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bucketbueckers · 4 months ago

Text

TEAM BUECKERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, kinda silly, kinda rushed

wc: 5.9k

synopsis: For you and Paige, the line between “friends” and “something more” wasn’t always this blurry. You weren’t quite sure how you got here, and if you were being completely honest, you didn’t know if you were brave enough to ever cross that line fully. It’s not until Paige ropes you into a Valentine’s Day couples contest you realize, with the two of you, that line never really existed at all.

notes: happy (late) valentines day 😋 yes i'm posting this after midnight on february 15 and yes i tried my best to get this out on the 14th when it was, you know, actually valentines day, but i fumbled majorly and im like 50% sorry. not proofread bc im sleepy. i lowkey don't know how to feel about this but i think the end makes up for it but i had an idea for this and it honestly derailed. i still don't know how taglists work (if you've asked and you're not on here, i'm sorry i will just throw up and die if i tag someone who doesn't actually want to be tagged in all of my works i hope u understand, pls be super specific my brain doesn't function like it used to) uhhh so yeah lmk what we think & happy vday 🫶

tags: @jnkbueckers

You and Paige weren’t always like this. There used to be a clear boundary in your friendship, a strictly platonic one where her embrace didn’t make your heart race and where her mischievous smile didn’t fill you with an exasperation that bordered on endearment. You didn’t always wear her jersey at games, didn’t always keep her favorite ice cream stocked in your apartment for nights she came over to binge watch the same show the both of you have probably seen a combined thousand times, didn’t always confuse where you begin or where she ends. There used to be a time where the two of you weren’t so inexplicably intertwined in the fabric of each other’s lives.

If anyone asked, you wouldn’t be able to identify when everything shifted – when your feelings transformed into what they are now. It just happened. The realization was as easy as waking up next to her on the couch, your legs tangled under a blanket far too small for the both of you, her arm tight around your waist to prevent you from falling off of the cushions entirely. It was as easy as the spare toothbrush you keep in your bathroom because she sleeps over so often, as easy as the drawer you have in her room because sometimes her dorm is just closer than your apartment.

So maybe it was kind of inevitable that ‘you and Paige’ turned into a ‘You & Paige.’ The two of you have a simple understanding. You keep her grounded, she encourages you to dream a little bigger. You talk, she listens. You round each other out in so many ways that you’re not the least bit surprised by how many people think that you and Paige are dating. If anything, they’re more surprised when you correct them, saying, “She’s just my best friend.”

You’re content to take your feelings for her to the grave. Maybe you would get over her eventually. She’s Paige Bueckers. She has a national championship and the upcoming draft to focus on and you have your senior thesis due at the end of the semester. The both of you have a lot on your plates – you care for her too much to complicate things for her, even if that means putting your own feelings on the back-burner.

You’re sitting on your couch, twelve pages into your paper, sifting through the twenty-eight (yes, twenty-eight) tabs you have open for your research when you hear your door knob jiggle. You don’t think too much of it, trying to stay focused on the task in front of you before you give up and start scrolling through social media again. However, your discipline doesn’t last for too long because the familiar rhythm of footsteps could only belong to one person. You look up to find Paige making her way into your living room like she owns the place (which she may as well, considering how often she’s around), depositing her duffle bag on the armchair. You greet her, returning to your work, but you feel the couch dip under her weight as she takes a seat next to you.

And then she sighs. Loudly. Dramatically, like she’s begging for your attention. Like you’re not busy. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, finding her staring straight at you, but she says nothing. A few beats pass. You add a new sentence to your paper, pausing to go back and find the reference page. She sighs again, more purpose and intent behind it this time, and your lips quirk slightly. Still, she says nothing, and the silence stretches on for so long that you’re sure she’s given up on trying to annoy you.

You write one more sentence before she leans over, sprawling out across your body, chin pressing into your keyboard. Your eye twitches as a long string of ‘M’s takes over your Word document. Paige sighs again, sounding forlorn, like a kicked puppy, and you know you’re not going to get anything done unless you entertain her.

“Okay,” you say, pulling your computer out from under her head, making sure to save your paper before you close the lid. “What’s wrong?”

Her face brightens almost immediately. “I am so glad you asked,” she states. “So, I’m walkin’ through campus today, right?”

“As one does.”

She hums. “And there’s a shit ton of tabling outside the student union. Frats, clubs, some vegan guy giving out pamphlets –”

“Paige,” you interrupt, raising a brow. “The point?”

“Oh.” She nods, collecting her thoughts. “So there was this club – forgot who they were, lowkey, there was a lot of letters – but on Friday, they’re hostin’ a Valentine’s Day contest and the first place prize is insane. I’m talking gift cards, cookie decorating kits, I think there was even a coupon in there for a fucking spa trip, or some shit, but you get the point, yeah? I wanted to sign us up for it.”

You had to admit – you were a little intrigued by it. Between your class work and Paige and her teammates giving you an aneurysm every week, you were in dire need of a spa trip and a little bit of relaxation. But more than anything else in the world, you knew Paige. You recognized that gleam in her expression – it was a feigned nonchalance, like she was being slick and trying to hide it. “What’s the catch?” you ask bluntly.

She laughs, the sound more surprised than amused, and her head shifts in your lap to gaze up at you. You try to ignore the way it sets off a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “What makes you think there’s a catch?” she asks.

“You’re Paige Bueckers,” you state. “There’s always a catch. Like I knew there was a catch when you asked me if I would hide fourteen blonde wigs in my apartment.”

“They were for CD!” she argues. You narrow your eyes at her and she huffs a little, amused, her lips quirking into a radiant smile. “A’ight. I guess you got a point.” You hum, because of course you do. Her expression turns serious as she sighs, for real this time. “It’s a couple’s contest,” she admits. “But hear me out, okay?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” you grumble, but your mind is racing.

“There’s a couple rounds,” she explains. “Like, the first round is trivia. How well do you know your partner, type shit. They score you, then they eliminate the people who don’t know shit about their partners. Second round is teamwork. They’ll give you a couple of puzzles and the most points will go to the teams who work well together and solve the puzzle quickly. More eliminations, then the partners are separated and they’re asked questions about each other – about what, I’on know. That should be the final round of eliminations and then the remaining couples are ranked based on points and prizes are given. Light work.”

“Light work?” you echo, a little self-deprecating. “Paige, we aren’t a couple.”

“Well, not exactly,” she concedes. “But we know each other pretty well. And can you really say no to the spa coupon?”

You bite your lip, sighing as you truly contemplate it. She’s got you there. The prize itself is worth the heartache that will come with pretending like you and Paige are actually dating. “You sure we can handle it?” you ask.

She pats your side, almost ignorant of the way it sends electricity coursing down your spine. “Duh,” she says like it’s obvious, her lips growing into a confident, assured smile. “We’re a dream team, baby. We got this.”

You could only hope so.

You nervously adjust your dress as you and Paige stand outside of the large room that the Valentine’s Day contest was taking place in. You spent the entire week leading up to Valentine’s Day an anxious wreck – part of you was worried that you would slip up and say something that you would come to regret, maybe say something a little too real. You had to keep reminding yourself that you and Paige were playing a part and once that gift basket was in your hands, then things could go back to normal.

The two of you dedicated the better part of the week to perfecting your cover story. How you met, where you met, how long you’ve been together, all of the cheesy romance milestone moments that you were certain you’d be asked about. You mutually decided to not get too creative as maintaining the lie would become even more difficult, but you were confident in your ability to sell a story.

“You ready?” Paige asks you, drawing you from your racing thoughts as she squeezes your hand gently. You didn’t even realize her hand had slipped into yours. Now that you’re aware of it, it’s all you can think of. Her hand is strong, enveloping yours completely, and it brings you a calming peace you weren’t even aware that you’d been seeking out. Feeling yourself relax, you meet her eyes and nod, trying not to smile too hard when she beams at you.

As she leads the two of you inside the auditorium, you do your best to not stare too much at her. She’s dressed simply yet elegantly; donning a fitting suit that’s a light pink in color in honor of the occasion, the fluorescent lights overhead reflecting off of her stunning chains and the rings adorning her fingers. Her hair is tied back in her formal slick-back, the diamonds in her ears sparkling, and you really have to drag your eyes off of her. You’d already spent so much of the drive over staring at her and you’re sure she’d caught you a few times but was too nice to say anything to you.

The event had a decent turn out. You count fourteen couples at most, fifteen including you and Paige, although you couldn’t really tell if that was good or bad. Beating fourteen other real, actual, dedicated, in-love couples was totally manageable. So what if you and Paige weren’t actually together, but you were the most convincing pair of best friends the world had ever seen? She said you could do it, and damn it if you weren’t going to get that spa treatment.

The auditorium, however, was decorated to the nines. Lights and streamers were strewn about, various complementing shades of pinks and lilacs matching the Valentine’s Day themes. The tables were covered in pink tablecloths with gorgeous centerpieces. Honestly, you had to give props where they were due – this club has gone all out for this Valentine’s Day event, although you’re sure they probably splurged their semesterly budget on all of the amenities.

Before you or Paige have the chance to say anything to each other, you’re approached by a young woman wearing a pink polo shirt with the club's name and logo emblazoned on the chest. UConn, UMatter. You glance quickly at Paige, trying not to let the amusement show on your face as you remember her words – ‘There was a lot of letters.’ She was so full of shit. “Hi guys!” the young woman greets enthusiastically. “Thanks so much for signing up. What’s the last name?”

“Bueckers.”

The girl nods, scanning her clipboard before finding Paige’s name. “Okay, perfect. Let me show you guys to your table.” She leads you diligently through the room, craning her head over her shoulder to explain. “Madelyn’s gonna be around soon to walk you guys through the trivia section once we start, alright? She’ll let you guys know everything you need.”

You and Paige thank the club member and she offers you two one last smile as the two of you sit down next to each other. Paige’s hand finds your knee, almost subconsciously, and you try to find your dignity. It’s then that you notice the placecard in front of you – elegant script reading TEAM BUECKERS. With a quiet laugh, you nudge Paige’s elbow, drawing her attention to the paper. “‘Team Bueckers,’ huh?” you ask her teasingly. “You forget about me?”

“Never,” she swears. “I think they assign the names based on who registered. Trust me, I had a name lined up and everything. We were gonna be PB & Slay.”

You snort. “I’m Slay?”

“No,” she deadpans. “You’re PB. Keep up, please.”

“Of course,” you say obviously, like it’s definitely your fault. “I’ll do better next time.” She squeezes your knee under the table, smiling wryly at you.

Once everyone filters in, the girl who’d greeted you at the door makes her way to the front of the room, adjusting the microphone. She introduces herself as the president of the UConn, UMatter club, explaining some of their objectives and goals for the spring semester – you tune out a lot of it, which you’ll probably feel bad for later, but you weren’t here for the club recruitment. You were here for the pedicure that was calling your name this weekend. She makes it through the rest of her opening remarks, officially announcing the beginning of the first challenge: trivia. Several club members make their way to designated tables and a short, brunette girl takes a seat in front of you and Paige.

“Hey, guys,” she says, grinning widely and handing the both of you dry erase boards and a marker each. “I’m Madelyn. I’m gonna walk the two of you through today’s challenges. We’ll go back and forth – you answer one, then the other, so on and so forth. If your answers are the same, then you’ll get a point. Ready?” You and Paige hum affirmatively. “Alright. Question for Paige – when is your partner’s birthday?”

Paige huffs, her lips quirking into a smile as she uncaps her marker. “Light work,” she murmurs as she writes her answer down. “It’s a national holiday.” You roll your eyes as Madelyn laughs. Paige flips the dry erase board around, showcasing it to you and Madelyn, and you nod as Madelyn awards you both one point.

“Same question for you,” Madelyn says to you. “When is Paige’s birthday?”

You uncap your marker and write down your answer. October 20, 2001. “The world hasn’t known peace since,” you murmur under your breath, drawing laughter from Paige. You flip your board around and Paige nods smugly.

“Two for two,” Madelyn states. “Next question for Paige. What trait of yours is your partner’s favorite?”

You and Paige exchange a glance, her brow raising teasingly. She writes down her answer and you do the same, eventually flipping your boards over for the reveal. The two of you hadn’t exactly prepared well to answer this one, so you were hoping that you and Paige were on the same wavelength. You lean forward, glancing at her whiteboard, and smiling with relief when you see her answer: she likes my energy. Paige’s smile is smug, but there’s an underlying softness in her eyes. “Don’t laugh at me,” you huff, trying to explain. “You just — you have this way about you, like you’re kind, warm, you make people smile, and you always support them. You’re just genuinely good and, I don’t know, I really like that about you.”

Paige’s smile isn’t any less confident, although she seems a little bashful now, her cheeks tinging pink. “Three for three.” she says.

Madelyn tries to stifle her grin, but it’s clearly not working. “Next question is for you. When Paige is having a rough time, how do you help her relax?”

“With great difficulty,” you gripe, making Paige and Madelyn snort as you write your actual answer. By forcing her to chill the fuck out. You and Paige flip your boards, hers reading a much politer She makes me do nothing all day. Madelyn nods, awarding you the point, but you hardly pay her any mind as you meet Paige’s eyes. “You do too much,” you say, which makes her groan. “You overwork yourself and you microdose a burnout and I have to make you sit down and remember that you’re human.”

