fabric. “But I don’t want to wait. I want to come.”

“Already?” Chan asks, like he isn’t just as worked up, like he isn’t hard and aching just centimeters from Felix’s fingertips.

“Touch me and find out,” Felix replies, and Chan doesn’t need to be told twice. He reaches down, ghosts his palm over the bulge in Felix’s obscenely small swim bottoms. Felix whines softly in his ear, so Chan gets bolder, curling his fingers and squeezing just slightly. The noise it pulls out of Felix’s chest is poisonous and wonderful.

Chan tugs the swim bottoms down as Felix lets his fingers slip inside Chan’s pants. A string of precome stretches from the head of Felix’s cock to the fabric before snapping midair. Chan presses his thumb against the slit, looking down to watch a few more beads dribble out over the tip when he pulls away. He collects it with his index fingers, spreading it down the length of Felix’s cock before taking him in his fist. “So messy, Felix,” he murmurs.

Felix fumbles for Chan’s cock, moaning softly. “Your hands are so big,” he whimpers. His hips twitch up into Chan’s palm. “Feels good.”

Though Felix is wet, there’s still too much friction, so Chan releases him for a moment. Felix whines at the loss, but Chan shushes him, spitting into his palm, and then takes him in his fist again, letting his spit mix with the precome, making the glide easy and smooth. Felix stutters over a moan, letting his head tip forward so his forehead is resting on Chan’s chest. He runs his fingers up the length of Chan’s cock, then brings his hand back out to the waistband of Chan’s shorts and tugs them down with a frustrated noise.

Chan moves his hand faster over Felix’s cock, a dark, nasty sort of pleasure blooming in his chest when it makes Felix tremble. He lets out another choked little moan, and Chan shushes him. “Someone could hear you, and we don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

Felix doesn’t listen. “Cha-an,” he slurs, pressing a wet kiss to Chan’s chest as he fumbles with his cock. His little fingers are a bit clumsy, but it doesn’t matter to Chan. Felix is touching him, like he’s been imagining, like he does in Chan’s dreams. He’s not entirely sure this isn’t just another dream, except that it feels so real. He can smell sugar and lemons and Felix. He speeds up his hand, moaning low when Felix nips at his skin.

“I tried, you know,” Chan huffs softly. “You know that, right? I tried not to let this happen. I tried not to want you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Felix says against his skin. “Didn’t work.”

“No it didn’t, did it?” Chan finds it easy to accept. “Look at me, baby.”

Felix straightens, looking up at him. There are stars in his eyes. “What?”

Chan doesn’t reply, just kisses him again. His lips are so soft, mouth so inviting. Chan could kiss him all day, he thinks, running his tongue over the backs of Felix’s teeth. Felix rolls his hips in time with Chan’s hand, stroking Chan at the same pace, letting himself be kissed. The noises he makes against Chan’s lips only make the dark pleasure grow. Felix is ruining him, but at least the destruction is mutual. Chan’s gonna make sure he’s the best fuck Felix will ever have.

Felix pulls away to pant out, “Chan, Chan, oh fuck, so good, daddy, fuck,” and then he’s shooting hot white release onto Chan’s fingers, Chan’s arm, Chan’s stomach. Chan can’t help the low almost-growl that drags itself up his throat as Felix shakes, whimpering sweetly in Chan’s arms.

“Good boy, baby,” Chan murmurs, head spinning from the way Felix sounded, the way he called him daddy. Coming out of any other mouth, it would’ve made Chan cringe, but somehow with Felix it makes his knees weak and his vision blur. “Made such a mess, you gonna clean it up?”

Felix doesn’t say anything, just bends over, still trembling, and presses his tongue to Chan’s abdomen, swiping at his own come until Chan is clean, even his arm and hand. He pulls off Chan’s fingers with a wet pop, blinking up at him.

“Still want me to fuck you?” Chan asks darkly, prying Felix away and tucking himself back into his pants.

“Yes,” Felix whispers, that same trained sultry look back in his eye. He recovers quickly, Chan thinks, almost exasperated.

“Get dressed, then,” Chan says. “If Maya asks, you invited me up to game.”

“Got it,” Felix says pertly, side-stepping Chan to retrieve his skirt, handing Chan his cap while he’s at it.

Chan takes it, but doesn’t put it back on, instead doing his best to smooth his hair in the mirror, waiting while Felix tugs his t-shirt on, too.

“Zip me up?” Felix asks, and Chan is reminded exactly how he got here. It almost makes him laugh.

“Sure.” He pulls the zipper into place, bending to kiss the top of Felix’s spine when he’s done. “Ready?”

“Mm,” Felix says. “Let’s take the elevator, Maya probably won’t see us.”

He’s right. They get to the elevator without interruption and spend the ride from the basement to the fourth floor in complete silence. Chan had almost forgotten there was an elevator in the building, since most of his time was spent in the basement level or on the first floor. He’s pretty sure he’s never been in it. But it moves quickly, and soon Felix is leading them out and down a hall Chan has never stepped foot in.

Felix’s room is like the rest of the house. It’s clean, proper, and stately. The only things that betray its inhabitant’s age are the figurines lining one of the bookshelves. Chan closes the door behind him, flicking the lock, and doesn’t have the chance to take in any more of his surroundings. Felix is on him in an instant, fingers at the waistband of his shorts again, needy and demanding.

“C’mon,” he says, muffled by Chan’s skin. “You said you’d fuck me, so fuck me.”

Chan picks him up with ease, smiling to himself when Felix squeals his surprise, and walks them over to Felix’s bed. He deposits Felix in the sheets, hiking his shirt up and bending over him to suck a hickey into his inner thigh.

“Chan,” Felix moans, sweet and low and perfect. “Daddy.” Chan bites, and Felix whines. “Oh, fuck, you’re so mean.” He’s breathless when he says it, delight pitching in his voice. His fingers find Chan’s hair, tangle in the curls. “Will you fuck me like that? Mean?”

Chan looks up, finds Felix’s glassy eyes. “Is that what you want, baby?” Felix nods, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Want me to treat you rough? Want me to pound your cute little ass into the mattress?” He doesn’t know how the words have snuck their way into his mouth—dirty and depraved. But it doesn’t matter, because Felix rolls his eyes back in his head, nodding emphatically.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please. It’s all I’ve wanted this whole time. ‘S why I’ve been so annoying.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Chan mutters, crawling up the bed so he can kiss him.

Felix wraps his little legs around Chan’s waist, kissing him hungrily, trying to pull Chan closer. “Chan,” he murmurs against Chan’s lips between kisses. “Daddy, need you, please.”

“Where’s your lube, baby?” Chan asks. “Condom, too.”

Felix rolls over with a groan, yanking open the drawer of his bedside table and rummaging around inside. Chan takes the opportunity to unzip Felix’s skirt again, though he doesn’t tug it down yet. It’ll be easier when Felix is on his back.

Felix reemerges from the drawer with lube and a condom held victorious in a tight fist. He rolls back over, lifting his hips as he hands over the goods so he can tug his skirt off. Chan helps him, dropping it on the floor off the side of the bed. Next goes Felix’s shirt, shucked easily up over his head and leaving him in just his microscopic swim bottoms.

Chan does the only logical thing. He bends down and undoes the bows on Felix’s hips with his teeth. Felix gasps softly; it turns into a breathy moan when Chan turns his head and kisses the tip of his cock.

He kind of wants to blow Felix, but Felix asked to be fucked, and Chan has basically accepted that he’s never going to tell Felix no ever again, so he sits back on his heels and pumps out some lube.

“Showered earlier,” Felix supplies. “I’m all clean.”

Chan wasn’t gonna ask, honestly, was just gonna go for it, but he appreciates it. He raises his eyebrows as he reaches down to spread his cheeks. “You were that confident it would work?”

Felix shakes his head. He looks so little, drowning in the crumpled duvet. Chan thinks his mouth is watering. “I was hopeful,” he says. “I’ve done it every day, hoping.”

“Jesus, baby,” Chan mutters, easing his first finger in and rubbing something patternless into the skin over Felix’s hip bone when he whimpers. “Just for me?”

“Mm,” Felix confirms. “Knew you’d come around eventually. Just wasn’t sure when.”

Chan’s got his finger in up to the last knuckle already. “You’re kinda loose, baby. Did you prep yourself already?”

