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saetoru · 10 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses.

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy.

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly.

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials.

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has.

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed.

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer.

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal.

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party?

i can be ur escort ;)

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you.

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before.

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes.

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself?

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy.

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly.

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway.

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy.

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are.

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood.

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can.

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams.

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird.

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room.

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact.

but not so bad.

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.”

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you

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riordanness · 5 months

Text

sweet nothing - [w.wonka]

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: willy freaking wonka’s curls

requested: no

Something about this laundry place was giving me the creeps, but I’m sure if it’s the scary man who’d brought us here, the overly cheery lady with the awful teeth, or the much-too-convenient cheap as chips room.

Willy seems to be completely trusting in these people, though, and I trust him with anything, so I decide to just take it as it comes, and keep my eyes open for anything else strange.

We’re lead upstairs by Bleacher, with Mrs Scrubbit following from behind. She chatters the whole way up, bombarding us with information about the place and our room and how much impact this laundry business has had on the town itself.

Bleacher pushes open a door, and lets us pass. I step inside after Willy, and glance quickly around the simplistic room. It’s pretty, very white, and has little daisies on the wallpaper.

“There you two are,” Mrs Scrubbit says happily. I wonder to myself if her name, or Bleacher’s for that matter, are actually their real names, or if they just made them up for the glamour of it all. They are pretty catchy names.

“Thank you, Mrs Scrubbit,” I say, and Willy chimes in after me.

“Thank you both.”

Mrs Scrubbit, flustered, grins at us both and waves her hand in the air vigorously. “There’s a bar of soap and a washing cloth on the sink, and fresh linens in the cupboard over there.”

I give her a smile, and my worries from earlier are almost forgotten. This place truly is a miracle.

After they leave, and the door has closed, I realise how exhausted I am. I collapse onto the floor, leaning my head against the wall and closing my eyes. I let out a sigh. “Who knew one single day could be so busy, huh?”

I can hear Willy dropping his coat to the floor, and laughing quietly to himself. “Yes indeed, y/n.”

I open my eyes to the sight of him sitting on the edge of the bed, and it is only then I notice the most obvious of facts. There is only one bed in this room.

Willy seems to realise this at the same moment I do. “Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” I echo.

There’s a heat beat of silence, then Willy quickly gets to his feet. “I’ll sleep on the floor. You take the bed.”

“What?” I’m almost annoyed. My best friend is my favourite person, and I love him dearly, but he is almost too kind sometimes. Kindness is a virtue, but in Willy, it often hurts himself in the process.

“You take the bed,” Willy repeats.

“Don't be ridiculous,” I say, still on the floor. “It’s a big enough bed for us both. I won’t have the best chocolate maker in the universe sleeping on this cold stone floor. It’s uncomfortable.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re literally sitting on the ground right now.”

I shrug. “Floor time is fun for me. Not for sleeping though. That would be kinda awful.”

Willy smiles softly. “Alright, bean. We can share.”

I have no idea why he calls me that, but I’ve long since given up on asking. He always just grins his wicked little smile and says something like, ‘I’ll tell you one day’.

I close my eyes again, and yawn. “I’m so tired, Will.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I laugh, and open my eyes again. “Sorry not sorry. Help me up.” I hold both my hands out to him.

Willy walks over, rolls his eyes at my antics, and pulls me to my feet.

“Come on,” he says softly, his fingers lingering near my unbrushed, unruly hair. “Let’s get you to bed, bean.”

“Okay,” I mumble, suddenly even sleepier. His quiet tone and gentle touch are pulling me even closer to the darkness of sleep. I let Willy pull off my jacket, and I slide out of my dress, leaving just my petticoat and undergarments on. I crawl under the covers, shimmying as close to the wall as I can to allow room for Willy.

He shrugs off his vest and shoes, switches off the light above us, and climbs in after me, lying as far away as possible on the other side of the bed. I understand the politeness in his gesture, but my tiredness is fogging my brain up, and I want him to be close.

“Willy?” I almost whine.

“Yeah, love?” he whispers.

“Can you hold me?” I mutter, my eyes shut tightly. I barely register his reply, but I do feel his strong arms as they tighten around my waist, and pull me close to him. Then, the darkness takes me.

I wake up slowly the next morning, my senses taking longer than usual to begin working. Smell is first. Chocolate and mint and rain. Then sound. The familiar sound of my best friend’s breathing. Then touch. Warm blankets, warm arms, my cheek pressed against a warm, moving, yet somewhat hard surface. Then, finally, sight.

My eyes clear, and I blink the sleep away, and I’m met with something extremely unexpected, but also very pleasant.

Willy’s sleeping face, only inches from my own, his dark curls spread across his forehead and the pillow we share. His arms are around me, holding me tightly even in his sleep. My head is resting on his chest, which is slowly rising and falling with his gentle breathing.

I myself try not to breathe, not daring to even move. I want nothing more than to extend this moment for as long as possible, maybe even forever.

Willy’s eyes flutter open, and their soft chocolate gaze lands on mine.

He smiles, and I’m almost certain it’s the prettiest thing in the world.

“Good morning, bean.”

“Hi,” I whisper. “You still owe me the reason behind that nickname.”

Willy smiles, his eyes flitting all over my face, as if he’s relishing the closeness between us as much as I am.

“Because,” he says slowly, drawing out the word. “You are as important to me as a cocoa bean is to chocolate.”

I let that fact sink in. “Oh,” I manage, my chest filling with all the love I have for this boy beside me.

“What’s wrong?” Willy tilts his head down to look at me properly, concern filling his features.