“You’re worse than me!” she points out.

You sniff. “This is about you,” you declare, “not me.” Paige rolls her eyes fondly, but she can’t help her laughter.

“Next question,” Madelyn says, grinning. “Paige, what did you guys do on your first date?”

This was a question that the two of you had prepared for. You both decided that a little bit of the truth went a long way and the truth was that you and Paige had no shortage of quasi-dates that you could easily draw from. You tried not to think too hard about that as the two of you write down your answers. You turn your boards, revealing similar responses of ‘we went to her dorm and made dinner together after one of her games.’

You glance at Paige and she sighs. “Don’t start,” she pleads.

“I’m actually a little invested now,” Madelyn chirps, which makes you grin and makes Paige bury her head in her hands.

“All I’ll say is that Paige shouldn’t be in the kitchen without supervision but I really admire her, um, willingness to get creative,” you say kindly. Your best friend pinches your thigh under the table and you jerk back, laughing. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of a stranger, you leave it at that, although you smile at Paige like you’re the only two at the table. “I had a good time, though. She made it memorable.” She smiles back at you, something tender that has your heart constricting.

The both of you knew the truth, though. Paige was not a good cook. She doesn’t make terrible food — dinner was delicious, but Paige is chaotic and an actual hazard. Watching her chop an onion hurt something deep inside you although she’d seemed so proud of herself. You didn’t have the heart to make fun of her.

“Five for five,” Madelyn says, drawing your attention back to her. “Next question for you. Who confessed to who?”

You and Paige lock eyes again, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, and you write down her name. You turn your boards, Paige’s name written on the both of them and you smile to yourself. “She was pretty oblivious,” Paige says, referring to you, and your smile falls as your jaw hits the ground. “I dropped so many hints and she just didn’t pick up on them. I eventually got tired—”

“Desperate,” you cut in.

“Tired,” she emphasizes, smirking at you, “so I planned out this huge romantic thing and at the end, she still didn’t understand so I told her straight up.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you’re just not as slick as you think,” you tell her.

“Nah,” Paige says. “I’m super romantical.”

“Sure,” you concede.

Madelyn stifles her smile. “Alright. Two more questions for both of you. Paige, what is your partner’s pet peeve?”

“If you get this wrong,” you grumble, hearing Paige snicker as the two of you write down your answers. After you flip your boards, she grins proudly when your answers line up.

“She hates not being taken seriously,” Paige recites. “She’s an English major. People always think it’s just easy or unimportant shit, like reading and writing papers, but she actually does a lot of interesting analysis and stuff that I never even considered. I’ll admit I was a little ignorant but she set me straight.”

“Wait, I didn’t know you thought that,” you say, honestly confused.

She shrugs, a little bashful. “I talk a lot but I listen. Sometimes when you leave the room, I’ll read your paper just so I can ask better questions. You get all… glowy. And… I’on know. I like seeing you happy.”

You blink once at her, genuinely touched, and if you weren’t head over heels for Paige before then you definitely are now. She squeezes your knee again, her smile crooked yet tender. Damn it. You are hopeless.

“That’s so sweet.” You’re a little shocked by Madelyn’s voice, but you clear your throat, refocusing. “Next one for you. What’s Paige’s least favorite season?”

“That’s easy,” you say, writing your answer down. Paige does the same. When you flip your boards, you glance at Paige’s, smiling wryly. “Paige hates spring. She has really bad allergies and all of the pollen is honestly a death sentence, so she’ll get all congested and sneezy and will spend a good two weeks bitching about it and how it makes her Jeep dirty.”

You glance at Paige, waiting for her to say something, but she just shrugs with a smug expression. “Last question for Paige,” Madelyn says. “What is something your partner does to show her love for you?”

Neither of you say anything, but Paige stares at you thoughtfully, another silent conversation passing between you. You don’t need to think about your answer as you write it down. On cue, you both flip your boards, Paige’s reading simply, She takes care of me. You can’t help the way your heart swells, a fond smile overtaking your face. “Before you, I wasn’t really the… you know, the receiver, I guess. Always in control, always expected to lead. You make me feel like I can just be me, which is really hard sometimes.” Paige laughs off the vulnerability, but you see right through it – the painful honesty.

“We’re equals,” you remind her, nudging her leg with your knee. “We take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice soft as she gazes at you. “I’m glad that we do.”

You spot Madelyn out of the corner of your eye, which sobers you up quickly. She smiles. “You guys are so cute,” she gushes. “Final question for you and we’re done with this round. What is Paige’s love language?”

You feel Paige’s stare on you as you write, but you don’t glance back at her. You can hear the scribble of her marker, her capping it. When you’re finished, you finally look at her, taking in the soft expression on her face, and despite yourself, a smile grows on your face too. Together, you turn your boards, your answers being the exact same once more — quality time and physical touch. “Ten for ten, baby,” you croon, raising your hand for her to smack her palm against.

“Great job!” Madelyn says. “Let me just go submit these scores and I’ll be back to walk you guys through the puzzle round after eliminations. Sit tight.” She offers the two of you a quick grin before she’s walking off.

“Ten for ten,” Paige repeats, nudging you a little. “We’re like that?”

“I guess we’re actually kinda good at this friends thing,” you retort, although part of you wishes you were anything but.

Paige’s subsequent grin is far too knowing, like she has a trick up her sleeve. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh a little under your breath, adjusting your dress and leaning back in your chair to get comfortable. Before you know it, the scores are officially in. You and Paige had a perfect one, so you weren’t all too worried about getting eliminated in the first round, but five unlucky couples ended up leaving. The two of you watched from afar, trying not to stare too hard at the retreating couples, although they made it hard. One girl walked out crying, gesturing wildly as her partner trailed behind her, a desperate expression on her face. Another one was pure anger, slamming the door behind her. You didn’t think that this club contest would get people so riled up, but you considered that it was probably the realization that your partner truly didn’t know anything about you. You just lucked out with Paige – she understood you.

Madelyn returns quickly and cuts straight to the point. She instructs you and Paige to stand up, handing the both of you a towel, and adjusts your arms until you’re holding the towels perpendicular to each other, almost intertwined. “The goal here is to separate from each other, but it can be tricky because the towels will tangle you up. We’re looking to see how fast you can solve this puzzle and how well the two of you work together. Are you guys ready?” You and Paige nod and Madelyn grins again. “Alright. You can start.”

Instantly, the room around you two is sheer pandemonium. The couples around you are moving quickly, trying to untangle themselves, but it’s clear that the panic is settling in. You and Paige exchange a glance, laughing to each other softly. “Game plan?” she asks you.

“We need to get these like…not perpendicular,” you offer helpfully, and Paige nods, adjusting her arms. The angle change makes your towels bunch up and twist at their centers.

“Spin around,” she instructs. You do as so, the towels untwisting around the middle. You pause to analyze your situation, trying to plan out the moves in your head as Paige does the same.

“Okay, bring your towel over my head and let me step through it.” After that move, the both of you glance down, taking in your situation.

Paige hums. “The rest is easy,” she says. You nod in agreement, a silent understanding passing between the two of you and you move in tandem, twisting and shifting and stepping up until you’re both finally separating from each other in record time, having completed the puzzle. “We’re like that?” she asks you again, her expression smug and satisfied in a way that’s only comparable to when she’s on the court and her lips are curling after sinking a contested three point shot.

“Dream team,” you remind her, letting the victory wash over you, clapping your hand against hers, although she doesn’t immediately release you, squeezing your hand with a proud smile.

“I don’t think I’ve actually seen anyone solve it that quickly,” Madelyn admits. “Or that calmly.” As soon as she says it, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention. There’s one couple that are twisted so unnaturally that it looks like they’re playing Twister, but it seems that the girl gets tired of the shenanigans because she drops her towel and storms out with a frustrated yell. “Case in point.”

You laugh and Madelyn walks away again to tally the points and make their final eliminations. Once everything is set, five couples remain out of the initial fifteen. After the last challenge, two couples will be eliminated once more and the remaining three will be given prizes in order of points. You and Paige were determined to finish strong – if the first two challenges were any indicator, you two had this in the bag. True to Paige’s word, the couples were being split up for the last challenge, and she offers you a competitive smile as Madelyn whisks her away.

You pass the time on your phone although Paige isn’t gone for long. However, what does shock you is the sudden bashfulness that’s clear as day on her features, like the last challenge had made her confess something important or she had to be vulnerable. You can’t help the sudden worry that seizes your body, but Paige rests a hand on your hip, squeezing you once with a confident smile. It couldn’t be that bad.

Madelyn leads you into an adjacent room where the president of the club is sitting at a table waiting for you. She smiles when you enter, motioning to the seat across from her, and it feels strangely like entering the principal’s office in elementary school, like you’re in trouble for something. The club president doesn’t spare any time for pleasantries and instead cuts right to the chase, something that you’re grateful for.

“I’m not gonna take up anymore of your time, but after seeing you and your partner perform so well in this contest, I only have two questions for you,” she explains. “This is our second year running this contest and no one has scored as high as you two have, which is kind of insane because the third round scores haven’t been added yet.” You smile politely, honestly unsure of what to say, but the club president continues. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Going on three months,” you respond, thinking back to the timeline you and Paige had agreed on, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. You are a little surprised by how real your next words feel. “We were best friends for a really long time before then – we still are. Paige is just…that kind of person that makes you feel like you’ve spent forever with her, you know?”

The club president hums, agreeing. She pauses before glancing up at you, studying your features. “What’s something that you haven’t told your girlfriend, but you would want her to know?”

You hardly need the time to think about your answer, responding, “That I love her.” The club president’s expression softens, a smile growing on her face. “We haven’t, um, gotten there yet, but I mean it. I wanna make it perfect for her. She’s given so much to me in the short time we’ve been together and in the time we were friends. And she just…she means everything to me.”

She smiles. “I think you guys are perfect for each other.”

Despite yourself, you smile, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I think so, too.”

After your solo questioning wraps up, you meet Paige at your table and you offer her a bashful grin, similar to the one she’d offered you when she returned. You don’t have the chance to say anything else to her as the final round of eliminations are being announced. You and Paige are spared, which doesn’t surprise you, and the two eliminated couples take their loss with dignity as they exit. Paige links her hand with yours – final three. In third place, Team Parker. In second…Team Hayes, which means that first place can only be –

“Team Bueckers.”

You and Paige relax immediately, high fiving each other in celebration. What you’re not fully expecting is the tight hug that Paige pulls you into, whispering a fond good job into your ear, although you can’t help the way you soften, sinking into her embrace. She leads you to the center of the room to collect your goodie basket. The various club members send you off with their congratulations, too, and you pretend to not notice the slick wink that Madelyn shoots you as you and Paige walk out.

The night air is cool, making you shiver slightly, and Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s sliding off her blazer and settling it over your shoulders. You smile gently at her. “You won’t be cold?” you murmur.

“Nah,” she promises, nudging you. “I can handle it. You, though? I’on know.”

“That’s no way to treat someone who just won you these spa coupons,” you say, reaching into the gift basket to wave said coupons in the air. “C’mon, I clutched up, you can’t lie. And to think you wouldn’t have even had a partner for this if you didn’t rope me into it. I think we played our parts pretty well.”

Paige laughs gently, a tinkling sound that carries over the drag of the wind. “You still don’t get it, do you?” she asks, but there’s no true offense behind her words.

You stare at her in confusion. “Get what?” you respond.

“Do you remember that question Madelyn asked you earlier?” Paige says, her steps slowing, tilting her head down to look at you. The street lights reflect off of her face so beautifully, the blue of her eyes illuminated by the soft light. You can’t help the way your heart constricts at the sight. “‘Who confessed to who?’” You hum, urging her to go on. “You remember what I said? That you were oblivious and I dropped a lot of hints you didn’t pick up on?”

The gears in your brain spin for a few revolutions before everything clicks into place. “Oh my God,” you breathe out. “Are you–”

“Confessing?” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah.”

“You dropped hints before?”

“So many,” she confirms.

“Oh my God,” you say again. You stop in your tracks, prompting her to do the same. The expression on her face is endlessly amused. “You planned a huge romantic thing – this?”

She shrugs. “The contest was the club’s shit, but yeah. I planned on asking you to come with me to this. I didn’t actually care about the prize, but the coupons are pretty sweet, right?”

You shake your head, ignoring her rambling. “You planned a huge romantic thing, but I still didn’t get it at the end, so you told me straight up,” you finish, partly in disbelief. “You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you?” you accuse, which just makes her break out into laughter. “You literally sat next to me and told me exactly how you were going to ask me out and I didn’t know? And not only did you do that, but you were right about it?”

“I know you,” Paige says a little smugly. “And I told you that I could be romantical.”

“You are such a pain in my ass,” you whisper, but her arm is slinking around your waist, pulling you into her body as she grins insufferably, and you let yourself be pulled, your hands resting on her chest. “You are literally so annoying.”

Her nose brushes yours as she inches a little closer. “You know what they asked me in the final round?” she says, her voice loud enough for only you to hear. You nod. “They said, ‘What’s something you haven’t told your partner, but you’d like to?’”

“Funny,” you say. “They asked me the same thing.”

She smiles at you. “I told them I’d tell you that I love you,” she confesses.