“A little,” Felix admits coyly. “But you’re bigger than I thought.” A soft giggle rises up. “You’ll have to go up to four fingers for sure. I only did three of mine, and mine are tiny.” He holds up his hand to show, as if Chan hadn’t already catalogued this fact on day one, and hadn’t been obsessing over it ever since.

“Jesus,” Chan repeats. “You do that every day, too?”

“Not every—every day.” Felix’s breath hitches when Chan’s second knuckle slips back out and catches on his rim. “Usually just one finger, maybe two.”

It’s still incredibly hot. “Sure you were doing it for me, or do you just like having your hole played with?” Chan pushes two fingers in this time. It’s still not much of a stretch.

Felix moans, showy and sweet. “Both,” he says. “Your fingers feel better than mine, though.” Chan is working up a slow rhythm. “You get deeper. I bet your cock will feel best.”

“Have you been thinking about it?” Chan asks, curling his fingers a little, searching around for Felix’s prostate. “Imagining my cock?”

Felix’s eyelids flutter. “It’s almost all I think about when I’m with you,” he admits, low voice impossibly lower. “Oh, fuck!” He arches up off the bed. Chan’s found it.

“Yeah?” Chan teases, hoping his voice comes out steady so Felix doesn’t have proof of just how much this is turning him on. “Right there?” He does it again, petting over the spot, and Felix twitches weakly, letting out another incoherent moan.

“Mm, daddy, stop, hurts,” Felix whines with absolutely no conviction in his voice.

Still, Chan avoids it for the next couple thrusts. “Can’t take it?” he goads. “But what happens when it’s my cock? I’m gonna fill you up, baby, you’re so tight, I won’t be able to avoid it.”

“I’ll fall apart,” Felix says, though not piteously. It’s more a statement of fact. “I don’t wanna fall apart yet.”

That’s fair, Chan supposes. He doesn’t respond, just fits his ring finger in alongside the first two. He meets some resistance, but Chan has done a good job so far, and Felix opens easily, so it’s not long before he’s pumping three fingers in and out of Felix like it’s nothing.

“Ch-Chan,” Felix stutters. “Hurry up, I can take it.”

Chan kisses the inside of his knee. “No, I don’t know how you’d explain the limp to your mother.”

“She wouldn’t know it’s you I’m fucking,” Felix points out.

“Still,” Chan says.

“She already thinks I’m a whore, it doesn’t matter,” Felix mumbles, so swift and quiet Chan almost misses it.

“What?” He pauses mid-stroke.

“Nothing,” Felix says. “It doesn’t matter is all. I said hurry up.”

You’re fucking him, you’re not his psychiatrist, Chan thinks to himself as he resumes fingering him. It’s not your job to try and fix his life. Even if you could, he’d hate you for it.

They brush past the moment quickly, drowning it with the wet noises from between Felix’s legs and Felix’s sweet moans. Chan murmurs praise as he adds in his pinky—doing so good, baby, almost there, look so pretty, so patient for me—and Felix responds beautifully, fucking himself back down on Chan’s fingers and twisting in the sheets. A fine layer of sweat has broken out across his skin, making him glisten in the early afternoon light. By the time Chan finally pulls away, satisfied that he won’t tear anything when he fucks him, Felix’s cock is already hard again, red and leaking against his stomach.

Chan rolls the condom on, spreading a little more lube over the length, watching Felix catch his breath. “Ready?”

“Chan, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll never forgive you,” Felix replies, and Chan laughs. He realizes it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while, the misery from keeping his desire tamped down and hidden for weeks too heavy for joy. But now it doesn’t matter anymore, and he’s laughing again. He lines himself up with Felix’s puckered entrance, pink and red and perfect.

“Well, we can’t have that,” he says, and pushes in.

Felix is perfect. Chan knew this, but still—it was only imagination that had guided him all this time, because Chan’s never known anyone as perfect as this. The tight heat around him makes him shake. Felix’s eyes cross first, and then roll back completely as he lets out a moan when Chan finally bottoms out. Chan tips over Felix’s body, breathing out soft moans and pressing reverent kisses to his chest and stomach.

“So full,” Felix rasps softly. His hands are in Chan’s hair again, combing it off his forehead. “Oh, fuck, Chan, feels so good.”

“Perfect, baby, you’re perfect,” Chan manages. He doesn’t know what else there is to say. “Take me so well, it’s like we were made for each other.”

Felix refocuses his eyes. Chan watches his slow blinking. “Could just stay like this,” he says. “Till my parents get home.”

This makes Chan’s dick twitch; Felix feels it and giggles. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Chan counters. “Mean.”

Felix sighs dramatically. “I want that, too.”

“There’s always tomorrow,” Chan says, drawing his hips back and pushing in again.

“Mm, or tonight,” Felix says. “After everyone’s gone to bed. You won’t be able to fuck me hard then ‘cause we’ll have to keep quiet. You could just put it in and we could cuddle like that.”

Chan groans, imagining it, their hushed voices in the dark, hoping no one hears them, biting back moans as Chan pushes in and fills Felix up. Huddling under the covers, chest to back, Chan’s arms wrapped around Felix’s lithe body. “Fuck, baby, you’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Felix nods. “I want you,” he says plaintively, like that explains it. Maybe it does, except Chan’s been wanted before, and it wasn’t like this. This is something else, something deeper, more primal. He knows because he feels it in himself, too.

“What do you want, baby?” Chan asks. He wants to know the ways Felix has been picturing him, wants to know if it’s the same as the ways he’s been picturing Felix. He thinks he’ll agree to anything Felix asks.

“I-I,” Felix stutters, hesitant, but Chan recognizes it as fake. The words are just waiting to trip off Felix’s tongue. “I want you to fuck me and make me come over and over,” he begins. “I want it rough and fast. I wanna come so hard I almost pass out.” He’s picking up steam, talking faster. “ I want it everywhere. I want you to fuck me in the shower and bend me over my desk and push me up against the mirror.” He’s panting now, but he keeps going. “I want to ride your thigh in the pool, I want to choke on your cock when you’re eating breakfast. I’ll come find you in the garden, too, and I won’t be wearing any panties so you can finger me under my skirt.” He gives Chan a wide-eyed, innocent look when he says it, but Chan sees the clear intent behind the facade. He’s trying to rile Chan up, but he’s also dead fucking serious. “I can take it anywhere, any time, I want it like that. Doesn’t matter if I’m busy or drunk or asleep, I like it. I’ll like it if it’s you.”

“Lix,” Chan groans. “That’s so dirty.”

“Want you to take advantage of me, daddy,” Felix pleads, blinking up at him, his beautiful eyes huge. “I’ll only wear my tiniest underwear from now on, and I’ll finger myself open every morning so it’s easy. I’ll carry condoms in my bra, so you’ll know where to find them. Will you do it?”

“All of it?” Chan licks kisses up Felix’s neck. “We’re gonna get caught, baby.”

“Only when it’s safe,” Felix amends. “Can’t have them taking you away from me, who’d fuck me then?”

“Okay, only when it’s safe,” Chan agrees, because of course he wants it, too.

“Good,” Felix says. “Now fuck me harder, I wanna feel it.”

A strange sort of noise rumbles out of Chan’s chest. It’s something close to displeasure, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He pushes himself up off Felix’s body and grabs him by the backs of his knees. He pushes him down into the bed that way, folding him at the hips until Felix’s knees are almost at his ears. “So flexible, baby,” he murmurs. Felix lets out a satisfied sigh, which hiccups into a moan when Chan thrusts into him. His cock bobs in midair from the force of it, dripping precome on Felix’s chest. “That how you wanted it?” He adjusts to the new angle quickly, picking up the pace again.

Felix is breathless when he responds. “Yes, just like that, yes.”

Felix is spread so wide like this, his body curled over itself to accommodate Chan. Chan digs his fingers into the skin of Felix’s thighs, hard enough to bruise. Felix can always wear stockings to cover them up, and Chan has a feeling he’ll like having the reminder. He slams his hips forward, rough just like Felix asked, fast and ruthless. All Chan’s hours in the gym are finally paying off, and he forces down delirious laughter at the thought.