“Nothing,” I answer. “I just… love you, Willy Wonka. I really love you.”

He smiles again, wider this time. “And I love you, my little cocoa bean.”

#wonka #wonka 2023 #fanfiction #fanfic #willy wonka x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x reader #willy wonka

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simplyreveries · 4 months

Note

Hi! I saw that the requests are open again. So, can I request the Octavinelle trio seeing GN!Reader/Yuu wearing a silly shrimp costume?

THIS IS SHORT BUT LOVE THE REQ HEHE<3

azul ashengrotto

he is initially confused, has his eyes slightly widened, and frankly kind of looks not impressed when you enter the mostro lounge... he doesn't want there to be some scene during busy work hours (but he’s literally holding his hand over his mouth and looking away a little to hide a smile at the ridiculousness). he also is wondering where and how you managed to find something like that on the island the school is on. but when he hears jade make a joke that you're kind of like a mascot for the lounge, his business brain is immediately forming ideas and you can finally see the grin on his face and a “you know what–”.

jade leech

shakes his head with some amused grin and low chuckle “oh my… did my brother put you up to this? fufu” he'll muse as he touches and feels the fabric of the costume, eyeing it. he finds the whole thing to be entertaining, especially at someone like azul’s reaction to it. but he is thinking you do look rather cute in it as well; it made sense to him as to why his brother deemed that to be you haha. you've definitely made his shift more interesting.

floyd leech

love love LOVES it. you know, you're just taking his nickname for you with pride. He finds it all to be soooo funny, he is laughing and cackling the moment you arrive at the mostro lounge all dressed up. he was already bored out of his mind during this shift he was on and was ready to try and do something at that point to entertain him. he immediately exclaims “shrimpy!” as a greeting. at the same time of his laughter- he playfully awes and forwardly tells you, how cute you are, how he could practically just “eat you up”. he 100% wants you to wear it until they close.

#shrimp yuu>>>#twst x reader #twst #disney twst #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst headcanons #twst imagines #twisted wonderland #azul x reader #floyd x reader #jade x reader

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its-time-to-write · 1 year

Text

kicking myself to keep from crying

Once again, huge shoutout to @whimsical-roasting! This is pt. 2 to your mind is not your friend and although it kind of works as a standalone, maybe read that first. Like before, I def used entire chunks of our conversation😅 so really this is her fic. I just filled in some of the gaps. Love u bae!

kicking myself to keep from crying

You wake up feeling weird. There’s soft light streaming through the windows, and something warm half on top of you. You blink away the sleep from your eyes, and realize it’s Jamie. He’s on his stomach, with one arm thrown around your waist and a leg hooked around you. You don’t want to disturb him but you’re a little uncomfortable, so you carefully roll onto your left side. You now have a clear view of his face, features softened by sleep, and you’ve somehow managed to keep your legs intertwined.

Reaching out with your free hand, you trace a line from his eyebrows down his nose, to his jaw, then his lips. You can’t help yourself, because when will you get the chance to wake up in Jamie Tartt’s bed again? His chest is rising in a steady, comforting beat.

He likes me, you think with a sigh, and the thought is enough to dispel most of the weirdness from the night before.

How did you go from crying over a bad hookup to sleeping in Jamie’s bed? God, you still feel so tired and drained, but not as much as last night. You don’t ever want to get up.

Your hand is resting on Jamie’s neck, and you can feel his heartbeat pulsing; you resist the urge to kiss him but fail, lips on his neck.

Last night was fucking awful, you think. You’re feeling like a car with an empty tank, pushing yourself up the hill to get to Jamie’s house. All you can think about is how physically and emotionally drained you’re still feeling, when you feel Jamie’s breathing change.

He blinks once, twice, then smiles at you.

“Morning, love,” he says, and you feel his rough morning voice doing something to you.

“Afternoon, more like,” you reply in a whisper.

Jamie just smiles, and you return it with a small one. He stretches all his limbs as best he can, unwilling to move his arm from around you. “You sleep ok?” he asks.

You nod.

“You feeling better?

You nod again.

He frowns. “Are you… do you not wanna talk?”

You give a small shrug and sigh. It is not easy to shrug while laying on your side, so you roll onto your back.

“I’m sorry,” you say, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I just… my headspace is going to be kinda fucked for a bit, but I feel better.”

Jamie just nods and pulls you closer (if that’s even possible). He has an unfamiliar ache, one that makes him want to protect you and take away any bad feelings you still have.

You do enjoy the feeling of his body around yours, but of course, it can’t last. You shift out of his grasp and sit up. You notice that you’re still in his hoodie and sweatpants.

For some reason, the realization makes you want to cry.

“Oh, Jamie,” you say, still unable to look at him, “thank you. For, like, everything… especially last night.”

Jamie’s propped up on his elbows now, and looking at you intently.

“Um, I can be out of your hair,” you continue, staring at your hands in your lap. They look like strangers hands. “I bet you had plans for today.”

Jamie’s frowning again now, and you decide you hate yourself for being the cause.

“What d’you mean?” he asks, and you’re unsure what he means.

You laugh nervously. “What?”

“What are you on about, why would you fucking leave?”

He looks so confused and indignant, but you don’t understand why.

You laugh again. Damn your nerves. “What else would I do? Stay?” The thought seems utterly ridiculous, and all too much like heaven

Jamie’s sitting up now, rolling over in a flurry of sheets to imitate your position. Your heart rate climbs at the feel of his arm pressed against yours.

Pull yourself together, you scold. Why is a simple touch scrambling your brain when last night’s literal sex felt like you’d had a bucket of ice water dumped on you?