Your cheeks burn as you register her words. “Funny,” you say again. “I told them the same thing.”

Her expression shifts, something like relief flashing in her eyes, something tender in her gaze. “Did you?”

“Well, I told them that’s what I would tell my girlfriend,” you trail off intentionally. “Seeing as I don’t currently have one of those…”

“Don’t play,” Paige murmurs, squeezing your hip gently, drawing a laugh from you. “Be mine?”

“You gonna share those coupons?”

Her eyes are bright when she responds. “I’on even care about them. Just want you.”

“You’ve got me.”

That promise is all she needs. She smiles at you, happiness in her features, and she doesn’t waste any time before she’s leaning in fully, her lips finding yours. You’re eagerly responding, melting into her as her arm tightens around your waist. You loop yours around her neck, standing on the tips of the toes for better leverage. Before you know it, her grin grows too wide and the two of you are laughing against each other’s lips, the sound of your love and giddiness the perfect way to end a perfect night. If you had Paige Bueckers and her annoyingly charming antics to look forward to, then one thing is for certain – you couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for Valentine’s Day next year.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn wbb #ncaa wbb #wbb x reader

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fierceawakening · 1 year ago

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“they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love.”

So well said.

no, actually, where is the whimsy?

my ex had a best friend named larry who asked me once: what do you think comes after irony?

we were at the bar where larry worked. it was a quiet night, and he'd hopped over to sit with us on the patron side. i swirled the lemon around my limoncello martini.

earnest positivity, i said, while my ex said, art self-destructs.

i stared at my ex. he stared at me.

his argument was the cinemasins argument: look how bad media is becoming! look at the loopholes and the dumb shit!

it was roughly 2011. galaxy print was still in. at the time, i had a favorite shirt that was a wolf howling at the moon. it got ripped in half in the wash and i honestly still mourn it. i dressed like effie stonem, because everyone did. and irony was the name of the thing. men liked MLP "ironically." the internet liked the kind of crass, "anti-mainstream" vibes of things like fuck romance, touch my butt and buy me pizza. we put cats in sunglasses everywhere, which was because we only liked things in irony.

and media had the same vibe in it: anti-hero white men would be "hard to love" and then storm off the scene. nobody was just earnestly trying to save the world: they were jaded, angry, unoriginal. mad you even asked them to try to help.

my ex ends up not being wrong. cinemasins becomes super popular. a lot of people start viewing media with this lens that is the cruelest, most jaded depiction. it's wrong for your character to have unexplained powers, even if the entire movie is about how strange it is she has unexplained powers - that is still considered a "loophole." characters make thoughtless, panicked choices? loophole. characters are actually kind people, despite hardship? loophole. features a woman doing literally anything without assistance? loophole. movies become hyper-aware of scrutiny, and now irony rules the media.

which means you go to a movie, and the character has to turn to the screen and say "beats me!!" or one of the side characters has to have some kind of quip like "are you seriously telling me that you think this is normal?" because nothing can happen in earnest. like a sitcom laugh track, we now anticipate the fourth-wall break: the moment that the media acknowledges it is telling a story. the media has to apologize for itself, or else someone like my ex rolls their eyes.

but here's the thing: i wasn't wrong either.

the difference might be that i am (and always have been) so soft-hearted that any crack in the light of this world will spear me into the ground. and i was the poet in the relationship. (he thought that was the same thing as being naïve and stupid). i was making things daily. i knew how all of us artists are driven by some strange desire to evolve. he notably liked to critique art, not to create it.

so yes, i've made things that are bitter and angry and even ironic. i've made long, sharp poems with all capital letters, and i've made poems about how the silence stretches out like a song. someone wrote once that we will spend our whole lives just circling the place we grew up. i think it's more that we spend our whole lives trying to remake a home. i think it's that as we age, it becomes less exciting to build the castle on the beach - we become aware of erosion, of windforce. we realize what we really want is to come home to our dog, castle or not.

and while art in the foreground is mired in white male violence and irony, and aggression, and not taking anything seriously - i don't think that's true of all art. i think more and more artists are leaning in to the things we love. the world has changed so much. they have taken so many things from us. the only thing we have left is love. at the bottom of the moving box - all we get is the faint sense that we have to appreciate what little we've got. i can't enjoy this stuff ironically anymore: what room do i have for irony? if it makes me happy, that is an amazing thing. there are so few happy places left for me. i want to be happy because of how leaves shiver beside each other like nestling birds. i want to be happy because of the color pink, and how magenta doesn't exist. i have spent so much of this life suffering, i have earned my right to a gentle ending. if nothing matters, i get to assign meaning to the nothing. i get to create meaning. i am an artist first and foremost, which means creation is my thing.

where is the whimsy? wherever i fucking put it. because if this is my last fucking chance to do any good in this world - i want to do it earnestly. i want to write things that make you happy. that make people feel heard and seen. what comes after irony has to be positivity.

it was close to my 21st birthday. in 7 years, i would end up writing a book about this relationship, which is hopefully coming out somewhere around May 2024. i come back to this bar scene in my memories a lot. i keep thinking of how pale my ex was. the look that crossed his face. how i looked back at him. how for a moment, both of us couldn't recognize the other person. like the gulf between us was a suddenly wide and cavernous thing. like we were alien to each other. he never took my opinion seriously, and he always seemed surprised whenever his manic-pixie-dream-girl ever broke free of the plot. like in the whole time we were together, i wasn't human enough.

this knowledge: where he said nothing comes after, my only instinct was what comes after is love.

#putting this in tags so as not to derail bit #I think this is why I reconverted in 2016 #everything is horrible but god is with us #and at the end of it all god is love

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wordsofwhimsy · 29 days ago

Text

┗⊱ 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑬𝒙 𝑮𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 ⊰┛

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Jealousy, post-break up warfare, really just comedic bullshit

Word Count: 2,786

Synopsis: An AU where the Invincible Wars didn’t go down the way we know it (I talked about this in a anon message I got earlier). Angstrom’s dimensional rift powers have been harnessed to allow for the variants to freely travel between universes, resulting in a friend group of Mohawk, Shiesty, Lensless, and You. Only, you & Mohawk (referred to in this fic simply as Mark for better reading) used to be a couple. Now you’re not. And being the petty little shits you both are, it’s become your mission to make the other as jealous as possible.

Inspiration: Y’all seen that episode of Friends? “The One With Joey's New Girlfriend”? Yeah, 100% inspired by that

a/n: nobody talk to me about the southern belle series – i tried for the better half of the day to work on the next chapter and it just aint coming to me right now. so i did this instead lmao

The conversation had derailed fast—typical for these three.

“I’m just saying,” Shiesty was arguing, waving his hands like a conspiracy theorist with bad posture, “if someone offered me a billion dollars to live in a house with 100 raccoons for a year, I’d do it. Easy.”

“Only if I get to train them,” Lensless said, picking apart a coaster with surgical focus. “Like little soldiers. Giv e ‘em knives.”

Mark sipped his drink, unbothered. “You’re both idiots.”

“I’d teach mine to steal identities,” Lensless continued, eyes unblinking. “Fake passports. Crypto scams. Maybe throw a coup.”

“Okay, what the fuck,” Mark muttered.

Shiesty cackled. “You see this, right? He’s unwell. Bro’s one bad day from mailing fingers to politicians.”

Lensless leaned in slowly. “You think I haven’t?”

Mark opened his mouth to retort—but the bar’s door opened, and he could smell you before he even heard you.

Laughter. Loud. Practically choreographed. You walked in, clinging to the arm of a guy who looked like he’d been carved from marble and then dropped on his head as a child.

He had the kind of jawline sculpted by Instagram filters and the emotional depth of a kiddie pool. His shirt was too tight, his smile too wide, and your laugh? It was weapon-grade.

You leaned into him, tossing your head back like Brad the Beefcake had just delivered a stand-up special. He hadn’t. He’d probably just pointed to a stool and called it a “sittin’ thing.”

Shiesty nearly spit out his drink. “Yo.”

Lensless didn’t blink, eyes wide and glowing with what looked like excitement. “Ohhh shit.”

Mark squinted. “What?”

Lensless didn’t even look away. “Not your ex using a human thirst trap to turn your soul into confetti.”

Mark stared, scoffing. “No she’s not.”

Shiesty leaned in. “Bro. That laugh had syllables.”

“She hasn’t laughed like that since before the breakup. She’s putting extra air in it,” added Lensless.

Shiesty continued, grin widening. “This is so obviously for you. You’re the target. She’s a sniper. And Meat Slab’s the bullet.”

Mark clenched his jaw. “I don’t care.”

Lensless turned to him slowly. “Your pupils dilated. Classic rage-lust. You’re about three seconds away from violence or poetry.”

Mark looked away sharply. “Shut up.”

And then you saw them.

Your eyes locked on Mark’s for a fraction of a second before you smile, dangerously so. You tugged Brad along like an accessory, walking straight up to the booth like this was all completely unplanned.

“Heyyy, guys!” you said brightly, voice syrupy-sweet. “Didn’t expect to see everyone here tonight.”

Shiesty bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “Wow. Look who it is.”

Lensless sat perfectly still, eyes like voids. “Hiii [y/n],” he said with the kind of calm that came right before the Joker set a hospital on fire.

Mark’s tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. “You brought... someone.”

You grinned up at Brad. “This is Brad. Isn’t he so cute?”

Brad, bless his golden-retriever heart, beamed like he’d just been handed a trophy. “Yo, what’s up, dudes.”

Lensless leaned forward. “Do you know what a war crime is, Brad?”

Brad blinked. “Huh?”

Mark cleared his throat loudly. “So. This is what you’re into now?”

You blinked innocently. “What, muscles? Positivity? Unwavering support?”

Shiesty whispered, “This is incredible.”

Lensless added, “Her energy is diabolical. I respect it.”

Mark’s nostrils flared. “Must be a real deep connection you two got.”

“Oh, it is,” you said, clinging tighter to Brad’s arm. “We talk about everything. Like, the other day? We had this whole conversation about—what was it, babe?”

“If sharks have bones, dude.”

You smiled at Mark like you’d just been handed a win.

He stared.

Lensless took a sip of his drink. “This is art.”

You could feel it—Mark was already on edge. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched under the table, and that signature cocky tilt in his mouth was a little too strained to be real. Victory? Within reach.

So you did what any emotionally stable, totally mature person would do.

You ramped it up.

You leaned into Brad like he was the most fascinating man on Earth, giggling as he told some story about arm day and protein timing like it was high philosophy. He didn’t notice that no one was laughing with him—no one except you.

“—and then I said, bro, you can’t max out on incline if you’re skipping legs. That’s, like, disrespectful to the grind, y’know?”

You placed a hand on his bicep, practically swooning. “Oh my god, you’re so smart.”

Lensless slowly turned his head to look at Mark. “That's craaazy.”

“Fuckin' insane...” Mark grumbled.

Shiesty was practically vibrating with joy. Mark made the grave mistake of glancing at you again.

You were now feeding Brad a fry, with a little “open wide!” and everything.

Mark blinked. Once. Twice.

That was it.

You were halfway through feeding Brad another fry—dramatically, of course—when Mark suddenly sat up straighter, like a terrible idea had just hatched in real time.

“You know what?” he said, voice loud, casual, and so clearly forced you should’ve known better. “I’ve actually got somewhere to be.”

You blinked, half-laughing. “Since when do you make plans?”

Mark shrugged like the smug bastard he was. “Since I started seeing someone who actually respects my time.”

That got the table quiet.

Shiesty’s brow arched high. “Wait—hold up. You’re seeing someone?”

Lensless blinked. “Are you legally allowed to?”

Mark didn’t flinch. “Yup. Real grown woman. Hot. Smart. Mature.”

Your laugh was sharp. “What, like someone your mom’s age?”

He shrugged, sipping his drink with exaggerated calm. “Not quite. But she has real furniture. Leather-bound books. A decanter, even.”

Shiesty leaned in with undisguised eagerness. “Yo... are you dating a cougar?”

Lensless, eyes gleaming with intrigue, pipped in, “This is so much better than the sad Mark spiral I was expecting.”

You tried to play it cool—but your expression faltered. “Oh? What’s her name?”

Mark hesitated for half a second. Too long. “...Cassandra.”

Shiesty let out a low whistle. “Cassandra? Damn. That sounds rich.”

Mark nodded solemnly. “She’s very... cultured. Taught me about wine pairings. And... zoning permits.”

Lensless was weirdly impressed. “That’s the sexiest sentence you’ve ever said.”

You raised an eyebrow, but your heart was already racing. Mark? With a wine-knowing, real-furniture-owning, Cassandra?

“She sounds... older,” you said, trying to laugh. “What, she pick you up in a town car?”

Mark didn’t even blink. “She drives a vintage Jaguar.”

Shiesty slammed his palm on the table. “OH HE’S UP. HE’S WINNING.”

Lensless narrowed his eyes. “I feel like he's lying... yet I believe him.”

You chewed your lip, trying not to frown. “So what is this, like... a thing?”

Mark smirked. “Maybe. She likes my... edge. Says I remind her of her ex-husband in his ‘dangerous phase.’”

Lensless clapped. “I am so invested in this relationship.”