“Look so pretty like this,” Chan grits out. “Should’ve kept your skirt on, babygirl, they always make your waist look so nice.” Felix lets out a whimper at the word babygirl, and Chan zeroes in on that immediately. “You like that? Babygirl?” Felix nods fiercely; Chan realizes tears have gathered in the corners of his eyes, his cute nose reddening. Chan leans close. It’s a little difficult, with all the body in the way, but he manages, kissing the hollow of Felix’s cheek, then trailing down to his jaw. “Why the tears?” he murmurs into Felix’s skin.

His voice vibrates in Chan’s skull. “Feels so good,” Felix replies. “Just—overwhelmed, can’t help it. Good tears, don’t fucking stop.”

Chan straightens again, satisfied that Felix is okay, so he doesn’t have to work so hard. “Okay, baby. You need me to stop, though, just say so.” He rocks his hips in deep, making the bed creak. It’s a good thing nobody’s home.

“I won’t ever tell you to stop,” Felix says, and it’s dreamy and almost vacant. He’s staring up at Chan, eyes a little unfocused. A tear rolls down his cheek, leaving a pale grey streak in his skin from his mascara. He snakes a hand between his torso and his thigh and wraps it around his cock, stroking slowly, almost absently. His eyes never leave Chan’s face, even when Chan thrusts hard and deep and makes him cry out. “D-daddy, hn, gonna make me—gonna make me come—ah, oh fuck.” The rest is unintelligible, staccato moans, and then Felix’s whole body convulses. He clenches down on Chan, making it almost impossible for him to move; his pretty face contorts into a twisted expression of bliss, and his legs tremble. He comes with a string of soft curses, so hard some of it shoots past his chest and hits his face, coating his lips and spattering across his cheeks, a few droplets even sticking in his eyelashes.

Felix releases his cock, which still dribbles out a few beads of come with Chan’s every thrust, arms going limp at his sides and head lolling back.

“Fuck, Lix,” Chan grunts, movements shallow despite the urge to start pounding him again, kind of worried he’ll fall apart. “Sound so gorgeous when you come.”

Felix is slowly licking the come off his lips while he cleans his eyelashes with the hand he wasn’t using to touch himself, his chest heaving. “I wish,” he says softly, so faint Chan barely hears it, “that I was flexible enough to suck my own cock.”

Unbidden, the image of Felix curled tight over himself, his own cock stuffed in his mouth, hole gaping and spread, manifests in Chan’s mind. “Oh, god,” he gasps, and before he realizes it, he’s coming, too, buried deep inside Felix, knuckles white where he’s still holding his legs.

Chan hangs his head, panting and disoriented, as he comes down. Presently, he unlocks his fingers and releases Felix’s legs; they slide down on either side of him, whispering soft against the duvet cover. He makes no move to pull out. He’s not sure he can move at all.

After a while, he looks up, and sees that Felix has managed to clean off his face. He shakes his head, groaning, and sits back on his heels, bending over Felix’s body, running his hands down his sides, and presses wordless kisses to his ribs and stomach, slow and lazy.

“Good?” Felix whispers.

Chan looks up at him. “So good,” he replies. “Better than I imagined. Not sure I should say that, since it’ll just encourage you, but it’s true.”

Felix giggles brightly. “I won’t be nearly so bad now that I know you’ll give me what I want,” he says, tipping his head to the side.

“I have a hard time believing that,” Chan replies, finally pulling out. He gingerly removes the condom and ties it off, crawling up the bed so he can reach the waste basket next to Felix’s bedside table. He grabs a tissue while he’s at it, and rolls onto his side, towards Felix. “C’mere,” he coaxes softly. “Let me clean you up.”

“Oh,” Felix says, like he’d forgotten entirely about the mess on his chest. He turns to Chan, reaching out and laying a hand on his bicep.

Chan swipes his drying come away, leaning it to kiss away the rest, tugging Felix close to him until they’re lying chest to chest, legs slotted together. He looks up. “All done,” he says softly.

Felix leans in and kisses his forehead. The gesture is oddly sweet. “You really went for it,” he says. “I was impressed. I thought you’d need more prodding.”

“You’ve been quite frustrating,” Chan points out, keeping any trace of venom out of his tone. He’s not angry about it anymore. “I guess that was all the prodding I needed.”

“Mm, I’ll keep it in mind,” Felix says.

“Please don’t,” Chan mutters, and Felix giggles again.

“Out of curiosity,” he says. “Which outfits did you like best?”

“What?”

“What do you like to see me in?” Felix asks evenly. “It’s just you around. I can dress just for you.”

“Oh,” Chan says weakly. “I like the short skirts. And the stockings. You have—” He shifts his hand lower and squeezes. “—the best thighs ever, I like when you show them off.” Felix hums, clearly pleased. “But seriously, you could wear anything, and I’d want to fuck you. So don’t worry about me.”

Felix laughs again, full-bellied and mischievous. “Oh, Chan,” he sighs. “And here I thought my Christmas break was going to be boring.”

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 2 years

Text

Dating Fred Weasley Would Include

You’d be best friends with the twins since day one.

Wherever they were you were never far behind.

And you would try and be a good influence but those boys were their own force of nature.

You both realise that you like each other around Fourth year.

But he never asks you out.

Instead, one day when you’re studying he leans across and kisses you out of the blue.

You’re flummoxed but he merely shrugs and flashes you a cheeky grin.

Then it happens a few more times.

‘Fred…do you like me?’ ‘I’ve been snogging you for the past week I should bloody hope so.’

George is happy for the pair of you.

But he hates your PDA.

Fred’s happy to let the world know you’re together.

He carries your books to and from class, kisses you goodbye outside the classroom, and walks the halls with his arm around your shoulder.

When it got too much George would insist you ‘bugger off and give him a chance at keeping his lunch down’.

So you’d spend a lot of your days finding secluded spots in the castle.

Fred’s insatiable.

And his biggest turn-on is the idea that the pair of you might get caught.

Eventually you stop spending the night in your own dormitory.

Sleeping next to him is soothing.

And if McGonagall knows she doesn't let slip.

You’d try and get him to take school a little more seriously.

He’d shrug you off.

Which would cause massive arguments.

But eventually he would tell you about the pair of them wanting to open a joke shop.

‘Why didn't you just tell me?’ ‘Because we didn’t think we could do it…not really.’ ‘You two can do anything. I know it.’

Since you’ve been friends from the start Molly knows you well but she acts like you’re a completely new woman and she’s desperate to impress.

The twins mock her endlessly for it.

But you tell them to pack it in sharpish.

‘Never tell me off like that again.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because Georgie dearest pointed out that you look exactly like my mother. And I don’t have the money for therapy.’

Even though they would drop out of school Fred would insist you stay put.

If truth be told you’re a little lost without the pair of them around.

You’d count down the days till any school holiday.

And there’d be letters written from both of you almost daily.

They’re utterly sappy but neither of you care.

He even promises that when you graduate the pair of you can get married.

Once you’re out of school he makes good on his promise and buys you a gorgeous ring.

Your days would be spent helping with the order, running the shop and doing your own job.

It’s exhausting but you love it.

Until the night you lose Mad-Eye.

Seeing George mangled like that was when it gets real for you.

And you can’t stop seeing Fred’s face in place of his brother’s.

You’d spend nights up worrying about the war.

Fred was one to talk you down. To try and calm you.

George would talk it through with you which would help because at least he was feeling what you did.

Then the battle of Hogwarts would come.

You’d feel it mid-fighting. Something wrong. Something bad.

And you wouldn’t have to see his body to know he was gone.

You could tell by the crumpled form of Molly Weasley that your love was gone.

That’s when your world would break apart.

The only reminder of your love is that ring on your left hand.

THIS IS PART OF MY CHRISTMAS CHALLENGE. I’LL BE POSTING AN IMAGINE EVERDAY FROM 1ST - 25TH DECEMBER. THIS AND ALL IMAGINES WILL BE UPLOADED IN THE LINK POSTED DAY BY DAY.

ADVENT CALENDAR OF IMAGINES

#my writing #my headcanons #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley headcanon #dating would include #harry potter headcanon #harry potter imagine #christmas challenge

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noeggets · 4 months

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I wrote a whole thing about Sal but i had a lot of what i was thinking was true debunked because the battle network wiki is incomplete and somebody really needs to go and put all the information about the Anime in it cause it’s missing a lot of information.