You suppose it has something to do with the person.

“Love,” he says with the urgency usually reserved for someone telling you the building’s on fire, “what would you like me to do? Just tell me, and I’ll fucking do it.”

His raw emotion is throwing you off. You’re not sure how to respond, but your mouth is opening apart from your free will and saying, “I want to stay,” so you catch yourself and follow it up with a hasty, “but only if you want me to! Not out of pity or anything, because I’m ok, truly.”

You think that if you say it out loud (fine, it was a mumble), it will be true. You’re not ok, still thinking about that goddamn pity fuck, and you’re not a pity fuck, and there’s absolutely no way you’re going through those emotions again. Especially not with Jamie.

Jamie, who is closing his eyes, and letting out a deep, annoyed sigh with his jaw clenched.

A flash of fear jolts through your body, as well as the ever-present, ever-painful déjà vu. Jamie’s mad at you, and you start to get up to go.

You’re stopped by his hand on yours.

You look back to see Jamie rub his free hand over his face and mumble, “Oughta kill that prick,” before fully taking in your expression. His entire face softens, and he squeezes your hand once.

You can still feel anxiety coursing through your veins, which Jamie can see in your face. He changes his grip on your hand, and he lifts it to his lips to press a kiss on your inner wrist.

Your brain short-circuits at the pure intimacy of that gesture, something you have never experience and were pretty sure just existed in books and movies, not reality. Certainly not your reality.

Briefly, you wonder how Jamie got like this.

You remember hearing stories about how he had been a prick himself, and had tried to reconcile that with the person you knew today.

You’d seen a bit of it on the pitch during matches, when his eyes would glint and he’d stick his tongue out, right before doing something completely insane and gravity-defying that would cause the entire stadium to erupt in joy.

You knew Roy Kent called him the “prince prick of all pricks,” and that Jamie had definitely deserved that nickname once upon a time.

Still, it’s difficult to imagine that it’s the same Jamie who is sitting in bed with you, eyes looking at you so softly you think you might cry. Again.

He says, “Love, I meant every word I said last night,” and you can tell he’s trying to make his entire face show how much he means it.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes. “Goddamnit, Jamie,” you whisper, “This is the most I’ve cried in fucking forever. What the fuck?”

Jamie just smiles and wipes away a stray tear with his thumb.

Everything he’s doing is so intentional, with no malice and no ulterior motives. You’ve loved him for ages, so this just feels… it feels like it’s too much. You’re feeling the swirls of good and bad emotions and you don’t know how to sort them, so you just hold his face and fucking breathe because yes you’re crying, but it’s not really out of sadness now, is it?

You say, “About what you said last night…” to which his face drops in anticipation of rejection.

“I really fucking like you too,” you say. “I have for too long and I thought I should’ve gotten over it, hence the shit with that guy, but every time I’d drive home I’d just think about how the way your face lights up when we see each other felt more fucking meaningful than anything that he would do to me. He barely even acknowledged my existence, but you…” you trail off. “You made me feel like the entire sky shone just for me.”

You see Jamie try to school his expression, but he can’t control the wide grin breaking across his face. He puffs out a sigh of relief, or maybe it’s one of the distaste he feels every time you mention that prick. Maybe distaste isn’t the right word. What’s a good word for when you both want to puke and kick the shit out of someone?

Jamie doesn’t dwell on it too long because that shitbag is nowhere near now, you’re right in front of him with those absolutely kissable lips and wearing his clothes with his name on them, and maybe you’d both be alright to stay in bed all day. After all, you still look tired and he thinks maybe you’d sleep better if you were the big spoon this time.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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sarcasm-and-stiles · 7 months

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Uhm I saw your post about writing fics and maybe you'd be interested in an Annabeth x reader (gn or fem) please? There are too little. A funny idea is the reader thinking they're literally the coolest person ever but they're actually on the cuter side. Like it's so obvious but she doesn't say anything because it's so cute

Sorry it took me so long to respond! I had no ideas and School has been kicking my ass. I really hope you like it!

Meant to change

Annabeth Chase x gn!reader

No pronouns are used to describe the reader but at one point they do wear a dress

Word count: 674

A/n: please don’t copy my work without asking me. This story is also posted on my Wattpad account.

—————————

The orange and pink hues of the sunrise lit up the arena. I was up ungodly early due to a particularly bad nightmare. Perks of being a demi-god am I right? Since I knew I wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, I decided I would get in some extra sword fighting practice. I was completely focused on the movement of my sword when I heard a loud voice yell, “Hey y/n! You showing off for me?” Annabeth shouted at you as she lent against the fence of the training area.

Her exclamation caught me off-guard making my head turn quickly and my grip on the sword loosen. I was able to gather myself and I lent on my sword and tried to be smooth by saying, “Oh, Annabeth, I didn’t see you there.” But as I did this the sword slipped out from under me making me loose my footing. I started tilting to the side, but then two arms grabbed me and put me back upright.

“Falling for me already?” Annabeth said with a slight smirk on her face.

This made my ears go a little pink. “You tend to have that affect on people, Chase.” My eyes went wide, I could barely believe I had just said that. I had been pining over her for the past three years and never had I been this brazen before.

Annabeth brushed back a strand of my hair and said, “Only on you, I hope.” She removed her hand from my face before sending me a soft smile and walking away.

————————————

The door slammed against the wall of the Aphrodite cabin as I rushed in. I was out of breath and slightly sweating from running.

“Trying to break down our door?” I heard from across the room.