Shiesty laughed until he wheezed. “Bro I wanna meet her. Like tonight. Bring her here.”

Mark stood up smoothly, grabbing his jacket with just enough flair. “Sorry, boys. And lady,” he added with a cocky glance your way. “Tonight’s private. Grown folks only.”

He walked off with an air of confidence that definitely left your stinging.

The moment he was gone, the booth exploded.

Lensless leaned in like a gossip gremlin. “Yo. Is it just me or did he just level up?”

“He hit us with mature Mark energy. I didn’t think that existed,” Shiesty said.

You didn’t respond right away.

Because you were still sitting there, your brain reeling at the idea of Mark—with all his sarcasm, his recklessness, his “I’ve got issues but I look good doing it” energy—suddenly being wined and dined by some refined older woman named Cassandra. Someone with class. Elegance. Taste.

And worst of all... she sounded real.

—

The tiny bell over the door jingled as Mark stepped inside, immediately hit with the warm scent of lavender and mothballs. The shop looked like it hadn’t changed since the Reagan administration—dusty lace curtains, cracked linoleum floor, a half-knitted sweater draped over the counter next to a sewing machine that looked like it had survived several wars.

“Marky, sweetheart!” Cassandra called from the back, bustling in with pins clutched between her teeth and a thimble still on one finger. “I just finished reinforcing the midsection. You must’ve taken a real beating last week!”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing crazy... alien invasion. Usual shit."

“Well you didn’t die, so I’d say that’s a win,” she said brightly, waddling over to hand him a neatly folded navy and black suit.

He muttered a thanks, ready to leave, pride semi-intact, then—

JINGLE.

The door opened again.

Mark turned. Froze.

Lensless stood in the doorway, half-silhouetted by the outside light. Motionless. Eyes wide.

“...No,” Lensless said softly.

Mark’s grip tightened on the suit.

Lensless stepped inside slowly, blinking like he was hallucinating. “When you said Cassandra... when you said older woman, refined, leather-bound books, hot wine aunt energy—”

Cassandra popped up behind the counter, fluffing her knitting. “Hi, honey!”

Lensless howled.

Like, doubled over. Cackling. He actually staggered back into a rack of retired capes and slid down it like a man being exorcised.

“THIS is Cassandra?!” he gasped between bursts of laughter. “The sophisticated mystery woman?! The one with the Jaguar?!”

“She’s cool,” Mark growled, voice taut with humiliation. “And she’s helped me more than anyone in my life—”

“DID SHE FEED YOU PEPPERMINTS IN HER BUICK?!”

“YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH.”

Lensless was crying now, full breakdown mode. “I thought she was gonna be in, like, stilettos. Maybe a dangerous past. A tragic accent.”

“She’s got arthritis and a cat named Marvin,” Cassandra added cheerfully, not understanding the situation in the slightest.

Mark slammed his suit down on the counter. “Lensless, if you breathe a word of this—”

“Or what? You’ll threaten me with Cassandra’s knitting needles?” Lensless squealed, clutching his stomach. “What are you gonna do, stitch me a strongly-worded letter?”

Mark stepped forward, radiating actual murder. “I will break your jaw, unhinge it, and feed you your own boot.”

Lensless was wheezing. “You gonna cry into one of her little embroidered doilies first?”

Mark’s eye twitched. He turned to Cassandra, who was just humming and bagging the suit in a plastic wrap like none of this was happening.

“I’m leaving,” he muttered. “I’m not doing this with him.”

“Don’t forget your mints, kiddo!” she called sweetly as he stormed past.

“I’M NOT TAKING THE MINTS.”

Lensless called after him, still cracking up, “Aww take your peppermints kiddo!”

The door slammed behind Mark like the punchline of a cosmic joke.

Lensless wiped his face, still chuckling as he stepped up to the counter. Cassandra held out his suit.

“You boys have so much fun,” she said, eyes twinkling.

He took it, still smirking. “Oh Cassandra. I’m gonna ruin his life.”

Back at the bar…

You were still sat at the booth, swirling your drink with a straw that was starting to look suspiciously chewed on, trying really hard not to think about the words "vintage Jaguar."

Brad—the human tank you were proudly draped over not ten minutes ago—was suddenly glancing at the clock on his phone with intense confusion.

“Yo babe, I gotta dip,” he said, standing up abruptly.

You blinked. “What? Why?”

He adjusted his watch (which may or may not have been fake). “Gym closes in thirty-five and I still gotta blend my creatine.”

You blinked again. “You… brought protein powder to the bar?”

He looked at you like you were the dumb one. “It’s in the car.”

Then—with no kiss, no goodbye—he fist-bumped the waitress and strolled out the door, calling “later dudes” over his shoulder like you weren’t even there.

You sat in stunned silence for a second.

Finally you turned slowly to Shiesty, who was just sipping his drink with a kind of giddy concern.

You started rifling through your purse. Lip gloss. Compact. A key you didn’t recognize.

“Ugh,” you muttered. “I think he’s stealing from me.”

Shiesty blinked. “Why would you—”

You pulled out your wallet, flung it open—and held it out dramatically. It was empty.

“BECAUSE HE’S STEALING FROM ME.”

Shiesty lost it.

“YO—WHAT?!”

You held up the limp little wallet like it was Exhibit A in a trial you were about to win with righteous fury. “I literally had a twenty in here before he ordered that third vodka cranberry! He said he had Apple Pay!”

Shiesty wheezed, leaning back in the booth. “Yooo, this man’s robbing you in real time.”

“I BROUGHT HIM HERE TO MAKE MY EX JEALOUS, NOT TO FUND HIS PRE-WORKOUT HABIT!”

Shiesty was crying, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. “Oh my god, he didn’t even pretend to be a good guy.”

You tossed your wallet back in your purse, seething. “I’m so mad and I can’t even say anything or it looks like I lost.”

Shiesty grinned. “You did lose. You lost a boyfriend and twenty bucks.”

You narrowed your eyes. “No. I just need to pivot.”

“Pivot into what? Dating someone who uses full sentences?”

“Exactly. I need someone hotter. Smarter. Not a financial risk.”

Shiesty leaned back, real cool-like, ran a hand through his hair, and gave you the worst smolder you’d ever seen.

“Well then, babe,” he said, dropping his voice into a low, dramatic purr, “look no further. I’ve got everything you need—” he gave a little finger-gun flourish, “—right here.”

You blinked at him. Held the stare for a beat. And then burst out laughing.

You reached out, pulled him into a warm, full-bodied hug like he’d just delivered the joke of the century. “God, you’re stupid,” you giggled into his shoulder. “Thanks. I needed that.”

He blinked. “Wait—”

You pulled back, already slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“I gotta go,” you sighed, digging around for your keys. “My dog’s been alone all day, she’s probably emotionally damaged by now.”

Shiesty stood there, hands still half-raised from the hug.

“…You have a dog?”

You gave him a cheery wave. “Bye, love you!”

The door swung shut behind you with a jingle.

Shiesty just stood there, staring at your empty seat. “…I was being serious.” He picked up your abandoned straw wrapper. Stared at it. Sighed. “Man. I got friend-hugged mid-rizz.”

Not 10 minutes later the door swung open again, bell jingling overhead.

Mark walked in, doing his best impression of someone not spiraling.

Strip of hair slightly windswept. Jacket crooked. Wrinkles in his shirt that definitely weren’t there before.

He spotted Shiesty alone in the booth.

“…Where’d everyone go?” Mark asked, trying to sound casual.

Shiesty didn’t look up from his drink. “Brad robbed her.”

Mark blinked. “I—what?”

Shiesty finally looked up. “The himbo? Turns out he’s not just brainless—he’s a petty thief too.”

Mark leaned back, smug satisfaction creeping in. “Wow. Sad. Tragic. Who could’ve guessed that dipshit was a bad investment?”

Shiesty finally looked at him. “I know right? I even tried to offer her an upgrade.”

Mark blinked. “...What?”

Shiesty shrugged, real casual. “Y’know. Threw my hat in the ring. Told her I had everything she needed. Right here.” He gestured to himself.

Mark stared.

A vein in his temple twitched.

“Are you—are you serious right now?” he snapped. “You hit on her?”

“Relax,” Shiesty drawled, unbothered. “It wasn’t like I proposed. I just—y’know—presented the option.”

“You presented the option?” Mark repeated, incredulous. “She’s not ordering cable packages—”

“Bro—chill.”

“Chill? I swear I will rip your spine—”

Shiesty held up a hand. “Bro, calm down. She laughed. Like, hard. Pulled me into a hug and hit me with ‘thanks! needed that.’ Like the very idea of me was a damn joke to her.”

Mark stopped. Paused. Shoulders visibly relaxed. “Oh,” he breathed, blinking slowly. “She laughed, huh?”

Shiesty nodded. “Immediate friend-zone. Real efficient.”

Mark sat back, smugness returning like a tide. “Yeah. Well. Of course she did.”

Shiesty sipped again. “She called me stupid.”

Mark’s smirk widened. “She’s always had good judgment.” There was a beat of silence before Shiesty started up again.

“…But like, is it just me,” he said, slowly tilting his head, “or did her ass go dumb in those jeans?”

Mark didn’t even hesitate. Smirked. “Her ass always goes retarded."

They clinked their glasses in solemn agreement.

“Truly criminal,” Shiesty muttered.

Mark shook his head. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

#invincible fanfic #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson fanfic #mohawk mark #variant mark grayson #mohawk mark x reader #variant mark x reader

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stxneflxwers · 1 month ago

Text

heart of spades.

⋯⁂ summary. it's aventurine's birthday.

⋯⁂ a/n. this was fun to write, despite that it's rather short!! pls enjoy <3

⋯⁂ cw. tender angst. recollections of aventurine's past (re: avgin massacre). reader luvs aven lots. phone call / facetime call. sweet ending.

⋯⁂ obligatory tags. @tojiswhore-aventurinesslut ; @aventurineswife (hiiii 👋👋 im evil btw)

…it’s raining.

dreadful, he thinks.

he hates the rain.

like a storm cast over the bank of a river, his mind floods with memories of that fateful day so many years ago. it didn’t just rain, it poured – all while those haunting screams echo in his mind, even now. he can even still recall the dark of night consuming his vision.

he still wonders how he’s managed to stay alive until now.

he wagers that a decent portion of his will to live is nestled within you. only you. his sunshine. he isn’t as sunny as most would portray him to be – the sun doesn’t just survive, it lives. but you – you live, casting a bright glow on his darkness, allowing him to shine a little bit longer.

his train of thought is derailed the moment someone comes by to his hotel room, dropping off a package from you. how funny, he was just thinking of you moments ago— oh, he remembers now. it’s his birthday.

fuck.

sometimes he wishes you’d treat this day like any other, but then he remembers that you put him through a lot (of love). both sugar and spice. right now, it’s evidently sugar. maybe too much sugar.

after thanking the subordinate that left the package in his care, he carefully unwraps the brown paper and unties the silly bee-printed ribbon. regardless of how silly it is, he thinks he’ll keep it. just in case (of what? he doesn’t know either.)

he doesn’t notice, but his shoulders feel so much lighter while he sits on the hotel bed, rummaging through the small birthday gift. a smile cracks on his face when he discovers the ingredients for his favorite coffee order. medium roast, subtle hazelnut flavoring, steamed milk, and a single droplet of honey.

you’re sneaky, he thinks. but he knows someone has to get back at him once in a while. it may as well be you.

oh, there’s even butter cookies in the package… you spoil him too much. then again, he can never spend enough on you (you beg to differ.)

without another beat of hesitation, he begins to put the coffee together. as routine as it may be, he’s thankful for the brief period of respite from his tormented mind. at first, anyway. and then the thoughts return, unbidden and unrelenting. he would grimace if he wasn’t already used to all of this bullshit—

—he nearly drops the small glass jar of honey. he catches it just before it rolls off the countertop in the kitchenette. he sighs tersely, pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels an oncoming migraine – no surprise there. aside from the emotions that storms bring, the humidity and pressure changes never fail to give him a low-thrumming headache.

once the coffee is finished, steamed milk poured on top and honey stirred inside, he stands at the sliding patio door.

he simply…watches the storm. perhaps, in a way, he’s witnessing. but witnessing what? maybe witnessing the echoes of his past coming back to tear away at his flesh, his soul – if he dare believe in such a concept. all he can do is watch like a helpless, hopeless bystander.

ring-ring!

the sound of his phone buzzing nearly makes him throw his mug at the door. can’t he have a semblance of peace? just this once. please. please, gaiathra—

instead, he shakily sets the simple black mug back down in the kitchenette, and pulls out his phone. he leans back against the nearest counter as he answers the call – it's you.

you and your angelic voice.

“hey!” you chirp, “wanna facetime? i wanna see your handsome face, birthday boy!”

handsome face? sure, he’s handsome to most, but he looks like total trash right now – the dark circles under his drooping eyes more evident than ever. hell, he can hardly even keep a smile on his face.

he holds back a sigh, at the very least.

“...hey,” you say before he responds, “c’mon. i don’t care if you look ‘bad’ right now. i just need to see you. please?”

“alright, alright,” he relents too easily this time, but you do have so much sway over his heart, as usual. he turns on the front-facing camera, the tiniest of smiles curling his lips – still rather performative, if you had to say anything about it. “better?” he asks, too quietly.