I was under the impression that Sal who is a “Net Agent” which apparently is a third body group from being a NetSaver/NetPolice which is a second body group from SciLab???

it’s probably explained in the anime but there is 0 information about these things on the wiki because someone needs to write it up there cause i can’t be trusted to put up information like this cause im not intelligent enough + im not the person who edits wiki so this is what i thought

Originally i was under the impression that Sal who is a NetAgent was part of SciLab’s group of NetSavers but they were a secret faction, her Miyu and Masa THAT IS NOT THE CASE. What im understanding by reading what is on the wiki is Sal is a NetAgent and a NetAgent is a third body group like i said earlier it’s a independent group that deals with Netcrime so im assuming they don’t or do have permits? i don’t know.

A NetSaver/NetPolice works with the cops under Commissioner Keifer and Superintendent Manuela it says.

"SciLab also cooperates with Officials in dealing with netcrime and other catastrophes related to network society."

"NetPolice are headed by Commissioner Keifer and Superintendent Manuela, who recruit Lan Hikari and Chaud Blaze as “NetSavers”, specially deputized citizens who can cross fuse and tackle situations that normal police officers can’t. "

this is 3 groups of people potentially more.

My original writing of this post was just me talking about Sal but it’s gone deeper then that.

i was under the impression that SciLab was somehow the police force/scientific research facility at the same time but that is not the case, i was going to argue that SciLab hired children because they were better at net battling but all this got debunked when i was going over things in the wiki trying to understand.

Now that everything is figured out now i can talk about Sal

"She is the owner of a boxed lunch stand near the Government Complex to earn money for nature conservation activities with her Navi. As she is 13 years old, she only works during after school hours and on holidays. Although it seems she is keeping this job a secret from her school. She also assists Megaman with training."

with anime logic i can see a 13 year old hiding all of that but it also says

"In Mega Man Battle Network 4, it shows she's the leader of a 1,500 person environmental protection organization."

again, anime logic i can see it but it makes more sense to me if she was older and doing these things so i vibe closer with the Sal being 17 idea. I wanna say they tried to hire her as a Netsaver but she’s got so much under her belt she would rather not be a official and instead be a secret agent

“in the anime she was revealed to be a NetAgent that goes by the name Black Rose. The Net Agents are a group from the anime, they are secret agents who act like everyday people while fighting criminal organizations.”

but eventually she is hired by the official’s to be a real Netsaver like Lan and Chaud. (because i want her to crossfusion and she can’t do that legally if she’s not working with them because only SciLab has the synchro chips)

Working here she learns about how most people these days are hiring children like Chaud and Lan, iTcould go on about how there could be group(s) in this world not wanting them to hire basically child soldiers because the stuff Lan and Chaud deal with is like adult level missions. Lan got electrocuted several times and put into situations where if this was an adult it would be a lot less dangerous but im not talking about that, im talking about Sal

Im going to say she was made a offer when she was 13 and if she took it she would have been the first children they allowed to join which isn't very right but kids in this world are just better at net battling then adults tell me im wrong with all the times lan outdid ACTUAL ADULT PEOPLE IN A NET BATTLE. im assuming since they couldn’t hire Sal they thought it ok to hire Chaud instead but they were probably in contact with his father and his father is ok with this as long as it doesn't get in the way of their business idk i need to remember the lore more to talk about Chaud

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk

#megaman battle network #Sal #MMBN headcanons #talkin

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carolmunson · 2 years

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starting from zero, got nothing to lose (eddie munson x ofc)

part I Eddie Munson makes it out of the Upside Down, and a year and some change later makes it out of Hawkins. Knee deep in the '89 NYC metal scene and working at a boxing gym in Brooklyn, Eddie wonders if he'll ever find his footing running from Hawkins. With only some phones calls to sustain his friendships back home, will he be able to let go for the long haul? Or will his past in Hawkins eventually catch up with him? AN: Back in June I started writing vignettes of this story as it came to me and am still developing it. I have plot ideas that need refining, but like, at least 20 pages of content for this story already. I've had to do a lot of research to make it as time period accurate as possible. I've lived in NYC for 12 years but wasn't alive in the 80s so I'm doing my best.

This first chapter is mostly exposition and background but our guy is a lil' sassy towards the end. The OFC does have descriptors, but whatever imagine her however you'd like.

I think the only TW is drug use and drug mention in this chapter but I'll be vigilant for any more. Lastly, if you're under 18, please don't read this shit.

New York City December 29th, 1989

It was a cold night. The subways were empty with holiday shopping finally over and the short lull between Christmas and New Years tourists had arrived. Eddie sat with his legs spread out wide on the bench of the train. One hand drummed out the beat of Dr. Feelgood on his knee, the other on the switchblade in his vest pocket. He only had to use it once since he came to the city, but it never hurt to have it ready to go.

He didn’t like the subway. Not because of the graffiti, that was metal. Not because of the homeless sleeping on the train cars or asking him for money. Not because he already had a beat up truck he could drive instead. It was because when it was late at night, and it was just him, the little flicker of the overhead lights made him nervous. Like once they shut off, they’d shut off forever and he’d wake up still stuck in the…

“Hey man, you got a dollar?” a raspy voice asked, holding a hand out. Eddie looked up and gave the guy a quick once over. He looked rough – hunched over and dried out. The dirt caked in his nails looked like it had been there for years.

“Sure man, yeah,” he fumbled a bit for his wallet, pulling at the chain on his pants. He slipped out a couple bills and handed them over, “Be safe tonight, okay?”

“God Bless,” the man murmured while shuffling away, “Happy New Year.”

Eddie looked out the window of the car, they still hadn’t pulled out of York Street. The trip from Gleason’s to Delancey was only a stop across the boroughs, but it sometimes felt like hours to make it into the city from Brooklyn. He caught his reflection in the window, still him – but a couple years weathered. The shine had dulled out of his eyes, only lighting up when the phone in his apartment rang because he knew it would be Dustin and the gang. His hair was the same curly, wavy, frizzy mess it always was. Calluses and scabs on his knuckles contrasted against his gun metal rings.

After leaving Hawkins in the Fall of ‘87, he spent a lot of time sleeping in his Uncle Wayne’s truck while working odd jobs in different Ohio and Pennsylvania towns so he could make enough money to head out to New York. He wanted to go to all the places he read about in Metallix, Rock Scene, and Punk Magazine. Maybe he’d meet the Ramones or something, or THE fucking Ozzy after a show. He wanted to get out of all the small towns so at least he could be a freak in a big city full of other freaks. But if you wanted to be a freak in Ohio and Pennsylvania, you needed to know how to fight.

It took him some time to recover after getting out of the Upside Down, he spent over a year in Hopper’s cabin in a makeshift hospital bed. The only good side about the end of the world in Hawkins is that everyone thought he was dead; so they weren’t looking for a satanic killer on the loose anymore. The downside was trying to figure out where they were going to find him a blood supply. It worked out but just barely. Then there was the whole, learning to be a person again. When he started getting stronger, he told Hopper his plan to leave, and Hopper taught him the basics. Jab, cross, hook, uppercut. His stance, how to move, how to breathe, how to block. He was kicking himself for not learning sooner.

The kids were able to snag his school records, Wayne brought all of his cassettes, documents, and his guitar Lucy who survived the trip from another dimension. His uncle gave him $400 dollars, Wayne’s entire savings, and his beat up truck.

“Call when you can,” he said in a firm hug before Eddie left – but Wayne passed away a few months later from a heart attack. It killed him not to go to the funeral.

He ended up in the city around the same time last year, came across Gleason’s Gym during a fight and asked for a job as a janitor the same night. Something about watching boxing matches gave him the same excitement he got whenever he heard a solid guitar solo. He didn’t want to get in the ring or spar or anything, he just wanted to be around some of that chaos…and the girls helped, too. Girls always helped. Bruce, the owner, said he’d only let the manager give him a raise if he got his GED – and so maybe ‘86 wasn’t his year, but ‘88 had shaped up to be.

The pay wasn’t amazing, but he wasn’t sleeping in his car long. Eddie was good at a lot of things, cleaning up blood and spit, fixing cars, he could play guitar, and most importantly, he was really, really good at selling cocaine. He was quick to be picked up for selling, his look helped, but he made sure to find a supplier with quality. It wasn’t Hawkins, so there weren’t many positives in selling shitty drugs in NYC — just a lot of split lips and black eyes. He did his best in metal bars, music venues, and out of Gleason’s. A lot of the guys used it to stay lean and keep their weight class. This came in handy any time he heard a complaint in the men’s locker room. That’s where Tony came in the picture.