“Silena? Is that you?” I called out for my friend as I stepped through the cabin.

“Y/N! You look awful.” I’m sure I did but that wasn’t my top priority at the moment.

“I need your romance expertise.”

She beamed at me before standing and putting her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve come to the right place!”

———————————-

I felt ridiculous. I was wearing a flowing summer dress with sandals and my hair down. Not exactly peak fighting apparel, but Silena promised it would help my chances with Annabeth.

“Y/N?” Speak of the devil. I turned around to see Annabeth looking me up and down with confusion written all over her face.

“Oh! Hey Annabeth!” I said while fidgeting with my dress.

“You look…different.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No! Of course not! You just seem uncomfortable. Not like yourself.”

I looked down in embarrassment.

Annabeth grabbed my hands and asked, “Is everything alright?” I silently shook my head as I kept my eyes cast on the ground.

“You can talk to me, you know that right?” She was so sweet, trying to comfort me.

I didn’t know what to say, it wasn’t like I could say, “Don’t worry Annabeth, it’s nothing, I’m just deeply in love with you and you don’t feel the same way.” That wouldn’t work, instead what came out was, “I can’t tell you about this though…” I finally looked into her eyes and I saw a mix of emotions, confusion, sympathy, and…love? “I can’t tell you, because it would change everything.”

She put her hand on my cheek and said, “Sometimes things are meant to change.” Then she lent in and kissed me. At first my eyes went wide and my hands were limp against my body, then my brain realized what was happening and grabbed her face as I kissed her back. After a moment she detached her lips from mine and moved her hands down to hold my own. I looked at her with awe.

“I really like you Annabeth.” I said as I stared at her.

“That’s good, or otherwise that would not have been the right thing to do,” she said and we both laughed lightly. “I really like you too, Y/N.”

This time I lent in and kissed her.

A/N: what did you think? I finally got the inspiration to write this!

#annabeth chase #annabeth chase x reader #annabeth pjo #annabeth percy jackson #Annabeth chase x fem!reader #Annabeth chase x Gn!reader #Pjo #hoo #Toa #x reader #x yn #Percy Jackson #fanfiction #sarcasm and stiles

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girlsrawesome64 · 1 month

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ohhh please can you do cod match up for me?? i'm female, german, 27, aquarius and work as an artist and project manager at an agency specialised in classical music. at work i'm very organized, detail oriented and efficient, but in private i like to slow things down. i guess you could say i have two personalities: at work i like getting things done and have no problem arguing with people, but in private i literally hate calling the doctor's office lol.

it's very hard for me to take my brain off work and usually only achieve that by getting engrossed in a show or painting. i like cooking, not so much baking. my hobbies are reading, going for walks (how very german of me), playing with my cat. i can be very funny, but i am more introverted and a very good listener. my love language is acts of service.

my cod favourites are price, ghost and könig, but at the moment i'm leaning more towards könig.

thank you very much and lots of kisses 😍

and I AGREE::: (shorter and sweet ones now SORRYYt_t Cue some HCs/drabbley things:)

@/fairypurgatory on pin & @/jolvelyn on twt [art]

W: Intimidating newer man in your house O God, dark if you think about it (sprinkle sprinkle glitter sparkles on the war criminal), abrupt end

◈ Okay. Neighbour. Neighbour König. (AARRURURURURURU GET MARRIED GET MARRIED GET- GET--)

◈ After many sweet-talkings outside your respective doors, y'all had a date due at your place. If you cooked for him- omigod. Social expectations be damned, the clear thought and skill behind it… When he looked back up at you, eyes boring into yours, you were half worried you'd bought a serial killer home? (Which I mean, technically yes, don't ask too much about his job history-) But no, his ridiculously intense, maliciously-coded gaze was that one of determined enrapturement. ◈ It was an amusing juxtaposition to see him meet your cat. Tough guy, tryna be smooth, leaning on the side of the doorframe.. Before his intense focus was interrupted by something fluffy and he hit his head and almost cried. He's not the best with animals, but after enough visits they become casually inseparable, and a key part of the cuddle pile. If your cat wasn't spoiled already they were now. Hey, the pair of you aren't half bad at taking care of something.

◈ Doubly fell in love with you when he saw you popping off at work. He got called in for something important you left at home, god forbid, but of course he had your back, emergency key and all. He knows all too well the importance of things needing to go to plan. But forgive him if he just stared in awe like a motherfucker seeing you go off on someone.

◈ Oh, don't you worry. When your teeth are clenching looking down at your practice's phone number for that long overdue appointment- it's right there, just a click away,- König will snatch it from you. Mixed feelings, perhaps his confidence a little infantilizing, but… it's like a vice is undoubtedly unclamped as he waddles away with the dreaded compressed waiting room music (as if it was a totally normal thing to do). He'd confirm any details prior bending over behind you, rubbing your shoulder and cooing in your ear about it. Because of course you can do it, darling, but he's always there~…

◈ Takes great smug pride in a)taking care of you, if that's something you want- and b)being with you. Uh, yeah, the badass work-focused bigshot is his? And putty in his arms? That's right. So proud of showing you off to others at any possible convenience. 'Tries' to be subtle about it. Keyword 'tries'.

◈ He needs a break too. Proudly, toxic-masculinely denies any interest at first, but would ultimately happily waste away binging something with you. Colours and shapes reflecting off the TV onto his narrow, goofy lil' glasses, eyebrows slightly furrowed in focus as he guillibly complains about some ragebait. Uses you as a human weighted blanket laid on him, supporting your back with his chest.