“much better,” you have your own camera turned on, a sunny grin on your face. “i love seeing you regardless of how you look! you know that, right? if not, i’m happy to remind you.”

“...i know,” he mutters, “just…hard to believe you truly don’t care about my performance anymore—”

“i never did care about your performance, aventurine!” you pout, “i’m not here for the performance, i’m here for the actor underneath it all.”

he licks his lips nervously, tasting remnants of coffee and dryness.

“...sorry, i’m not angry, i promise,” you soothe, “hmm… let’s see… did you get the package? how’s the weather?” you pivot the topic – for his sake.

“i did, and thank you for the gift, as well. you must’ve known that i’d need a pick-me-up this time,” he chuckles breathlessly, hardly even audible. “and… the weather? seriously?” he teases a little, but really, he’s reluctant to answer. he knows it’ll worry you—

“aventurine.” you say, but it’s a tender kind of firm.

“...well, it’s raining pretty hard. headache included.” he finally answers, quieter this time, losing all of the performative gleam in his expression.

“i see,” you nod, “...would meds help? do you have any? more importantly: have you been drinking water?” ah, typical you, that’s where your mind jumps to.

…he’s definitely not been drinking enough water. not that he wants to admit that.

you know better, though.

“i see that guilt!” you accuse with worry, “please, drink some water. i will remind you every five minutes tonight until you tell me you did it.”

“and…you’d believe me? do you look up when someone tells you ‘gullible’ is written on the ceiling, too?” he sighs, his joke falling flatter than a board.

“i’d believe you without hesitation.”

“...”

he’s at a loss for words. he often is when he’s alone with you. maybe it’s for the best.

“...and…by the way, happy birthday, aventurine!” you chirp, your grin returning full force.

“i—” he sputters, “...thank you – for spending it with me. despite everything. despite…me—”

“i would do it a thousand times over.”

#aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #🌠— hurt/comfort #💕— aventurine #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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imthepunchlord · 10 months ago

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I think one of the missed opportunities of ML is that they just don't get into the whimsy or magic of Miraculous and kwamis and what you can do with that. Especially in terms of subtlety of the magic.

Like, for example:

Of course, a lot of this was far outside Marinette's allowance, but she could still enjoy seeing the latest trends. She took in the designs and clothes, blind to the models that wore them, all focused on the creativity and inspiration. Until a small bit of orange caught Marinette's eye, derailing her whole inspiration ride. The culprit was an odd jewelry piece, an eyesore amongst the more elaborate and styled designs. It was a foxtail necklace, with a white tip, and a sectioned gradient of yellow to vermilion, held up by a golden chain. So eye-catching and odd was it, Marinette reached out for it instinctively, barely registering how it felt warm to the touch and seemed to tingle with a curious energy, as if excited. Marinette was in the motion of starting to put it on when the chain jerked on of the hook, and with that tiny little snap, the spell was broken. Marinette blinked a little in confusion. Shaking her head, she dismissed the weirdness, and looked over the necklace. It was still oddly warm to her touch, but maybe it was being handled previously? And there was no price tag to it… Odd. Everything about it was odd. Part of Marinette felt like she wanted to take it with her, but considering it was here, it was probably outside her funds. Oddly feeling apologetic, Marinette let it go to swing and sway, leaving it behind to continue her browsing. With her gaze no longer upon it, the foxtail shimmered, blending in with the other necklaces. Oblivious to the magic, Marinette continued her browsing, eager to see designs she hadn't seen before, and what new ideas these designs could inspire.

It's a little thing, but I think it just nicely adds to the Miraculous, so it's a shame the show didn't really delve into it. At least the movie did a little bit. I could feel the magic of them there.

#ml salt #miraculous changes #miraculous rewrite

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loveless-arobee · 9 months ago

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It's always a bit... annoying? Weird? Idk. Whenever a person who isn't AroAllo comes into the tags and asks a questions for AroAllos (which is fine), that there's always aces in the notes responding with something like "I'm ace/asexual but..."

No "but" this question isn't for you?? Why do you feel so comfortable talking over AlloAros in our own spaces??

It's weird. How can you read "Question for AroAllos!" or anything similar and think to yourself "well, I'm not that, but I'll still answer!" Why? Why can't you just... not do that? Especially when it's a question specifically about sex or sexual attraction and you just derail it into something completely different, especially something explicitly non-sexual?? What is the thought process there. Genuinely, I cannot understand this.

Maybe just let AlloAros answer. You'll live if you scroll past the question or just reblog without comment or tag an AroAllo person who's open to answering questions (and if you can't even name one, just... perhaps... don't even think about answering the question) or do anything but speak over AlloAros. I promise. It'll be fine. We don't need you talking over us, and we certainly don't need you to keep spreading misinformation (which is something that happens basically every time, even if you don’t mean to).

We can talk for ourselves just fine. If you actually want to help, listen to us, and spread our voices instead of talking over us.

#aroallo #alloaro #aromantic #aro

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fourth-wing-stories · 3 months ago

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Mirrorball - Part 7

Pairing: Ridoc x OC

Warning: fluff, smut

Part 6

Masterlist

A/N: I´m really not the greatest at writing this stuff, but I try

Tags: @sweetsugarcoffee @lxnvmvrzx @lowytavis

Requests are OPEN, check bio

It’s a quiet night when Ridoc knocks on Iris’s door, the soft taps breaking the silence. Iris, who had been reading a book in bed, furrows her brows but gets up to open it, only wearing her sleeping shirt. As the door swings open, Ridoc stands there, leaning casually against the frame with his usual grin, but there's something different in his eyes—something softer.

“Hey, Blondie,” he says, voice hushed, though his smile still carries that teasing glint. “You busy?”

Iris raises a brow. “At midnight?”

Ridoc shrugs, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d come by, see if you were, you know... not busy.”

She rolls her eyes, closing the door behind him. “Right. Because you just had to see me right now.”

“Obviously.” He flashes her a smile, but there’s an edge of sincerity beneath his words. He crosses the room, standing close to her now, and his gaze flickers from her eyes to her lips. “I always need to see you.”

Iris feels her heart quicken, but she keeps her expression neutral. “Oh? Since when?”

Ridoc chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly? Since... well, pretty much since I met you. You're very distracting to be honest."

Iris takes a step toward him, her lips curling into a playful smile. “How am I distracting?” she asks, her voice light, teasing, as if she’s daring him to explain. She puts her hand around his neck and leans into him.

“Let’s just say... you have this way of completely derailing my thoughts.”

Iris tilts her head, her smile growing as she arches an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Ridoc breathes, his thumb tracing slow circles on her waist as he pulls her a bit closer, their bodies just barely brushing. “Every time you mess with me in class, or when you pretend you’re not paying attention while blowing my pencils off the desk… it’s like I can’t think straight.” His tone is playful, but there’s a tension in his voice now, something heavier lurking beneath the surface.

He leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. “It’s infuriating,” he whispers, his breath warm against her skin. “And... I kinda like it.”

The air between them is charged, and Ridoc’s usual lightheartedness is replaced with something rawer. He leans in, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s both gentle and desperate, like he’s been holding back for too long. Iris melts into him, her hands finding their way to his chest, and she pulls him closer, her body pressed against his.

The kiss deepens, and soon they’re stumbling toward the bed, their movements hurried but filled with a kind of urgency that neither of them can deny. When they finally collapse onto the mattress, Ridoc hovers over her, his lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck.

“Iris,” he murmurs against her skin, his voice breathless, “You have no idea how many times I´ve dreamed about this.”

She laughs softly, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I think I might have some idea.”

Ridoc’s lips trail a path of fire down Iris’s neck, leaving her skin tingling with each kiss. His hands slide along her waist, tracing the curve of her hips, teasing at the waistband of her underwear. Iris’s breath catches as he hooks his fingers under the fabric, slowly pulling them down.

She watches him, her pulse quickening as he settles between her thighs, his gaze dark and full of intent. Ridoc pauses, flashing her a wicked grin. “You’ve been teasing me for months, Iris. I think it’s my turn.”

Before she can respond, his mouth is on her. His lips press against her inner thigh, sending a shiver up her spine, and then he’s kissing her deeply, his tongue swirling around her most sensitive spot. Iris gasps, her hands instinctively gripping the sheets as pleasure jolts through her body.

Ridoc takes his time, his mouth working in slow, deliberate motions, savoring every reaction from her. Iris’s hips lift off the bed, her back arching as she bites her lip, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out.

But Ridoc isn’t having it. He slides his hands around her thighs, holding her in place as his tongue moves with more intensity, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her. “Don’t hold back, Iris,” he murmurs against her skin.

She can’t help it—her moan breaks free, loud and full of need. Ridoc’s name slips from her lips as her fingers find his hair, tangling in the soft curls as she holds him close. He groans at the sound of his name, his pace quickening as he brings her closer and closer to the edge.

The pleasure builds steadily, a fire growing hotter and hotter until it feels like she’s going to explode. Iris’s breathing becomes ragged, her body trembling uncontrollably. “Ridoc, I—I’m close.”

With a final, movement of his tongue, he sends her over the edge. Her entire body tenses, her back arching as she cries out, pleasure washing over her in crashing waves. Ridoc stays with her through it all, his lips gentle but relentless as he draws out every last shudder of her climax.

When she finally comes down, breathless and flushed, Ridoc pulls back with a satisfied grin. “You taste even better than I imagined.”

Iris is still trying to catch her breath, her body humming from the aftershocks, when Ridoc moves up her body, pressing a kiss to her lips. She can taste herself on him, which only makes her want him more. She pulls him closer, her hands slipping beneath the waistband of his pants.

Ridoc groans into the kiss as she frees him, his arousal evident and ready. He pulls his pants off and positions himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her slick entrance. There’s a pause, his gaze locking with hers, filled with so much unspoken emotion.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he whispers, his voice raw and full of need.

Without another word, he pushes into her slowly, filling her completely. Iris gasps, her body arching into his as he moves inside her, the sensation overwhelming after the intensity of her orgasm. Ridoc groans, his forehead dropping to hers as he starts to thrust, his movements deep and controlled.

They find a rhythm quickly, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Ridoc’s usual humor is gone, replaced by a focus that makes Iris’s head spin. His hands on either side of her head, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, as their shared desire takes over.

“You feel incredible,” he murmurs, his voice strained as he loses himself in the sensation of her. “Gods, Iris…”

Iris can only respond with a breathless moan, her nails digging into his back as he drives into her, their bodies working toward the same goal. The pleasure builds again, faster this time, the intensity of his thrusts pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

Ridoc’s breath is ragged, his movements erratic as he nears his own climax. “Iris,” he groans, his voice full of desperation. “I’m so close.”

Her own orgasm crashes over her suddenly, her body clenching around him as she cries out his name. Ridoc follows her, his hips stuttering as he thrusts deep one last time, his release hitting him hard.

They collapse together, tangled in the sheets, their bodies slick with sweat and their hearts racing.

Ridoc pulls Iris close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as they lay there, still catching their breath.

“I can’t believe we waited this long,” Ridoc mutters with a chuckle, his usual playful tone returning.

Iris laughs, her chest still heaving as she snuggles into his warmth. “Me neither."

#fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #iron flame #onyx storm #the empyrean #fourth wing x reader #ridoc gamlyn #ridoc x reader #ridoc fourth wing #fourth wing x ridoc #ridoc gamlyn x reader #ridoc smut #ridoc fluff #fourth wing ridoc #ridoc x oc #ridoc gamlen x oc #x reader

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inellz · 4 months ago

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「 ✦ homework ✦ 」

quackity x reader

warnings : none !

tags ~ kissing, fluff, & kind of romantic (??)

It was the kind of homework assignment you dreaded—partnered with someone you didn’t know well, forced to work together on something that, frankly, you couldn’t care less about. When you saw Quackity’s name appear on the list of partners, you groaned. You knew him from mutual friends, and while he was funny and all, he could be… a bit much. He was loud, often sarcastic, and definitely a little too confident for your liking.

He was chaotic, loud, and often distracted by anything shiny or exciting. You, on the other hand, liked things organized and straightforward. But, hey, maybe this would be a good way to push each other’s boundaries, right?

You agreed to meet at his house to work on the assignment, and when you arrived, Quackity greeted you with that signature mischievous grin.

“Well, well, look who actually showed up,” he said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I didn’t think you were brave enough to work with me.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” you replied flatly, walking past him into the house. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You both settled into his room, however, it didn’t take long for the conversation to shift from academic to argumentative.

The two of you sat down at his desk, books and papers scattered around. You started to discuss the project, but it didn’t take long before Quackity started pulling his usual antics.

“You know, I was thinking we could just—” He interrupted you before you could finish.

“No. That’s a terrible idea,” you said, not even bothering to hide your annoyance. “We need a solid plan, not whatever that is.”

“I really think we should start with the presentation,” Quackity suggested, continuing his cut off sentence from earlier, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, an irritating smirk on his face.

“I disagree,” you shot back, brows furrowed with annoyance. “We need solid research before we even think about the presentation part. It’s pointless otherwise!”

“Oh, come on! You’re just being difficult!” He chuckled, defiantly rolling his eyes.