The train screeched into Delancey and Essex and he swung himself on the pole off the train, a patched up leather satchel slamming up against his hip as he did. The sound of pills shaking in the bag distracted a few passers by but he shook off the stares, it was nothing at this point. Eddie got out of the subway into the chilled December night, lit a cigarette, and made his way to his next job.

Tony Cardalino, or more affectionately known as Tone, came to Gleason’s a few months ago to train. Tone was like him: shaggy brown hair, bandana in his back pocket, battle jacket – the works. He was about five inches taller than him, built like a tank, a good fighter, and overall a lot more intimidating than Eddie ever was. Chrissy’s ‘ You’re not what I thought you’d be ,’ rang through his head the first time he had a conversation with him.

“Aw nice pin, dude,” Tony said one night in the locker room while Eddie took off his coverall at the end of his shift, “I feel like the new kids don’t give WASP their respect.”

That night they went through a pack of Marlboros together outside, talking about bands and Eddie still finding his footing in the city. He told him about the first time he went to CBGB and L’Amour, Tony told him all the good places to have sex with chicks there. He took the biggest interest in Eddie’s dealing. Tone’s second cousin was connected to the mob, a solid hit man, until he was the hit – so his bar ‘Skid’ on Avenue B needed a new supplier. Eddie wasn’t about to pass up another opportunity to make money, so he took him up on the offer. He’d go to Skid after Gleason’s and bring his inventory with him.

“Just don’t let Ron catch ya,” he confessed, “You’d think those bartenders and bitches are too busy, but they see everything .”

“Is Ron a pig, or a narc or something?” Eddie asked, a little flash of fear striking through his chest.

Tony laughed, “Nah, Ronnie’s just off that shit. Not really into the whole drug thing anymore and when Paulie got put in the river it shook everybody up. But Ron’ll deck ya if you get caught and it's a hell of an uppercut.”

Now, Eddie had heard of Skid, but it had been rumored among some metal heads that it was more of a hard rock bar than a metal bar so he hadn’t visited. There were places closer to his apartment he’d been hanging out at anyway. But ever since Tony’s uncle overdosed and it was left to Tony to run, things had taken a more metal turn… supposedly .

He pulled open the door, covered in stickers aside from the little opening for the ‘Come in! We’re open!’ sign. His hopes dashed a little as Led Zeppelin's ‘Black Dog’ blared through the speakers. In the ‘Is Led a metal band?’ debate, Eddie was staunchly against the idea – but all around Skid seemed like one of the places to be, even if it was a little quiet for a Friday. He guessed people were out of town or maybe still spending time with their families – whatever that means. He scoped the place out and saw Tony’s described ‘bitches’ manning the bar much to his relief. After finding a dark corner to settle in, he took a seat, keeping his bag open discreetly next to him.

All the booths, tables, and the bartop were dark cherry wood that looked black in the low lighting save for a little platform stage in the back, littered with amps and a drum set. Red leather upholstery looked worn and weathered from years of bar fights and the weight girls sitting on laps. Beer stains and cigarette burns. There were signed posters and photos all over the walls, two autographed Gibson’s hung over the bar with fishing wire. Ripped stickers and dollar bills with lipstick marks stuck to the back splash, lacy bras hung from the ceiling over the stage. It felt like a warm hug, he felt more at home than he had in months.

“Okay, well now that that shit’s over we’re gonna play Angel of Death by Suh-layerrrr,” a patron said lazily over the mic on the platform while his band set up. The crowd in the bar rowdily cheered. He had a beautiful Fender, Eddie almost purred in his throat when it glinted in the hazy red stage lights. He couldn’t pay attention long though, because with the band as a distraction, his customers slid by him one right after the other. The swap of baggies and bills felt like a waltz to him now he was so used to it, tucking the money into his sleeve and dropping it in the open satchel. He knew Tony had let word spread on who to look out for, but he wasn’t expecting this much in sales in one night.

To not bring too much attention to himself, he closed his bag up after a few songs from the band and maneuvered over to an empty stool at the end of the bar. He slung the bag on one of the purse hooks under the bar’s lip (which he was surprised they had installed) and turned his attention back towards the stage. Nodding his head in time with the beat, crossing his arms across his chest – he tried to catch a glimpse of Tony just about anywhere, but he hadn’t seen him since he arrived.

“You gonna order something handsome, or do ya just like the view?” he heard a woman’s voice ask over his shoulder. He turned on the stool, face to face with a barmaid who was leaning in close to hear his answer. He looked up at her, taking in her details. Little leather bustier, big denim vest riddled with patches and pins, jeans that were just tight enough. The standard type at bars like this, tits out and everything. She had brown eyes with too much mascara lashes and big brown Farah Fawcett hair. He could smell her cherry flavored Lip Smackers from the stool. Checked all the boxes, down to the Debbie Harry smoky eye.

“Oh,” he started, flashing her a smile and resting his chin on his hand, “Definitely the view.” Eddie had flirted his way into plenty of free shots with girls like her before, it was his favorite sport. She let a little puff of air out of her nose and leaned down onto her forearms.

“What can I get you?” she asked, matching his posture.

“I don’t know, what do you like?” he asked back, making a little show of slipping his eyes to her cleavage and then back up at her. She caught his stare and gave him a wink before slamming two tumblers down in front of them. I’m sure you do that to all the guys, he thought to himself. She poured two generous shots of Jack Daniels, picking up her glass and waiting for him to pick up his.

“I always like to toast before I do a shot with a stranger,” she flirted, “Especially ones like you.” He was so easily intoxicated by women these days and this was no exception, his mouth ran dry at her attention.

“What are we toasting to?” he asked in a low voice one hand on his drink and dropping the other down on the bar. With her free hand she reached slowly toward him, delicately placing his chin in her hand. He could feel the tips of her almond acrylics graze his skin.

She got nose to nose with him, Eddie could smell her perfume mixed with sweat and cigarette smoke. Her lips parted, hovering over his – his heart was thumping in his ears so hard it was drowning out the drums.

“To me never catching you slinging that shit in my bar again. I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you need to get the fuck out of here,” she hissed through gritted teeth. He blanched and sputtered. Was this a set up? Was he not at the right bar? Her nails dug into his chin as she threatened him, “Cause if not, I’ll call the fuckin’ owner out here and he knows the fuckin’ mob. Better yet, I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass myself.”

Eddie panicked, dropping the shot on the bar with a clink! Fuck, shit, shit, shit –

Oh.

Oh!

The ‘fucking owner’ that kne the mob was Tony. Eddie let out a snicker of relief, but it came out snarky. He took her wrist and pulled his face out of her nails, feeling the indents on his skin as he ran his other hand over his chin. He leaned onto his knuckles over the bar, looking down to face her directly,

“You must be Ron.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson nyc au #eddie munson lives #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eventually #eventual smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things au #stranger things fanfiction

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dearweirdme · 1 year

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I feel strongly that jikookers must be really young or adults who are really lacking in the common sense and observational department because there's no way there's no way 😭

Imagine fighting tooth and nails and even going as far as visiting cc's anonymously of ppl who don't think the same as you to try to convince them ( more like convince yourself ) that two dudes in the kpop industry who have content after content of very common and usual fanservice, I mean almost kisses with cameras on every angel and on their faces, lots of narratives that come straight out of a company, they even be expecting eagerly their annual compilation of fanservice, the memories ( any rational adult with any idea of how the world works knows that that isn't the way a closeted gay couple would be treated when there's millions of investment in a group), also the body language (jikookers really can't read the most basic body language or they are pretending), the honest clear attraction between two other members etc, are in a relationship

They also be acting like reality is dependant on what ppl's opinion a private relationship is.....it doesn't matter what any of us think, who you try to convince or how much you try to convince yourself, reality won't change, facts won't change, our opinions don't have any influence in these people's feelings and lives, I need ppl to stop thinking with their desires and wishes and really start using their brains.....and I'm not saying this for the need to win any ship war, but bc i see how these delusions serve to harm real queer people and make their lives harder ( kpop and in this case their company has everything to do with this)

Hi @def-sowl!

Yes, absolutely! Going to rant a bit on your ask here.