◈ König's a prevalent yapper during whatever you do together. He plans as much as you'll allow, whisking you off for dinners, lunches- all expenses paid (or halfsies). Or elaborate hiking trails he insists you join him on, though sometimes he likes to choose the ones with tricky bits as an excuse to help or carry you.

#König x reader #König #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #cod matchup #64sshit #uhhhh be prepared if you look up the art xdddd I DIDNT REALISE

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imvenusasaboy · 1 month

Text

PUPARIA

Chapter 5 - Kute

prev - chapter 1

God, what the fuck did he drink last night. Hosah's head throbbed as he strained open his eyes. Laying there for a second, hand covering his face to block the light coming in from the un-closed curtains, the still very much tiny man recalled having the ridiculous dream last night. I mean, why would he ever ask Teddy to stay the night, that was so unbelievably unlike him, he didn't think his brain could even make that sort of shit up. Turning to his side, Hosah rubbed his eyes open completely in preparation for the day.

Definitely not a dream.

The shifter had to hold down a scream when his assistant had rolled to his side, the two now facing eachother. Both of them were still fully dressed, shoes and all. Embarrassingly, the only thing on Hosah's mind was what did they do last night.

"Good morning. I was wondering when you'd wake up." Teddy sat up, leant looming over the tiny form sprawled out on the bed.

Hosah could barely gather his words; "I- We, what happened last night?" the surprise left him out of breath.

The giant looked confused for a second before turning to laughter, "Oh, god, nothing. You fell straight asleep right after asking me to stay."

Eugh. Embarrassing. So embarrassing in fact, he'd almost forgotten entirely about the previous day.

"God, we've got fifteen dead bodies to chase up. I swear these serial killers are doing it on purpose just to make my life miserable." the tiny man took a break to rub the sleep from his drowsy doe eyes, "I mean, fifteen is way too much. It's not classy, it's overkill.. Literally." Hosah wasn't so used to talking right after waking up it seemed, as his usually internal stream of thoughts came pouring out of his mouth at an uncontrollable pace.

"Mm. Are you.. Okay, by the way?" Ah, how sweet, Teddy remembered his little accidental breakdown.

"Oh, god yeah. No, I'm okay. It's just, I don't know. You wouldn't get it, but shifters, we stick together, you know? That's like seeing my brothers and sisters dead in front of me. Those are my brothers and sisters." Hosah's eyes drifted off onto his feet, which were still in his boots, "If we don't look out for each other, who will?"

His assistant layed back down beside him, face in his folded arms at eye level with the shrunken man, he had that same, stupid soft expression he always pulled whenever Hosah said anything particularly nice. "That's- Ah, that's very beautiful. I didn't realise you were so sentimental."

The detective had never really thought of himself in such a way. "Psh, tell me about it, you know what Jeanne said to me yesterday? I've got a little body and a big bleeding heart. Come on. That's cheesy. That's gross. I don't wanna think about that, I don't wanna imagine that visual." He fell back, now facing the ceiling, which was so unimaginably far away when he was like this.

"Aw, no that's cute. I hadn't seen that side of you before. Big feelings, little guy." Teddy instantly regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

"Stop. I'll throw up, seriously." neither of the two wanted to push the statement further. Besides, it was time to think about heading into the office. "What time is it?"

Hosah's room was unimaginably bare, a futon on the floor, a window with curtains, and a pair of bedside tables. This wasn't including his dresser of shrunken clothes or the clutter of painting materials that sat in the corner, but that was the gist of it. He'd been meaning to do some furniture shopping for what, five years now?

As there was no clock to turn to, Teddy leant over to check his phone.

"Seven thirty, just about." That was a relief. At least now, he'd be able to get his morning bath, he was sure he reeked of dead body after yesterday.

The tiny detective stood to his full height, barely able to keep balance on the spongy mattress, "You can use the shower if you want. I'm gonna take a bath."

The visual Teddy pictured in his head made his face subconsciously curl up into a smile. It seemed that their life really had turned into the tropes you'd find in your average, cheesy romance drama. At least with a little help, running the bath would be a much easier process.

Over the years of independence, Hosah had thought a lot about assisted living. Moving into one of those residential houses where he could be looked after, it seemed like the dream end goal for any shifter with no prospects of falling in-love. He'd decided to put the idea on the back-burner until he was in his mid thirties, he had all the time in the world to get around and find someone to love and look after him.

As he sat in the wooden bowl, half his body submerged under water, Hosah continued to ponder about his life thus far- although it was awkward to ignore the fact his assistant was sitting on the closed toilet seat to the back on him. It were times like these, when he'd seen lives be cut so short, that he thought a lot about his parents. When they were his age, Hosah was already five years old, and his brother would've been seven. He lowered himself deeper into the bath, wondering what exactly he'd achieved in the five years spent out all on his own in the big city.

Sometimes, Hosah thought it was too late for him. He'd spent so much of his twenties either hunched over a desk or barely tall enough to get around his apartment. Years of looking over missing person after missing person's cases made him wish it to have been him instead. These people had goals, prospects, promising futures, they were going to ivy league schools, they had babies on the way, they had an important job to fulfil, all things Hosah thought to be worth living for. It wasn't right to think in such a way, especially when it was down to him to bring these people justice, but it was getting increasingly hard not to with age.

Honestly, he wasn't sure if getting worked up over this- or the fact Teddy stayed the night upon his own request, was really all that worth it. There were bigger things to be worrying about, like, maybe the literal serial killer his team had stumbled upon.

"You're gonna prune up if you stay in there any longer, you know." The voice scared the shit out of him, but it was just Teddy, sitting with his feet up on the seat, patterned socks on display.