“Me? Difficult? Look who’s talking!” Your cheeks flushed with frustration. The playful banter soon transformed into a heated disagreement, the tension between you both reaching almost palpable levels.

“I’m telling you, we should focus on the presentation first,” Quackity insisted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, a playful smirk lighting up his face.

“And I’m saying we need to nail down the research part before anything else! Without the content, the presentation will fall flat,” you retorted, frustration creeping into your voice.

A glimmer of mischief sparked in his eyes. “Wow, someone’s a little bossy today. It’s not like it’s a dictatorship, you know.”

“Excuse me? Just because you think this is a joke doesn’t mean I can’t take it seriously!” You shot back, your cheeks warming with irritation.

His laughter filled the room, but there was something deeper in his gaze, something that hinted at the tension brewing beneath the surface. You noticed how his eyes sparkled with an intense playfulness, making you acutely aware of the distance between you.

Quackity’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Oh, I’m taking it seriously. You’re the one ruining everything. Lighten up.”

You couldn’t believe how dismissive he was being. “Maybe you should try thinking for once. Just because you talk big game doesn’t mean you actually know what you’re doing.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing,” he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “But if you want to keep playing it safe and being boring, be my guest.” he says as he gets closer to you.

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, irritation mixing with something else—something you weren’t willing to admit. “I’m not boring. I just want to get this done without you derailing it.”

“Well, you’re not really my type of person anyway,” he said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair as if he’d won some kind of victory. “You’re so uptight.”

That was it. You couldn’t take another second of his dismissive attitude. You stood up abruptly, your chair scraping the floor loudly. “You’re unbelievable,” you spat, gathering your things into your bag. “I’m done. I’m not wasting any more time on this with you. You clearly don’t care, so I’m leaving.”

You didn’t even wait for a response. You turned, heading straight for the door, your frustration boiling over. You weren’t going to sit here and let him ruin your day, your project, everything. You just wanted to get away from him, even if it was for a little while.

But as you reached for the door, Quackity’s voice stopped you.

“Wait, hold on—” His footsteps were quick behind you, and before you knew it, he had grabbed your wrist, gently but firmly, trying to stop you.

“No,” you snapped, your voice sharp with anger. “Let go. You’ve made it clear you don’t give a damn about this project, or anything I’m saying. So don’t try to act like you care now.”

His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, and you could see the shift in his expression. The usual cocky grin was gone, replaced with something… different. Guilt? Regret? But you weren’t in the mood to care about his feelings. Not when he’d been so dismissive of yours.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said, his voice softer now. “I didn’t mean to upset you, really. I just… I don’t know, I thought it’d be more fun, y’know?”

You shook your wrist out of his grip, not looking at him. “Well, it’s not fun for me when you keep treating everything like a joke.”

You turned back towards the door, but before you could even open it, Quackity was already in front of you, blocking your path.

“What are you—” You started, but your words were cut off when he reached for your shoulders, pushing you gently but firmly against the wall beside the door.

You stared at him, heart racing, the sudden closeness leaving you breathless. Quackity’s usual cockiness was gone, replaced by a seriousness that you didn’t expect. His face was inches from yours, his breath just as uneven as yours. For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

“I’m sorry,” Quackity said again, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean to push you like that. I didn’t think you’d get so mad.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could even process what was happening, he was closer, too close, with that cocky smirk still plastered on his face.

You glared at him, but there was a flicker of something in your chest that you couldn’t quite ignore. “Maybe you should think before you speak,” you muttered, your anger still lingering, but mixing with an unexpected tension.

Quackity’s gaze softened, and he exhaled, clearly trying to collect himself. “I’m not good at this… I’m not good at knowing when to stop. But I don’t want you to leave.” He swallowed, his grip on your shoulders loosening, as if he was afraid of pushing you too far.

You felt the heat between you both intensify, the distance closing as he stayed right there, still watching you, unsure. Something shifted in that moment—the sharp anger you felt turned into something else, something that left you confused and unsure.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Quackity, after a long silence, leaned in slowly, testing the waters. His lips brushed against yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. At first, you froze, your anger still lingering, but then it dissolved, just a little. His kiss deepened, his hand reaching up to cup your face, and you found yourself responding, all that tension from before turning into something almost… soft.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathing heavily, still pressed against the wall, his forehead resting against yours.

“See?” he said smugly, his usual cockiness back in full force. “Told you I’d make things interesting.”

You wiped your mouth, still processing what just happened. “You’re still a pain,” you muttered, but there was no real heat in your words now. You could feel your heart racing, but you couldn’t quite figure out what to do with this new tension between you two.

Quackity raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your shift in energy. “Oh, I know I’m funny. But you? You’re just… cute when you’re angry.” “Now you’re thinking about me,” he teased, leaning back in his chair with that infuriatingly pleased look on his face. “You’ll get used to it.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but despite everything—despite the frustration and the tension—you knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t look at him the same way again.

“Well,” you said, standing up and gathering your things, “We still need to finish this project. But you’re lucky I’m not leaving you for being an insufferable jerk.”

“Oh, you know you love it,” Quackity shot back with a wink. “Now, let’s get this over with, so we can celebrate later.”

#quackity x reader #quackity fanfic #karmaland #las nevadas #qsmp quackity #mcyt #minecraft #twitch #quackitytoo #quackity

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lelengerine · 2 months ago

Note

wonbin + in my dreams — red velvet + hii lua! im sooo excited for ur event, ur works never fail to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside 🥹

͙͘͡★ lucid dreaming

song prompt. “i wrote a short story for my creative writing class about someone i saw in a dream—except now you’re sitting across from me in the campus café, and you look exactly like them”

pairing. stranger!wonbin x reader

tags. college au, strangers to ???, lots of teasing and a bit of slow burn (crazy work for a drabble), no specific pronouns used, not sure if i missed anything else...

wc. 1.5k words

notes. so i may have gotten a little carried away, and this might’ve been longer than intended but thank u for requesting xu <333 i’d absolutely love to know what u think of it after hehe ALSO quick thank you to my lovely @suzayaaa for proofreading this for me 😌😌 and as always... likes, reblogs, and feedback are very much welcome

꒰ m.list | event m.list ꒱

the campus café was always busy, bustling with the usual clatter of coffee orders and murmured conversations. today was the same, and you’d usually start grumbling to yourself over the fact a random group of students were being too loud in the farthest corner, but you couldn’t care less this time because it wasn’t possible.

no, it couldn’t be possible.

you sat frozen at your usual spot, gripping your iced latte so hard the condensation dripped onto your fingers as you watched the man you once dreamt of now in the flesh, breathing and all. he was reading something on his phone, one elbow lazily propped on the table, head tilted the same way you imagined. his sharp, cat-like eyes were focused, framed by messy black hair that was so perfectly imperfect it had to have been styled on purpose.

what made everything worse was the fact he was merely a table away, utterly oblivious to the way your entire sense of reality had just been derailed.

you slammed your laptop shut in attempt to scare your thoughts from plaguing you any further, but the sound came out sharper than intended. in fact, it was loud—well, loud enough to earn you a glance from the person you least wanted attention from.

you watch as his lips curve into a faint smirk, and you knew—you knew—he’d seen it all and before you could look away or bury yourself in your drink, he stood.

panic began to bubble in your chest, the feeling slowly rising up to your throat. no. no, no, no. he wasn’t actually—

he was.

in a matter of seconds, he was standing over your table, coffee in one hand and a casual confidence in the other. a shadow fell across your table, and you dared to look up. “mind if i sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the chair across from you with the tilt of his head. his voice was smooth and you could’ve swore right then and there that he was teasing you.

“uh… sure?”

the word barely made it out before he slid into the seat, setting his coffee down with an ease that made you wonder if this was a regular occurrence to him. “you seemed like you wanted to say something earlier,” he casually said, leaning forward slightly, his gaze pinning you in place. “but then you just… stared.”

you felt your cheeks heat up instantaneously from his comment. “i wasn’t staring,” the lie escaped far too easily—but even you couldn’t convince yourself it was true.

“no?” he raised an eyebrow, the playful disbelief in his tone impossible to miss. “you sure about that?” before you could snap back, he smirked, tapping the edge of his coffee cup as if he’d just thought of something. “by the way, i’m wonbin. figured you’d want to know, since you seem so fascinated.”

the sheer audacity of his remark made your jaw drop. “i wasn’t—”

“staring?” he finished for you, his grin widening as he leaned back. “right. you mentioned that. but now that we’re here, it’d only be fair for you to tell me your name too, wouldn’t it?”

you pursed your lips as you debated whether to play along or simply walk out of this conversation altogether, but there was something about the way he looked at you—so completely unbothered yet intrigued—that made you answer without thinking.

he repeated your name like he was testing it on his tongue before the expression on his face changes into one of satisfaction. “nice. i’ll remember that.”

you glanced at him with silent judgement, trying to regain some semblance of control in this strange interaction. “you make a habit of throwing strangers off like this?”

“only the interesting ones,” he shot back, gaze sharp but amused. “so, now that we’re acquainted, what’s this you’re hiding from me?”

right. that.

you let out a nervous laugh, fingers tightening around your iced latte as if it would save you. “okay, maybe i was staring. but it’s not what you think.”

“oh?” he asked, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “then what is it?”

your mouth opens for a brief moment before it closes back shut from the lack of words coming out. how could you even begin to explain this? that he looked like someone who lived in your dreams and that you may have potentially written about him for an assignment of yours?

“it’s… complicated,” you finally answer, the words falling flat.

“complicated’s fine.” he said easily, resting his chin in his hand, watching you like he just found the most fascinating thing in the room. “i’ve got time.”

“fine,” you muttered, slumping back in your chair as you crossed your arms. “i wrote about a dream for class.”

his eyes widen just a little, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face. he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “and how does this relate to me exactly?”

you hesitated, now fidgeting with the straw of your iced latte. avoiding his gaze only made the confession harder. finally, you huffed and met his curious stare head-on. “cause… you were in that dream.”

that seemed to catch him off guard for a split second before his lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. he leaned back, his hand lazily swirling his own coffee cup. “now this is getting interesting. keep going.”

your face burned and you shook your head, shooting him an incredulous glare. “no, i’m not telling you anything else.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to open up to me, hm?” now you’re the one with an eyebrow raised. his words hung in the air, laced with an almost playful daring that made your heart stutter and race all at once. the curve of his lips was teasing, yet his eyes betrayed something deeper—a glint of genuine curiosity that made it impossible to brush him off entirely.

you tilted your head, meeting his gaze with a resolve you weren’t sure you possessed anymore. “and what makes you think i owe you an explanation?”

his grin widened, leaning back against his chair as if settling in for a game he had every intention of winning. “you don’t owe me anything. but,” he paused, his fingers lazily tracing the rim of his coffee cup, “i can tell there’s a story behind all this. and you seem like the type of person who’d rather share it than let it eat you alive.”

the audacity of his confidence made your jaw tighten. yet, as much as you wanted to scoff and wave him off, the glimmer in his eyes, the slight quirk of his lips—it was all too disarming.

it was as though he already knew he’d worn down your defenses, even before you did.

you leaned forward slightly, mirroring his posture. “you know, you’re awfully presumptuous for someone who just walked over uninvited.”

his chuckle was low, a warm rumble that seemed to ripple through the chaos of the café and settle right in your chest. “fair enough. but you let me sit here, didn’t you?”

you blinked, trying to will away the heat creeping up your neck. he had you there.

wonbin takes your silence as a well-earned victory. “so,” he started off proudly, “what was i like in this story of yours? don’t hold back—i’m dying to know.”

you blinked at him, your mind scrambling to piece together a response. the sheer improbability of it all—the person you believed only existed in your imagination now sitting across from you, teasing you like it was the most natural thing in the world—sent your pulse into overdrive.

“i… still don’t think i should tell you.”

“why not?” a playful pout replaces the smirk that was once resting on his lips, “was i boring? a nobody? or—his smirk widened, and there was a dangerous edge of amusement in his tone—was i the love interest?”

your breath hitched, and the iced latte in your hand felt suddenly too cold, too real. “what? no! it wasn’t like that.”

“hmm.” he hummed in mock contemplation, his eyes never leaving yours. “you say that, but the way you’re turning red right now is kind of telling.”

“because you’re being impossible!” you shot back, the words tumbling out before you could think.

his laugh came easily, warm and unbothered, and somehow it made the heat in your cheeks worse. “relax, i’m just messing with you. but, hey, you’ve got to admit—it’s flattering. i mean, you dreamed me up, wrote about me, and now here i am. feels like fate, don’t you think?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, torn between frustration and the urge to laugh at his nerve. “fate would’ve made you less obnoxious.”

“aw, now you’re just being mean.” he grinned, standing up and grabbing his coffee. “but i’ll take it. dream me up again sometime, yeah?”

before you could muster a response, he was already strolling away, a casual wave tossed over his shoulder. you found yourself watching his retreating figure, but this time, your thoughts lingered on the possibility of meeting him again—preferably not in your dreams, you hope.