What I have learned from the Jkkrs visiting my blog and from what I encounter when I look through tags... Jkkrs have a very strong focus on the 'romantic' parts of life. They allow for very little aside that. Everything Jk and Jimin do has a double meaning or they do it with the other in mind. You could so clearly see that when Jk released Seven... his clothes, his pictures, his jewelry, his lives... everything was connected to Jimin. That is not how real lives work. Jkkrs rarely think about reasons for Jk and Jimin's behavior outside the realm of romance. Jimin was unsure about his appearance so he sent Jk a selfie to show why... Jkkrs make it a naked selfie. JImin went to NY... Jkk date. Jimin doesn't talk about Jk on his lives... Jimin isn't ready/holds the ropes/whatever it was. The way they see Jk and Jimin is entirely built around the idea of them together. You can even see huge discrepansies in that, because at the moment they dont know whether to stick with the "Jkk is bold" or the "Jkk is laying low".

When thinking about the members, there's so much to take into account. They do not live normal lives for instance. I had this Jkk go on about Tae not knowing Jk's hotelroom number and how that meant they couldn't possibly be boyfriends. They do not take into account that those guys go from hotelroom to hotelroom at times, with only time to sleep at some days. It's nothing like schoolcamp or going on holiday. We as fans, cannot compare their situation to ours in the practical way. They have jobs that none of us experience, they have more money than us, they always have to be aware of 'image', they are 'being lived' at times... it's just.. we cannot relate. That doesn't mean we cannot incorporate those things when we think about how their lives might be though, and I feel Jkkrs absolutely lack in that regard.

That anon came back and showed me many tiktoks and tweets about how I am wrong and how Jkk is real (though stating they do not mean to try and convince me, they just like pointing out that I am wrong). But those vids, where all either fanservice or plain friendship. And you are right, they do not understand the subtlety of reading bodylanguage at all.

and I'm not saying this for the need to win any ship war, but bc i see how these delusions serve to harm real queer people and make their lives harder ( kpop and in this case their company has everything to do with this)

That is a very strong point you made, and yes I agree.

#taekook #straws

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btsgotjams27 · 2 years

Text

All Grown Up ~ JJK | 13

✨ title: all grown up | series (completed) ✨ pairing: jungkook x f!reader | ✨ rating: R/18+ ~ minors dni ✨ genre/au: romance, fluff, angst, friends-to-lovers, humor, banter, smut, age gap, best friends little brother ✨ warnings: noona kink, older woman, younger man, kissing, oral (m,f), unprotected intercourse, significant age gap (9 years), confident Jungkook, cocky Jungkook, bratty Jungkook, crappy mom, but overall Jungkook is the sweetest, most romantic boy who's fallen in love | warnings for each chapter will vary ✨ author's notes: I won't be updating this series on Tumblr. Please continue this series on AO3 or Wattpad. Links below. This fic is inspired by the k-drama, Something in the Rain. ✨ author's notes 2: okay, so i do plan on editing the rest of this series! i just don't know when it'll be done.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] prev | next ✨ we can't do this

✨ chapter 13 ~ the day he knew | wc: 2.0k ✨ warnings: mentions of sex

2014.

(18-year-old Jungkook, 28-year-old Y/n)

Jungkook recently graduated from high school and was getting ready to go abroad to college to study game and graphic design. His family was throwing him a going away party; of course, you couldn't miss it.

"I can't believe Jungkookie is going off to college. When did he get so big?" you asked, faintly reminiscing the times when Jungkook was younger.

"I'm going to miss him, even though he annoys me so much," Yuna smiled.

You laughed. "I'm sure he'll be back to visit and annoy you when he has holidays. And you could always go visit him."

Yuna gasped, "Oh, good idea! We could make a trip out of it."

"I've always wanted to visit California. The beaches look amazing."

The two of you continued to finish the remaining party tasks. Their mom went all out to celebrate her baby boy growing up and moving halfway across the world. Like all mothers, she was against him leaving, but you and Yuna convinced her to let him go. Jungkook deserved to live life and experience new things, and he was fiercely independent, so you didn't have to worry much about him - he'd figure things out on his own.

"So... how's it going with U-jin?" Yuna asked reluctantly, knowing there was some restlessness between you.

You looked at your best friend, biting your bottom lip. "It's," you paused, "good," you mumbled. It was not good. The two of you had been spending a lot of time apart, but you didn't want to alarm Yuna about it.

Yuna gave you a look, halting her task of setting the table. "Why are you saying it like that?"

Shrugging, you asked, "Like what? He's nice, has money, a good job, and comes from a good family, but I feel we don't have that spark, you know? He's reliable, but he doesn't make me–"

"Make you come," Yuna interjected.

Maybe you should have kept some details of your sex life to yourself instead of spilling it to Yuna, but you were frustrated with how things were going with U-jin, and you needed to vent. Sex was fine with U-jin - nothing mind-blowing.

"Who doesn't make you come?" A voice interrupted from behind the pair of you.

You choked on nothing, "Jungkook!" You made a face as you elbowed Yuna. Oh god, Jungkook didn't need to hear about how you weren't satisfied in your relationship. "No one."

"Exactly, no one." Yuna laughed, "It's her boyfriend." She leaned in, whispering to Jungkook, "He doesn't make her come."

Jungkook awkwardly nodded, not wanting to hear about your sex life…but only because, you know..of his little crush on you. "Ah…"

You nudged Yuna harder this time. "Kookie, don't listen to your sister. She's nuts. And don't talk about this stuff around Jungkook," you said, the last part gritting through your teeth. This was embarrassing, and no one needed to know how bad your sex life was.

"Huh? Wha-why not?" He was confused, and he wasn't stupid. He knew what you guys were talking about. "I've touched a boob...or two," Jungkook explained, trying to sound cool but realizing he probably sounded like a tool.

The two of you chuckled at young Jungkook, giving him an okay look. You almost wanted to grill him on what girl allowed him to go to second base.

"Cause you're still a baby. C'mere my widdle baby Jungkook," Yuna said mockingly in a baby voice.

Jungkook rolled his eyes at his sister, "Shut up. I'm not a baby. I'm a grown man, about to head off to college," he refuted, puffing out his chest and straightening his posture.

You stepped closer to Jungkook and squinted, bringing your thumb and index finger to hold his chin, "I don't see any hair." You couldn't help but tease him too.

He smacked your hand away and rubbed his chin. "Noonaaaa, why do you have to rub it in? It'll grow one day, and I haven't peaked yet. Just wait and see. I'll come back as a completely different person."

And you were sure that he would. He'd get some life experience being out there by himself. Of course, a part of you couldn't help but worry since he'd be so far away from family, but he's a big boy, and he'd figure it out.

"I'm swure you will, my widdle Jungkookie. Coochie coochie goo," you taunted him, trying to tickle his chin.

Jungkook waved you off. "Aye--I give up. I can't with you guys." He tried his best to look 'grown up,' but the two of you still saw him as a baby.

Yuna's phone went off in her pocket. She looked at the caller ID. "Oh--mom's calling me. Y/n, can you finish setting up the table?"

She handed you the napkins and utensils, and you continued setting the table as he followed you.

"Noona," you peered up at the young man of the hour, "thanks for coming."

Grinning from ear to ear, you beamed at him. Jungkook always had a soft spot in your heart and was always sweet to you when he wasn't being bratty. "Of course, I can't miss my Jungkookie's going away party. You're going to have so much fun in college. Don't go too crazy, but if you're ever in trouble and can't tell Yuna, you can call me, and I'll bail you out."

You'd rather have him call you than Yuna. She'd probably scold him and drag his ass back home, but you, well, you'd do the same with more love in your tone.

"Promise?"

You beamed at the doe-eyed boy, "I promise."

"Can I call to catch up too?"

Shaking your head at the sweet boy, "I'd love to hear about all the wild adventures you'll have in college. Just don't drunk dial me, okay?"

He laughed. "I can't promise that."

Your phone began buzzing in your back pocket. "Oh--now I'm getting a call," you looked to see it was your boyfriend. "Ah, it's U-jin. Can you finish setting the table? I'm going to take this real quick."

He grabbed what you had left in your hands. When you veered off to take the call, Jungkook couldn't help but pay attention to you rather than his task. You seemed frustrated, pacing back and forth as the call continued. When it ended, you stuffed your phone in your pocket, huffing as you returned to Jungkook.