He was right, Hosah had been sitting and soaking for a while by now. Waiting until his assistant had turned to face the wall, the shifter quickly stumbled out and covered himself up. He'd embarrassed himself enough by now, flashing Teddy would be the final straw.

When the giant turned back around, the shift in his expression said all it needed to. That stupid tilt of his eyebrows, the way that everyone seemed to look at Hosah when they'd see just how terrible his condition had gotten.

"I know it's a Tuesday and all," Teddy's eyes adverted towards the ground, "But, we should hang out tonight. Get dinner or something. Do you like the movies? 'd only have to pay for one ticket."

Eh. Whatever. It wasn't like Hosah had anything productive to do once he got home. "Uh, sure, yeah sounds good. Just take whatever you need from my wallet before we leave." although it was nice to get a break from paying for his food the last week, Hosah had begun to feel increasingly bad about not paying his way. Hosah had actually been feeling bad about most things lately.

"No- no need, we share anyway, and it's not like, a fifty fifty split," Teddy's pitiful laugh as he said it was all that needed to be heard. The shifter knew he'd get nowhere by trying to argue.

Hosah was aware of how difficult it was to dance around the topic of his shifting, especially when he was, well, shifted, but it was still a bummer to hear the stark differences between him and Teddy be so loudly pointed out, even when not being addressed directly. Whenever something even slightly in reference to himself and his obvious lack of height came up, a feeling similar to that of being pelted with rocks came over him. Any sort of pleasant mood would be instantly squashed under the landslide of self awareness.

He wouldn't really peg himself as all that insecure of a person, but it were times like these when Hosah wished to have not been born this way. He wanted to argue about who payed the bill, and have it be a fair argument at that. The saying about not being able to 'have your cake and eat it too' always flew over his head when he was younger, but Hosah seemed to be applying it to his own life more than he'd like to admit.

Returning to the bedroom, draped in a towel that extended from his shoulders all the way down to his feet, the tiny detective now had the responsibility of getting ready to leave for work once more. The daily grind had gotten extremely, painfully repetitive by now, after five years of constantly being at it, rarely ever even getting weekends off, even the thought of having to wake up, get ready, take the tube, walk to the office, et cetera, had begun to wear Hosah down. He felt like a balding tire, one harsh turn away from skidding, crashing, and bursting into flames.

It barely took him half a second to decide what to wear. Despite being freshly cleaned, Hosah still looked pretty emaciated. If he could go back ten years, but remain in his current physical condition, they'd call him 'heroin chic'. The shifter laughed to himself at that thought, buttoning up the same old plain shirt he'd had for years by now. To be honest, his look would be totally in fashion if 'Victorian era chimney sweep' was a current trend. Hosah's Mom always told him that laughing at, seemingly, nothing was a sign of insanity, but he found his own thoughts too amusing to keep a straight face.

Using the little mirror in the jewellery box, the doll-sized man made an attempt to fix his hair and got a good look at his face. Seems he slept better than he thought, as his eye-bags were uncharacteristically small and light, although the prominent fat under his eye gave the illusion of having them either way. This was actually a feature Hosah had always liked about himself, mainly because he was told by the Korean side of his family about how it was a desired trait back home, if you could call a place you'd never even been home.

Looking at himself in the mirror, the shifter's thoughts lingered on Teddy once again. He thought about earlier in the morning, seeing his face so up close, the assistant's cheek pressed against the mattress, able to feel his breath brush over himself, feel his voice send vibrations to his core. Before he'd realised it, Hosah's face was flushing red again, just as it was when he first realised he wasn't alone in his room. His hand brushed over the surface of his own face, imagining what it'd be like to have Teddy's moles, or his straight nose, or his shaped jaw, or even his singular crooked fang that stuck out as he smiled.

Maybe Teddy wasn't the weird one of the two after-all, as the realisation of what exactly the shrunken blond was thinking about hit him like a ton of bricks. He needed to stop, he was being weird, what if Teddy was actually just like Edward from Twilight as he'd initially suspected and was reading his mind right now. All of these aspects forced his brain to quiet down for at least a second, giving him the time to take in his surroundings, and take them in he did.

The taller of the two could not startle Hosah this time around with his spontaneous appearance, as the shifter turned on his heels to face the approaching giant before he'd even got the chance to make himself known by his own hand.

Hosah craned his neck up, staring into the incomprehensible abyss that was six foot above him. Teddy had to be at least 6'3, probably an inch or two more if he was being honest. The shifter barely just reached ankle height, leaving way for the perfect opportunity to pull the good old 'tug on trouser leg and demand to be lifted up' trick. Just being reminded of such an action gave Hosah a blast of nostalgia, as he recalled doing the same thing to his Dad when he was a kid.

Without Teddy having realised he'd been noticed, the detective took half a dozen quick leaps forward before grabbing onto the fabric and pulling with all the upper body strength he had, "Come on, let's go,"

-~-

Having a new person around the office seemed to be doing some good for Hosah. Being assisted without feeling as though he should just find a way to do said things himself was refreshing, but old habits were hard to break, as he still found himself making attempts at tasks that, for him, would be extremely difficult to pull off, but for Teddy, would take barely the movement of his non-dominant hand. In some ways, it pissed Hosah off, making him wonder if the rookie had any cocky thoughts as he helped with ease, but it also proved to be extremely useful in speeding up just about everything he had to get done at the same time.

Maybe constantly isolating himself and refusing any aid was actually bad for his mental and physical health after all.

Ehhh, probably not.