#lelengerine: youth lovesome 🩷#riize fluff #riize angst #riize #wonbin fluff #wonbin angst #riize wonbin #riize imagines #riize scenarios #wonbin x reader #park wonbin #riize x reader

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dreamingkitsunewrites · 3 months ago

Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖.𝐇αᥣᥣ𝖾𝗒'𝗌 𝐂ⱺꭑ𝖾𝗍.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Chapter 2 from ₊ Qʊɛɛռ օʄ ȶɦɛ Nɨɢɦȶ Series

-☄"Midnight for me is 3:00 a.m. (for you)"☄-

ραιяιηg: Neighbor!Choso Kamo x Bartender!Reader

𝖲ɣ𐓣: you come home at 3am from your shift at the club just to find your cold neighbour Choso awake and waiting for you to come home safely.

𝐂ɦ𝖾𝖼𝗄 ⱺυ𝗍 𝗍ɦ𝖾 𝚰𐓣ᑯ𝖾𝗑 ρα𝗀𝖾 𝖿ⱺ𝗋 𝗍ɦ𝖾 𝖿υᥣᥣ 𝐓𝐖 ᥣ𝗂𝗌𝗍

A/N: hey guys I'm finally back... This is my first fic in a long time, so sorry if this chapter might seem a bit boring... I swear, it's all for the sake of the slow burn!🤣

Series Tag list: Open!

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬-𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⏭ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: нαℓℓєу'ѕ ¢σмєт by вιℓℓιє єιℓιѕн

Choso's POV

“She’s gone… you can finally breathe now.” Yuji barges into his brother’s room without a warning. Choso, who was peacefully existing with his headphones on, jumps back in his bed, dropping his music with an annoyed frown. “Ok…” he mutters, not even pretending to care, “did you at least understand a word she said?”

“Hold on, bro,” Yuji waves his arms around dramatically, “why aren’t we talking about how your killer glare probably made her want to join a monastery and take a vow of silence? We might need a priest to bless the room if she ever comes back.”

Choso, eyes darting to the corner, knows it’s true. He’s an expert at making people uncomfortable with his mysterious aura. But she wasn’t scared of him, right? She just seemed… interested? Or maybe confused? His mind goes into overdrive, battling between self-doubt and a strange sense of vulnerability. Was he the creepy guy, or were you just… not scared of him? He really didn’t know how to feel about that gaze of yours. It wasn’t judging. It was curious. And that... was new. So new he doesn't know how to cope with that.

“Well,” Yuji interrupts his spiraling thoughts, his grin screaming trouble is coming, “Can I ask why you were being weird today? Like, weird weird?”

Choso’s train of thought derails, and he stumbles over words. “I… don’t know…” he mutters. “Maybe… I’m just not used to… being around… girls?” His face turns into a tomato. “I mean, you know, girls usually think I’m a weirdo…”

A flashback to Yuki, the only girl he’d ever been able to talk to, flits through his mind. She had been his friend. A real friend. She was the only one who didn’t run for the hills when he spoke. The only woman who could accept him for who he is. Maybe the only one in his entire existence… he has always wondered if his mother really managed to accept his nature in the end. He wouldn't even blame her if not…But that’s a whole different therapy session.

Yuji’s grin widens, clearly about to unleash chaos. “I get it, bro,” he says, all innocent-looking, but Choso still can see the mischievous glint in his eyes. “But seriously, it’s time for you to join the human race. Go outside, touch some grass, bask in the sunlight. Maybe even put on real clothes for once instead of your comfy ‘I haven’t left the house in six days’ pajamas.”

Choso stares down at his pajama pants like they’ve personally offended Yuji. “Why do you hate my pajamas so much?” he mutters, defensive, like a child caught in his favorite blanket.

Yuji snickers. “Nothing. I’m sure even our neighbor’s jealous of your unique fashion choices.”

Suddenly, Choso’s cheeks turn pink as he realizes he probably should’ve made himself slightly presentable before you showed up. Oops.

“Jokes aside, don’t stress about her. She’s chill. Oh, and I bet she really appreciated you checking in on her tonight. Big bro points, my dude. Huge. I approve.”

As Yuji heads for the door, Choso’s mind starts to race again. You’re probably starting your shift right about now, and suddenly, his chest feels tight. Worry? Anticipation? He isn’t sure. Probably both. He’s no expert in nightlife (he’s more of a “stay home and brood” kind of guy), but he knows enough about what happens at clubs on weekends to be mildly terrified. Drunk people, loud music, bad decisions. And you, you’re… well, you’re attractive,beautiful even. The image of that pout you make when you focus suddenly comes to his mind, he noticed it while you were sitting in their kitchen, just an hour before.

Yuji snaps his fingers in front of Choso’s face. “Yo, Earth to Choso, where’d you go? What do you want for dinner? Spaghetti? Pizza? A small army of snacks?”

Your POV:

You’re back at the apartment, quickly switching into your pub’s uniform while grabbing a snack that’s barely worthy of being called dinner. "Hey 'Zuru, I’m over here," you call out, hearing the door open signalling your roommate's return. In your typical fashion, you join her, making a grand entrance, hopping on one foot while trying (and failing) to pull on your skirt without falling over. She shoots you an amused stare. Her laugh fills the room as she opens the fridge, rummaging around for ingredients. "So, how was your day?" she asks, but the disapproving tone in her voice could sour milk.

You shrug casually, leaning against the counter as you munch on your snack. “Eventful, to say the least. Classes were fine, but I ended up helping Yuji with his homework after bumping into him this morning. Had to do something for him, especially after he saved our apartment from that fire your straightener started...” You approach her, trying to help with dinner prep, although you're more distracted by the ongoing crisis of your skirt.

She squints at you, half amused, half exasperated. “Wait—my straightener now? Really? You’re incredible.” She scoffs, and you can feel the heat of her sarcasm even before she opens her mouth again. “Oh, and thanks for almost wrecking my date next week. You know, the guy from this morning, who definitely didn’t look like Kenji? Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled when you mistook him for my ex.”

You wince, feeling a little guilty. “Oops? But seriously, since when do you hang out with such prickly guys?” You try to make light of the situation, your innocent smile just the tiniest bit mischievous. It works—just a little.

“Lucky we’re friends,” she mutters under her breath, grabbing a piece of your KitKat bar without permission. “Anyway, how’d it go with Yuji?”

You lean back on the counter, kicking your legs casually, your voice almost dreamy as you glance up at the ceiling. “It went pretty well. You can tell he really puts effort into everything, even his chemistry work.” You pause, letting the suspense build before casually adding, “Oh, and I met his brother today. Choso.”

At the mention of his name, Shizuru freezes mid-step, her eyes narrowing “Who? The ghost of the block?” Her disbelief is palpable. She holds her pan like it might be some kind of defense weapon. “You’re telling me you actually talked to him? And got his name? How are you still alive?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Relax, he’s not that bad. He’s just a little…shy.”

“Shy?” She spits out the word like it's poison. “Shy doesn’t mean watching people from a distance with that I’ll stab you if you breathe near me look. That guy’s a creep! I don’t even know how they’re brothers. It's like one was raised by kittens, and the other by serial killers.”

You stare at her, raising an eyebrow. “Zuru, that’s not fair—”

“Not fair? Have you seen him? He looks like he’d bite your head off if you smiled at him wrong,” she interrupts. Her face is a mix of incredulity and concern now. “Tell me, what did he even say to you?”

“Not much,” you admit with a shrug. “He mostly just... studied me. Like, just stared at me the whole time.”

She bursts out laughing. “I knew it! No doubt he looked at you like you were the last woman on Earth. I bet the last time a girl talked to him, he thought it was some kind of alien encounter.”

You roll your eyes but your smile lingers a little too long, a little too soft. “Well, there was one thing... He did ask if I’d be okay working the night shift alone, said he was worried about me being out by myself.”

Shizuru drops her spatula. “Wait, wait, what? He asked you that? That can only mean one of two things: He’s either a secret knight in shining armor—like, a dark and broody ‘I’ll protect you’ type—or he’s a stalker serial killer making sure no one kills you before he can.”

You throw your hands up in exasperation, hopping off the counter. “And here I thought we could have a normal conversation. Why is it so hard for you to admit that he’s not that bad? Honestly, I’m heading to work now. Don’t wait up for me.”

Shizuru tilts her head, giving you that knowing smirk. “Never planned on it. But seriously—watch out for the Chosos on your way out. They tend to give people... intense stares.”

As you grab your jacket and head out the door, you can't help but think back to Choso—of how oddly protective he’d seemed earlier. There’s something about him that’s so... complicated, like there's more lurking beneath the surface. You shake the thought off, but a small part of you wonders just how much of a knight he might actually be.

...

The shift has gone smoother than expected, the hours slipping away unnoticed as you worked at the pub. It wasn't until the end of the night, when a few too many patrons had indulged a bit too much, that you and your colleague found yourselves staying later than planned. You've had to help some of them out the door, calling their emergency contacts to make sure they'd get home safely. On your way back, the thought crosses your mind that it must feel nice to have someone to always rely on. Since moving to Japan, your roommate has always been your one constant, your anchor. You'd taken care of each other, navigating the chaos of life side by side. That’s why Yuji and Choso’s concern earlier today has left you with an unexpected feeling. It was nice to be cared for, even if it felt … strange.

As you walk home, you suddenly remember the promise you made to them today about letting them know you'll make it back safely tonight. But how could you do that now? It's already 3am and you are barely crawling back to the building, exhausted, your mind blurry. They are probably asleep by now anyways, and you certainly don't want to wake them up for something so trivial. What if they had even forgotten about it? This could also be a possibility...The idea of barging into their apartment looking like you had just fought a zombie apocalypse, just to say, "Hey, just wanted to tell you I made it home safe," is mortifying. You never quite knew how to handle attention like that. It always felt… uncomfortable.

You sigh as the elevator doors open. Stepping inside, you lean against the cool metal, the reflection in the mirror showing just how tired you are. Dark circles under your eyes—could they rival Choso’s? You wonder if he works nights too, that would explain why he's never around during the day… The impactful sight of your disheveled hair and smudged makeup makes you cringe. There's no way you are going to run into anyone in this state

...

Meanwhile, Choso has been pacing the living room for more than an hour, glancing at the clock every few minutes. 2:00 a.m. 2:30. 2:45. Where were you? Shouldn’t any bar be closed by now? Why weren't you home yet?

Yuji went to sleep hours ago, and the silence of the apartment, only broken by the occasional tick of the clock, fuels his anxiety. What if something had happened to you? What if someone had gotten too close at the bar, or worse, if you’d run into trouble on your walk home? He's already regretting not insisting on walking you home. He had let his guard down, and now he can't shake the thought of you being out there alone.

He stops pacing for a moment, realizing how absurd his thoughts must sound. But he can't help it—once Yuji had pulled him into your orbit just this afternoon, he couldn’t shake the sense of responsibility he felt for you. Protectiveness has always come naturally to him. And you were Yuji’s friend, which meant you were officially under his care too.

Then, his mind drifts back to earlier today, to how small and fragile you looked under his gaze in the kitchen, huddled in that oversized leather jacket as if you were trying to hide from the world…. A feeling he knows quite well. Guilt stirs in his chest, maybe you two aren't that different… He didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Maybe that's why he couldn’t stop thinking about you, why he cared so much.

Cling. His thoughts are interrupted by the familiar chime of the elevator. He freezes. Could it be you?

The doors slide open and you tiptoe down the dim hallway, trying to avoid making a sound. You are certain Yuji and Choso have forgotten about you anyway, and you have already concocted a half-baked excuse in case they haven't. Reaching your door, you find your lovely roommate has locked you out again. "Damn, 'Zuru," you mutter through gritted teeth, rolling your eyes as you fumble for your keys in the chaotic abyss of your bag.

Too preoccupied with not making noise, you fail to notice the figure standing behind you until it is too late: Choso stands there, watching you struggle with your keys, his nostrils flaring as his eyes sweep over you. The sight of you in your uniform—tight T-shirt clinging to your curves, legs exposed in that breathtaking miniskirt, the ‘Queen of the Night’ logo teasingly placed just above your neckline—stirred something dark in him…how could this be defined as a work uniform?

“You’re back.” His voice is dry, sharp, and it makes you jump, the keys slipping from your hands and clattering to the ground.

"Shit…it's you, Choso," you mutter, heart racing. His hard expression makes it instantly clear that you've just made a mistake. "You scared me."

On the spot,he wants nothing more than to snap something sarcastic about how you should be more afraid of wandering the streets at 3 a.m. than of him, but he bites his tongue. He is too angry, too frustrated.

“Why didn’t you let us know you made it home safely? You've promised…” His tone is harsh, the words coming out faster than he intended.

Touché- your heart sinks at the reminder of your earlier promise. You can't stand the fact that he'd probably think low of you now, even more than he did before if possible.

“I... I thought you and Yuji had probably forgotten about it,” you stammer, the excuses falling from your lips before you can stop them. “I didn’t want to bother you, especially at this hour.” Your words ring hollow even to you, but you can't help but wonder why he was so upset for something that didn't involve him or Yuji directly.

Choso’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “If we didn’t want to be bothered, we wouldn’t have asked you to let us know in the first place. I spent the evening waiting for you to come home.” His gaze pinns you, as if daring you to look away.

The realization hits you—Choso, the cold guy everyone is afraid of is worried…for you? You blink, surprised by the raw intensity in his eyes. “Wait…did you actually… wait up for me?”

His face softens for a split second before hardening again. "I did."