"Everything okay?" he asked, setting a napkin down and then placing chopsticks and a spoon on top.

You didn't want him to worry. "Mmhm, it's perfect."

It was apparent you were lying. You were an easy read, and Jungkook had been around you for too long not to notice when you were upset.

"Come on.. what's going on?" he asked again.

He wasn't going to let this go, huh? "Just another excuse from U-jin for why he can't go on our weekend anniversary trip. We'd planned it for months, and he didn't even care to ask for it off. God, I feel so stupid sometimes."

You also felt stupid for telling your problems to an 18-year-old, as he'd care about what was going on with you.

"Oh," Jungkook's heart sank when he could hear the disappointment in your voice. "I'm sorry. And Noona, you're not stupid, and he is if he's acting that way."

"It's fine. I'm used to it."

Jungkook was bewildered by how loosely you held the standard of how your boyfriend should treat you. "But you shouldn't be used to it. He's your boyfriend, and aren't you supposed to be a priority in his life?"

You looked at him and smiled. You wished it was that easy. He was young, still full of hope, optimistic about love, and probably a romantic at heart. You couldn't blame him, and you were like that once too.

He knitted his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"

You snickered, thinking he was cute. "Whoever ends up with you will be a lucky one. Here, let me finish this. Go and enjoy your party. We're here to celebrate you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Even though you had brushed it off, Jungkook couldn't help but worry about you. It's not like he could do anything, and he could only hope you realized that you deserved better than your current boyfriend.

(Present Day)

Jungkook went to Yuna's apartment and dropped off some side dishes their mom had made for them. "Here." He pushed the food bag in her hands and immediately turned around to head back out.

"Yah. We need to talk." Yuna grumbled. She didn't want to keep talking about this whole situation, she was hoping it would just dwindle, but she knew it wouldn't.

"About?" Jungkook acted like he didn't already know.

Yuna opened the door wider, inviting him in. "Do I have to tell you?"

"Fine." He sat with arms and legs crossed on her couch, trying to avoid looking in her direction. He already knew that she would scold him and tell him he was too young and not mature enough. "Is Namjoon-hyung here?" He asked, looking around the apartment. He needed a buffer between him and his sister, but it looked like that wasn't happening.

"No… he's at work," Yuna narrowed her eyes at Jungkook. Was he hoping to have Namjoon on his side or something? Because, well, Namjoon was.

"Help me understand why you like her so much?"

He scoffed and leaned forward. "You're her best friend. You should understand why she's a catch."

Yuna licked her lips. It was an unfair question, and she knew it. You were her ride or ride, the one person who's been a constant in her life, her 'person.' "She is an amazing human, but I don't know why you, of all people, would pursue her. Are you doing this for attention or something? Are you jealous that I'm getting married?"

Jungkook sighed and threw his hands up. "Do you hear yourself right now? Why are you making this about you?"

She nervously bit her bottom lip, unsure of how she felt about her brother dating her best friend, let alone doing other things with her and vice versa.

He continued, "Noona…me? Jealous of you and Namjoon-hyung? I couldn't be happier that you've found the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. Why don't you let me and Y/n discover if we have something like you and hyung?"

"Do you remember my going away party? The one before I left to go abroad?"

She nodded yes.

"She took a call from U-jin, and I wish you could have seen the look on her face. I never want to see her look disappointed again. She deserves the world," Jungkook explained his reasoning - a part of it, at least. He could go on and on as to why he loved you so much.

Yuna sighed, "But my best friend?"

There were plenty of women, but none of them were you. "Noona, I'm sorry. I can't help who I like."

"I guess I can't stop you if you like her."

"So, is this an 'okay' from you?" Jungkook was already screeching inside at his sister's approval.

Yuna grumbled, "I guess."

Jungkook grinned. He knew this was only the beginning. "So, that's it? Don't you have something else to say to me?"

"Like what?"

"An apology, for instance."

Yuna scoffed, "Apologies for what?"

"You're kidding me, right? Noona, you said some pretty terrible things to Y/n and me. You're telling me you don't regret any of it?"

Tongue in her cheek, Yuna knew that she needed to put on her big girl pants and apologize. She hated being wrong, but Jungkook was right. In the heat of the moment, she said some things she wished she didn't. “I’m sorry, Jungkook. This whole thing with you and Y/n threw me off, and I wasn't prepared. I wish I had a heads up, that's all."

Jungkook pursed his lips and nodded his head, accepting Yuna's apology. "Noona, this all happened very quickly, and I don't think anyone was prepared for this."

✨ previous chapter ~ oops---

✨ next chapter ~ we can't do this

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x noona #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts #fic: all grown up

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saucy-sassy-sparkly · 2 years

Text

Moments: a 2013 drabble

Pairings: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Warnings: none

Note: Just a little something to tide ya over for a while :) Happy holidays everyone, hoping to have part seven to you after the new year as well as some new things I've been working on AND a return to Flight 1311 that I paused when I started expanding Moments.

Moments Masterlist

2013: DC/Boston/on location

Chris started at his phone, trying to convince himself that if he looked at it hard enough, it would ring. He’d been doing this off and on for the last 15 minutes. If he was honest with himself, he’d been doing it since he woke up. His nerves were frayed, he’d had to cancel two other phone meetings today to have his phone free. But now, it was closing in on 7 pm and it was getting harder to breathe.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Y/N, are you going to call?”

“I love you, but I’m hanging up right now. I need to think and I can’t do that when I’m this mad at you.”

He convinced himself to set his phone down long enough to get dinner together. If she’d waited this long, he wouldn’t miss it in the time it took to heat the meal that the nutritionist had prepared. Bumbling around the kitchen he crashed into drawers he left partially open and things fumbled out of his hands. He could hardly see straight; he was so worked up. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the kitchen island to see if the screen had lit up.

24 hours earlier, he’d woken up in Y/N’s apartment. The weekend he’d envisioned while he stood at Lowe’s and had a spare key made was much different than what had panned out. He’d pictured hugging and giggling and googling interior design changes. He’d pictured making love and whispering sweet nothings while they worked towards this new stage in their relationship.

He had not pictured the argument.

“Chris,” Y/N paced her bedroom, her hands running through her hair, “I just don’t understand how you can think this isn’t a lot to put on me.”

“And I don’t understand why you won’t see that this is the way it has to be!” Chris snapped back. He was sitting on the end of her bed watching her pace back and forth.

“Why is this how it has to be? Because you make more money than me? Because your job is more important than mine? You know I love Lisa, but I don’t want to work at the theater. I want to do my job with my clients and come home to my apartment with my friends. You’re asking me to move my entire life and you want me to do it immediately.”

“I didn’t say any of that other stuff. And I didn’t say immediately.”

Y/N dropped her hands to her sides and they slapped aggressively on her thighs, making a loud smack, “you’re right, you said in 10 weeks when your filming is wrapped and you’re settled back in Boston. Excuse me, that’s not immediately.” Sarcasm dripped off of every word.

“Why is this so awful? I want a future with you, Y/N, and I want it to start as soon as possible.”

“Don’t try to make me the bad guy here because I’m holding my ground.”

“So I’m the bad guy?”

“No one is the bad guy!” She cried while real tears filled her eyes, “This is just so like you. You’re so impulsive and you’re so passionate and fuck if I don’t love both of those things about you but not when it comes to my entire life. You dropped this on me within an hour of being here and then it’s been a cloud over the whole weekend. We get so little time together, Chris, I just wish this could’ve gone differently.” Y/N winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She didn’t mean to make it sound like such criticism. This was just so overwhelming. She’d thought this weekend would be a lovefest before he finished out his latest project. She hadn’t anticipated this massive change of plans and she really wasn’t ready to drop her whole life for him.

“Okay, so if you don’t want to move in with me, you could’ve just said no. You don’t have to call me an impulsive passionate bad guy who ruins our time together.” Chris knew he was laying it on thick, but he was hurt. He truly thought Y/N would agree immediately and jump into his arms while they celebrated.

He hadn’t thought about what he was asking her to do. He thought about how it impacted him– she’d said as much the day before and they’d agreed to put a pin in the conversation until now so they could enjoy the time they had.

But now, his flight back home was in three hours, and she hadn’t given him an answer. Rather than admit that he was hurt and sad, he dug his heels in; unfortunately, his girlfriend was equally stubborn.