The two actually made quite the good team, as in just two hours, they'd managed to get a missing person's family out to the office, back where all the evidence was being held. Now all that had to be done was to wait and see if they could confirm or deny the identity of body number seven.

Neither Hosah or Teddy were all that involved in these kinds of processes, honestly, their jobs were quite minor in the bulk of it all. Look for patterns in the cases, things that could link back to anything recent, or even anything that had occurred years ago, just dwindle down the possibilities of a culprit into a manageable size, that was just about it. At least, that was it on big cases such as this one. Usually, Hosah's job would be to go out to a much less severe and complex scene, usually a domestic case that had ended in a dangerous situation, and act as a mediator sort of figure, one that would provide a sense of security and trust, one that would be able to get a straight story out of someone, especially another shifter.

Being a shifter did actually have quite a few perks in those regards. A lot of people find the tiny folk to be very cute and endearing, the amount of late night talk hosts that would hang around on a random celebrity's shoulder for an interview was incomprehensible. You might think 2% of the population was an extremely small number of individuals, but it also meant there were just about 136,000,000 shifters currently living globally in the year 2009, which seemed like a lot more when put in that way.

There was just something so undeniably sweet about a person no taller than about four or five inches that the non-shifter population seemed to love, which made Hosah's job undeniably more painful that it had to be. He never minded speaking to other shifters, in fact, he'd much preferred his title of victim advocate over looking at pictures of dead bodies, it was just the giants that gave him a sickly feeling in his stomach.

More specifically, the giants on the police force. Cross communication wasn't typically the role Hosah would have to take, but on the rare occasion it was, he'd leave the station with a large chunk of his will to live having being chipped off over the course of the entire process. He felt as though he had to prove himself every time he spoke to a different officer, the shifter didn't understand what gave them the right to think so highly of themselves when they weren't even doing the hard work. Hosah felt the way they looked at him, especially in his shrunken state, like he was nothing but an object kept around to be a piece of entertainment. Psh. Whatever.

The small, disheveled man pulled at his hair to snap out of his thoughts, feeling his body get progressively more tense the more he remembered things that had pissed him off in the past.

An opening and closing of the door grabbed Hosah's attention. It was Teddy, except he had a particularly sad look on his face, one the detective had never seen before.

"Yeah, you can go ahead and put the missing persons report in number seven's file. That's him." Teddy didn't even look at the shrunken figure on his desk, he just took a seat on his chair and slumped down a little, causing it to spin to the left, facing away from the table entirely.

It took a few moments of sorrowful sighs before the assistant noticed Hosah's increasing struggles to do as he'd asked, letting out a quiet 'Right, sorry' as Teddy rushed to take over from the activity.

This field of work sucked. No matter how depressed, pessimistic or nihilistic it made him, Hosah still felt some kind of obligation to stay. Whether that be his underlying messiah complex, or the weight of his and Jules' shared history, it kept him at this desk, looking over files, and overall becoming the worst version of himself he could possibly be.

He'd never actually seen Teddy look so sad, which made sense, they'd only been working together for the past week, but it was still concerning either way. Hosah had just assumed his assistant was much better than him at the 'keep work and feelings separate' thing, but clearly they had another thing in common.

Augh. The silence was killing him. Trying not to raise any suspicions about the fact that, despite acting like he didn’t, Hosah was fond of his assistant, the tiny detective shifted his position until he sat, kneeled next to Teddy’s resting knuckles against the desk.

“So.. You okay?” Ehhh, that’ll do. Hosah had never been all that good with using words and addressing feelings.

The unsuspected close contact surprised his assistant a little as his chair wheeled back toward the table, “Me? Yeah, of course, yeah. Do I not seem okay?”

“..No, not really. You look sad.”

Teddy laughed, his eyebrows still tilted down, “Ahh, well,” he paused for a moment, taking a breath in and twirling his hands by his face, as if that meant anything, “This stuff just happens. I thought I’d be more thick skinned by now.”

Hosah knew all too well about this subject. “Ugh, tell me about it.” the tiny man shifted his position, his side leant against the giant, resting fist.

“I definitely thought, after the lesson my grandparents taught me about becoming too emotionally involved in work, I wouldn’t end up like this,” Even though he was smiling, it was obvious that Teddy wasn’t all that happy talking about it.

Hosah’s curiosity got the best of him, inquiring further with a little ‘Mm?’.

“Well, it’s a funny story actually,” From the way Teddy had mentioned it previously, the shifter could tell it was not in fact going to be a funny story. “I was like, maybe eleven, spending the summer at my grandparent’s farm, and it was really boring down there. Once I’d finished my work for the day, there was nothing to do except read or wander around, even the closest village was like, a three mile bike ride away.”

Teddy paused to run a hand through his hair, spinning on his chair so that him and the shifter weren’t face to face. “Anyway, I ended up spending a lot of time just hanging out with the animals, and this one hen was super attached to me, followed me around where she could, sat on my lap, like a real pet, you know? Well, since she was a hen and all, I didn’t think there’d be any consequence to it, I mean, we needed the eggs right? But my grandma was really annoyed, she took me out back to the shed where.. You know. I- You can probably guess what happened , after..”

“Oh, oh shit. What? That’s horrible. What the fuck.” Hosah could barely get his words out. Damn, and he thought he had some pretty brutal childhood stories.

His assistant had that same bittersweet look on his face. “After that, I thought I was hard as nails, but I guess not so much. Ah, c’est la vie, right?”