The hallway falls silent for a moment. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know. It’s my fault,” you murmur looking at the ground, still unable to hold his gaze, when your raging guilt finally subsides.

Choso sighs at the scene, leaning against the doorframe. His arms cross over his broad chest, and you can tell he's still trying to control his emotions. “It’s okay." Those three words are enough to make you release the breath you didn't know you were holding. "Just… keep it in mind from now on: you can always call us if you're in trouble. No matter the time.” he says, his eyes now boring into yours as if seeking the reassurance you'd grasped the concept.

You smile at his awkward attempt to ease the tension… something suggested you that his rough façade was nothing but a bluff already this afternoon, and the embarrassed expression etched on his face right now as he tries to maintain a stern tone confirms that you weren't wrong. “Can I ask you something?” you speak, guilt now replaced by a playful mischief that takes Choso aback.

"Uh? Yeah… What’s up?” he asks, desperately trying to sound casual, though inside, he is already panicking about what you might ask.

Your grin grows as you mirror his posture, leaning against your door and crossing your arms. “Is your door about to fall off or something?”

His eyes widen in confusion, before turning and checking for the stability of his entrance door. “No, it’s still pretty sturdy… Why?”

You have to suppress a laugh at the panic in his voice... Is it always that easy to make him nervous?. “Just seemed like you always lean on it like it’s your life mission or something.” you tease him, remembering how he displayed his signature 'alpha-pose' already this afternoon.

Choso’s face flushes, and he quickly looks away, trying to salvage his tough guy image. “It’s none of your business,” he mutters, putting on an adorable child-like frown, but even in the dim light, it is obvious he is flustered by your teasing.

You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, okay…” The air around you feels less tense now, almost intimate, with just the two of you awake in the whole building. “Is Yuji sleeping?” you whisper, interrupting the peaceful silence of the night.

“Yeah, he’s been asleep for a while now…” The change in Choso’s posture as you mention his brother is noticeable: his deep voice softens, his eyes fill with a sparkle as his thoughts seem to wander to Yuji. “He really wanted to stay up and wait for you, but I convinced him I’d handle it.”

You laugh quietly. “Aww so thoughtful of him! But he’s got school tomorrow. He definitely needs to save some energy for chemistry class… your brother is such an angel…you know," you confess, opening up to him about the struggles of getting used to your new surroundings "he has always been one of the few friendly faces when I moved here...I'll forever be thankful for meeting him”

Choso chuckles along with you, his lips finally curling up in a faint smile, though his mind seems to slip far away. “He’s special… too pure for this world.”

The moment is quiet, comfortable even, until you break the silence again, thinking it's time for both of you to take some sleep. “Thanks for what you did tonight… Goodnight, Choso.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you turn to leave, but there is something more—something that makes him hesitate. “Hey," he stammers without thinking, as if he's subconsciously trying to extend the longest conversation he has had with someone other than Yuji in a while "Can I ask you one more thing before you go?”

You pauses,as if surprised by his own boldness. “Yeah? Of course you can...” you turn to face him once again and Choso realizes it's too late to take back his words now..His heart hammers in his chest, the words hanging on the edge of his tongue. “I’ve been wondering... " He swallows, finding the right words to express what has been wandering around his head all night "did anyone cause you any trouble at the pub tonight? In any way...” he stammers.

His gaze is intense, unwavering even, and for a moment, you see something darker behind his eyes, something akin to the danger everyone associates with him. His question catches you off guard, but you quickly reassure him, putting on a warm smile “No, it was a pretty easy night actually… Just had to kick out a couple of drunk patrons, nothing serious.” you try to alleviate the tension.

In this moment you can clearly see his attention drift away again, that distant look of this afternoon resurfacing on his features. He lets out a low hum, his posture stiffening again as he unexpectedly turns his back on you. "Good. Goodnight,then" he mutters, his tone final.

You blink, awkwardly standing in the hallway for a moment longer after his sudden departure, unsure of what had just happened. What had you said wrong? Where does he go in his mind when he gets lost in those mysterious thoughts of his?

You finally reach out for the keys, still laying on the ground and enter your apartment, wishing you could shut the doubts outside with him as you close the door behind you with a soft click, your mind still racing with confusion. Choso…you were right about his name: there is more to him than meets the eye, and the more you see of him, the more you feel drawn to uncover the secrets behind his rough demeanor.

On the other side of the wall, Choso lays awake in bed, his fists clenched, a tangle of emotions storming through him. Why did you have to be so careless? Why couldn’t you see the danger in the way you were acting? The thought of other men ogling over you in that uniform somehow made his blood boil, and yet, he can't tear his mind away from the image of you bathed in the moonlight seeping through the windows in the hallway, so vulnerable and unaware of the way your carelessness affected him. What's so special about clubs anyways? What's the use of being looked at like nothing but a piece of meat by a bunch of drunk assholes? How could you be fine with that?

And as the darkness of the night envelops him, he can't shake the pull he feels toward you—that undeniable need to protect you, from the whole world, including yourself, even if he doesn't fully understand the reasons behind it. You are beautiful, yes….and so damn reckless…

Thanks for reading! Comments, reblogs and interactions are appreciated

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rubyreduji · 2 years ago

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Work Husband — jww & kmg

summary: your two coworkers get a bit too involved in becoming your “work husband”

tags: fluff, office!au wc: 1.7k an: the struggle to not make this too plot driven and just silly fluff

“Y/N-ah!” You look up from your keyboard to see Jeon Wonwoo walking up to your desk. He has two to-go cups of coffee in his hand and a smile across his handsome face. “Good morning.”

“Good morning Woo.” You smile up at the man as he hands you one of the cups. “Oh, thank you. You know you don’t have to get me coffee each morning.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but I want to. You work so hard around here and help keep the morale up. The most I can do is treat you to your morning coffee,” Wonwoo tells you as he walks over to his own desk, which is located right across from yours.

“You take such good care of me Wonwoo-yah,” you coo. “You’re like my work husband.”

Wonwoo grins at this. “Does that make you my work wife?”

“Well I suppose so.”

You and Wonwoo have been desk neighbors for over two years now. Right away when you first met you guys hit it off. Conversation flowed naturally between you two and you found you had many things in common and shared similar beliefs. After a bit of time you two would text each other outside of work and would even meet up occasionally on weekends.

These days it's not uncommon for you and Wonwoo to bring each other things during the work day and share your lunch breaks together. When a project goes wrong Wonwoo is there to console you and you are there to hype up his ideas in meetings. Everyone in the office is aware of the bond you share with the man.

“Y/N,” comes a whine from your right. You look over to the side to see Kim Mingyu pouting at you.

Mingyu is one of the newer coworkers in the office. He’s been here for a few months now and occupies the other desk next to you. He’s eager to please and has lots of energy and optimism. It’s a good addition to your department.

One thing about Mingyu though, is that he got easily attached to you. You don’t mind, you didn’t even notice to begin with, but after Wonwoo pointed it out you did start to notice the way the younger man always seeks you out.

“Good morning Mingyu!” You smile at the tall male before taking a sip of the coffee. “Mmm, Wonwoo, this is lovely. Is this different from what you normally get me?”

“It’s a new seasonal flavor. I was hoping that you would like it.”

“I do, a lot. Proving once again you know me well.” You and Wonwoo share a grin between you two. You make a mental note to treat him to lunch this week.

“Y/N,” Mingyu calls again. “Why can’t I be your work husband?”

“You’ve done nothing to deserve to be Y/N’s work husband,” Wonwoo responds for you. You giggle a bit. “Y/N deserves someone to treat her well. More than you can give.”

Despite you being able to get along with both men, they seem to despise one another.

“Hey! I could be an amazing work husband!” Mingyu declares. Wonwoo only harrumphs. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo says, turning his attention to his computer.

Mingyu goes to protest but soon your supervisor walks up. “What’s going on here?”

“Good morning Seungcheol!” You shoot the man a bright smile. “I’m getting started on that report. It shouldn’t take me long so is there anything else you would need help with before I move onto my next project.”

As usual, you are perfect at getting the heat off of your bickering coworkers. Seungcheol smiles back down at you. “Ah, thank you Y/N. I think that I will be good right now, but if I think of something I’ll come to you.” With that Seungcheol walks off and you hum content.

“You’re so cool Y/N-ah,” Wonwoo says.

“I know, you tell me every time I do that.”

“Because who else in this office can derail Seungcheol’s wrath like that other than you. I’m a lucky man to have you as my work wife.”

You chuckle at Wonwoo’s words, completely oblivious to the way Mingyu was still glaring at the older man.

“Y/N! Please come enjoy lunch with me today. My treat,” Mingyu offers a few days later.

“Sure! There is a great cafe a few blocks away, we should get sandwiches there,” you tell him.

“Sounds good to me!” Mingyu exclaims.

“Hey Y/N, ready for lunch?” Wonwoo walks up to you.

“Oh Wonwoo, hi! Mingyu and I were actually going to go get lunch together. Would you like to come with? I’m sure Mingyu doesn’t mind, do you?” You look between the two men.

Mingyu and Wonwoo stare at each other for a moment, a tension hanging in the room. Mingyu narrows his eyes at Wonwoo and Wonwoo just smirks back. It’s clear Mingyu isn’t going to win this time. “It’s not a problem Y/N. The more the merrier.” The worse are tense as they come out of Mingyu’s mouth, but you don’t seem to notice.

You walk together with the two to the place Mingyu suggested, a man on either side of you. When you get to the cafe you order a drink and a sandwich and both boys jump to pay for your meal. You laugh at their antics.

“Though I’m perfectly capable of buying my own lunch, Mingyu did offer back at the office,” you tell them and you watch as Mingyu smirks at Wonwoo before swiping his card.

The rest of the lunch continues with small incidents in similar fashion. Wonwoo offering to grab you napkins, Mingyu throwing your trash away for you, Wonwoo helping you out of your chair, Mingyu almost shoving Wonwoo over to open the door for you. It’s strange behavior, but the two men have always behaved a bit competitively.

When you get back to the office you diligently go back to work, all the while Mingyu and Wonwoo spend the rest of the day shooting dirty looks at each other behind your back.

After that day there’s a considerable change in the dynamic between you three. It seems like Mingyu and Wonwoo are always jumping on the chance to do something nice for you, while simultaneously growing more hostile towards the other.

You didn’t notice it at first, just subtle things, but then it progressed to the point that Wonwoo was bringing out flowers on Fridays and Mingyu was offering to rub your shoulders during a break that you decided that yes, something was up. You know both men are sweet and adore you, and you adore them, but you’re curious about their new behavior.

The three of you are hanging out together at a bar after work when you decide to finally bring it up. You’re not drunk but you’re just tipsy enough that your filter has loosened to allow you to confront the two men.

“So,” you start, “what’s been up with you two recently?”

They both shoot you a questioning look, like they have no clue what you’re talking about. You playfully roll your eyes at them. You know that plenty of things can fly over your head, but you’re not that stupid.

“Nothing,” Wonwoo finally responds. “Why do you ask?”

“You two have been fighting even more lately and you always have a smug look on your face, like you’re winning some secret bet.” The men shoot each other a look and at least have the decency to look semi-guilty. At last now you know you’re not absolutely crazy. “It has to do with me, doesn’t it? That’s why you two have been so sweet to me.”

“We’re always sweet to you,” Mingyu finally speaks up.

“Yes, you are, but not this sweet. Like last week when you defended my proposal to Seungcheol even though all of us knew it wasn’t my best work. Or when Wonwoo got three papercuts just so he could staple all of my reports for me when I told him I would get around to doing it myself,” you explain. “Not that I mind all the help, but I want to know why.”

You stare at the two men, your eyes flitting between them, waiting for one of them to pipe up. You watch as their eyes search the other’s face, trying to gauge the other’s reaction to the situation. You sit patiently, allowing them to work it out between each other, before they both finally turn back to you.

“It’s not a bet,” Mingyu finally admits. “We have a sort of…competition going on.”

“Competition?”

“It was unspoken at first, we didn’t intend for it to escalate so far, but it did and we decided we didn’t want to stop,” Mingyu continues.

“A contention about what?”

“Who could be the better work husband,” Wonwoo explains. “We both wanted you to be our work wife, and so we both decided to vie for the position of your work husband.”

You stare at them for a second, before breaking out into giggles. Mingyu groans and Wonwoo starts to look a bit sheepish. “No, don’t be embarrassed. That’s so cute!”

“It’s ridiculous,” Wonwoo mutters, “but we couldn’t help ourselves.”

“I mean, I did like all the attention, but I do have one more question. Why does it matter so much? Why is having me as your work wife so important?”

“Well…because we may also bothhaveacrushonyou,” Mingyu says, speeding up the second half of the sentence, but you still understand every word. Your eyebrows raise a bit in shock.

“Oh!” Both of their faces are tinged pink, and it’s not just from the alcohol. You grin at them. “Well, I have a crush on both of you as well.”

Both of their jaws drop. You giggle at their shock. They quickly glance at each other before looking back at you. “Really?”

“Really! You two were just too cute doing nice things for me. I’d be lucky to have either of you as my work husband.”

“What about as your real boyfriend?” Wonwoo presses.

“Hmm, well I guess you’ll both have to compete for that spot too!” You smile once more, enjoying the way both boys quickly send a glare at each other. Oh, this should be fun.

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