“Let me be clear,” she came to stand in front of him and he resisted the urge to put his hands on her waist. She was in her short, fuzzy bathrobe and her long legs were calling his name. The belt around her waist was cinched tightly but in her pacing and flailing, her cleavage was more exposed. Chris forced himself to focus on her face. That beautiful face he’d loved for forever. The same one that was crushing him right now as he thought about the rejection she might give him, “I love you, Christopher,” she put her hands on his shoulders and he took the invitation to touch her waist and pull her in between his legs, “and I’m not trying to make you feel bad or to make this seem like I don’t want to live with you. I’m just begging you to see this from my perspective. I love my apartment, I love my job, I love my friends, and I love my life here. To change all of that is a big deal and I need to think about it.”

“So you’re saying no?” He asked quietly.

“I’m saying no right now,” she clarified. “I’m saying no this weekend. But really I’m saying give me time to think it through and figure out what I want.”

Chris nodded. On some level, he did understand that this was a significant life change that she should have the time to process. He’d had the time to think about it and how it would change his life, so he needed to give her that time.

“Can you just let me bring it up again? When I’m ready to talk it through with you, I’ll bring it up. I need you not to push it right now.”

“I can respect that,” he nodded again and gladly accepted the kiss she leaned in to give him.

He had, however, not respected that.

Y/N dropped him at the airport and they said an awkward goodbye by the car; she’d kissed him but they’d both felt the strain. He’d flown home and called her when he got there. The whole flight and drive back with his mom, he’d thought about everything. He had another few days in Boston where he had a few odds and ends to take care of before he went back to location and in the car running errands he’d called her. He’d apologized profusely and she’d been grateful for his understanding.

And yet even with such a productive, mature conversation with his partner, he couldn’t help himself. He’d still said, “So when do you think you’ll have a decision.”

Y/N’s response had been terse and tried to change the subject, asking for him to respect her process.

He’d pushed again, saying, “I just want you here as soon as possible.”

That hadn’t been the right sentiment and had led to her frustration and hanging up and now here he was, standing at the kitchen counter eating boiled chicken and broccoli and hating every bite while he stared at his phone. After he’d finished the plate, rinsed it in the sink, and loaded it in the dishwasher, he came back to the phone to a text notification. Frantically he swiped through the screen to find messages from Y/N.

Y/N: i’m not ready to talk today Y/N: i love you, i’m just really frustrated Y/N: i don’t want to argue with you. it won’t be productive if we talk tonight

Chris wanted to cry. He also wanted to throw his phone across the room as hard as possible. He was mad at Y/N and mad at himself and mad that none of this went the way he’d thought it would.

Chris: ok. i love you. call me when you’re ready

Her replay came quickly: of course, babe 💕

Y/N set her phone on her nightstand and twisted the gem of her sweatshirt— Chris’s sweatshirt— between her fingers. She was so angry with him that she could hardly stand it.

The last six months had been a whirlwind of love and passion. Chris’s energy was contagious and they’d gotten quickly wrapped up in their love. She loved him so fiercely and would be lying if she said it wasn’t what she wanted: moving in, building a real life that wasn’t out of hotel rooms and suitcases, planning for a future together. But it was just so fast. And Chris had a habit of hoping she’d yield to him.

She didn’t think it was intentional and she knew part of it came with the territory. No one does well in Hollywood without a little vanity and selfishness. He was always asking her to travel- often offering to pay and make all the arrangements, but still asking her to come to him. He liked things his way and he liked things on his terms. She usually held her ground and found that it was something he liked about her. Y/N had her own mind and her own passions and she wanted to be heard. She didn’t want to just be his girlfriend. She’d worked too hard in her career, her hobbies, and her friendships to just roll over and let him push.

And he usually respected that. When she punched back, it usually woke him up and they’d talk and find a compromise. But this was huge; they'd never had to compromise on something this significant and life-changing. And he hadn’t thought about her changed at all. It was clear in their conversations about it that he didn’t want his world to change.

Y/N knew that he saw her as more than a bed warmer but it was hard not to feel that way when he’d so cavalierly suggested she move to Boston as casually as one might suggest having pizza instead of sushi for dinner.

If he didn’t see her and think about her perspective in something like this, what about when it came to marriage? Or kids? Or illness? Or jobs? Or any other major life event.

Her heart ached and she reached for her phone. She needed to tell him no. She needed him to understand the weight this put on her. Instead, she let herself scroll through pictures and remember moments in time- their stolen moments as a couple. They didn’t get to just be together. They were always between his locations or her work schedule.

If she moved in with him… they could have Sunday mornings together every weekend. There were plenty of children in need of a good therapist in Boston. She loved his family and hers would love the excuse to travel. If she could make long-distance work with a movie star she could make it work with her friends…

But if she moved she’d have to quit her practice that she loved and set her clients up with other therapists. She’d have to give up her beautiful apartment. She’d have to change her entire life while all he had to do was add her name to the mailbox and make some space in his already spacious closet.

They’d text each day, but between him getting ready to go back to set for the home stretch of filming, and trying to respect Y/N’s request for space, it was four days before Chris’s phone lit up with Y/N’s contact photo.

“Bunny,” he was breathless when he answered the phone; he’d practically sprinted across his rental apartment to snatch it off the counter.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet and Chris’s heart started to thunder in his chest. She was silent for a long moment and then said, “I missed your voice.”

A sigh of relief escaped Chris before he replied, “I missed yours too. How’s it going, honey?”

“I’m ready to talk.”

“Okay,” he was afraid to bring up the move, so he waited for her to continue on her own.

She took a deep breath, “my lease is up May 31.”

He didn’t speak right away and when Y/N didn’t either, he pressed, “that’s in two months.”

“I know,” she paused, “it seems silly to renew my lease if I’m going to end up moving.”

His heart pounded, but he tried to be casual, “so what are you thinking?”

“I want to move in with you,” Y/N’s voice was quiet, “if you’ll still have me.”

“Is it too soon to make jokes? Because I have jokes.”

She laughed, but said, “maybe not quite yet. I know that it's basically the timeline you were thinking of anyway, and it still feels really fast to me. I’ve been trying to think of a way to do this without rushing in and I only have two ideas. One: I find a place and rent it. I can sign a short lease and find a job and we can be nearby and see how that goes.”

Chris could deal with that. Of course, he wanted her at his house. He’d sell this house and find another home with her if that’s what she wanted. He would live in a tent in the woods for the rest of his life if it meant he got to be with her. But he held his breath while she kept talking.

“Option two is all in. I sell or give away most of my stuff, I don’t re-up my lease, I quit my job and start sending my resume to clinics up there.”

“Do you want me to listen or give my opinion?”

Y/N grinned, forgetting he couldn’t see her, “what a perfect response.”

“Well, which do you want?” He was practically panting he was so worked up.

“I want your opinion. Do you think it's smart to go all in or should we try living in the same zip code first? Or should we just for it?”

He tried not to rush his words but they came tumbling out fairly quickly nonetheless, “All in. Please." The prolonged silence made sweat prickle on his hairline. She'd asked for his opinion but she was now silent and he could hear the rustle of her movement on the other end of the line. Chris's phone started to vibrate in his hand and he saw that Y/N was requesting to switch to FaceTime; he accepted quickly and rested her on a pillow next to him.

"Hey, handsome," she cooed, her cozy set up by the window of her apartment back in place, her hair in a messy bun on her head, and her beautiful body wrapped in his sweatshirt. "I needed to see your face."

"You're killing me here, Bun," he admitted, trying to grin but knowing it was more a grimace.

She played coy, "why?"

"Y/N," he said quickly-- a rare occurrence, he seldom called her by her full name. "Come on."

"What, babe?" She was trying and failing to resist giggling and grinning. He wanted to settle his mind: he needed to hear her say it.

"What about the move?"

"Oh that," she took a long sip from the mug she was holding and took her time setting it on the windowsill before turning back to the camera. "I already told my landlord that I'm not renewing my lease."

Chris held his breath, "really?"

"I'm all in, too, Chris."

Taglist: @bellaireland1981 @before-we-get-started @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @elrw244 @maylaysia109 @royalwritersoftheuniverses

#chrisevans #chris evans x you #chris evans x reader #chris evans fic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fanfic #chris evans #chris evans drabble #chris evans series

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