“Hmm, I guess,” what a nonchalant take. As he watched Teddy swivel back around on his seat to face him again, the shrunken detective decided not to question him further on the story. “You never told me what happened, with the family of that missing person. That’s body seven?” Hosah could infer exactly what happened, but decided to change the subject anyway.

“Right, yeah. That’s him. I don’t know. Having seen the body itself, I thought I’d take it all a lot better but.. Speaking to his parents, watching them learn their kid is really seriously dead. It just breaks my heart, you know? If I was in their position, I don’t know if I’d ever recover.”

If he could’ve, the tiny man sat beside Teddy’s hand would’ve held it in his own. “Mm. That’s how I feel towards just about every case I’ve ever worked on. Hah, we’re really not tough enough for this job, huh?”

And tough enough they weren’t. It felt as though the two detectives left on the office floor had just encountered some supernatural activity, as Hosah swore he felt the temperature drop by a few degrees in a split second. It was Jules, the head of the entire agency. The shifter didn’t know whether to give her the cold shoulder, or to thank her, regarding the situation she’d put both him and Teddy in not so long ago.

God, she may be terrifying, but she’s drop dead gorgeous. He’d always thought Jules had the looks, the height, and the body to go into runway modelling, but it seemed she preferred to surround herself with death’s imminent presence, and a few guys she can psychologically torture. It always perplexed the shifter, how someone so evil could look so angelic.

“What are you two still doing here? You could’ve gone home an hour ago, you know that right? Is he forcing you to stay back late with him, Edward?” Jules took a seat on the desk at which the two detectives sat both at and on.

No matter how much she pissed him off, Hosah always fell back on the ‘but she’s so beautiful though’ excuse. Despite the fact her jaw and cheekbones were as sharp as ever, her features were all still so soft, as her eyelashes and eyebrows were the same almost white blonde colour as her long, slicked back hair. He had no idea how anyone could make a pencil skirt and ill-fitting blouse look so high fashion, but Jules just had that kind of look to her.

“No, no, just got busy with chasing up missing persons reports. We got one, number seven isss..” Teddy’s hands were shaking a little as he grabbed the file from Hosah’s side, where the giant’s hand once rested. “Here, Charlie Laurent. Reported three months ago today.”

Her hand wrapped around the rookie’s wrist as she tilted the file toward herself, “Hmm, oh, right. Alice told me he’s guessing the bodies were ordered in a particular way, by when they’d been killed, based on decomposition stages. Still waiting on all the autopsies to get back to us to confirm that theory though.”

Alice was Jeanne’s last name, honestly, most people around the agency referred to him as such, sometimes Hosah felt like the only person who actually knew his first name.

Just as quickly as she came, the slender woman hopped up off the desk, giving Teddy a ruffle of the hair on her way out. How she could do that in heels, no one knew.

Once the coast was clear, the assistant leant in, “God, I’m shaking.” Teddy whispered as if he didn’t want her to hear him, despite the fact she had long left the room. She always did this kind of thing, start a conversation, then leave whenever she got sick of talking. There was really no rhyme or reason to her behaviour, that’s just the type of person she was. The type of person that made no sense at all, which is what made her so enticing and so scary at the same time. Unpredictable, that’s what she was.

“She’s not really all that scary. Then again, I’ve known her for like, ten years by now.” The tiny man shrugged, standing up preparing to leave himself. “Anyway. That doesn’t matter. What’s on at the theatres tonight?”

#Another Meh #But next chapter is date night so hopefully less Misery and more Will they.. Won’t they……#g/t #giant tiny #g/t ocs #sfw g/t #gianttiny #g/t writing #Puparia_tag #oc hosah #oc teddy

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kedreeva · 2 years

Note

For a poor COVID sick brain, may I give this prompt from a medicated dream scene I just woke from 😘:

Steve: “Yeah. I’m both-sexual”

Robin: “do…. do you mean Bisexual?”

Steve, nodding confidently: “yeah that’s what I said.”

oh my god I love you but please go back to sleep

-----

Robin let herself in the front door, pocketing her spare keys, and waving a thank you to Keith, who had not only swung by the grocer with her but dropped her off at Steve's afterward. He owed her, for taking Steve's shift on top of her own, and she had promised she would get Steve back on his feet as fast as possible.

She headed for the kitchen and ditched her bag before bolting up the stairs and straight to Steve's room. He'd sounded awful on the phone when he'd called in, and she'd worried about him literally all day. She didn't even consider knocking on his bedroom door, couldn't fathom why he'd shut it in the first place since he was the only one here, and froze when she saw the mound of blankets on the bed.

"Steve?"

The mound shifted like some kind of jello turtle, and Robin relaxed at the sign of life.

"I brought- uh, I brought you soup," Robin tried, a little louder than before. "It's still in the can, I didn't- you'd probably get sicker if I tried to make it from scratch. I got oyster crackers too, the little ones you like to just eat plain like some kind of heathen. And uh... some cold meds, because- Steve? Can you hear me?"

A sound emanated from beneath the blankets, which began to roil until Steve's ridiculous, floppy hair appeared approximately near the pillows. "Robin?"

"Yeah," she said, moving closer so he could see her. He stared, eyes bleary, hair awry, and face flushed and Robin's heart gave a little twist of sympathy. "You look like shit."

"Oh, you're real," Steve said, flopping back. "I feel like shit."

"I know, you called in sick," Robin said, coming to sit at the end of the bed. She didn't want to get sick, but she wanted to be there for him. "You've never called in sick. You once came in with a hangover so bad you spent the entire shift-"

"Stop, god, please." Steve flopped the covers back up over his head, muffling his voice. "I'm so fucking cold, Robin. I'm going to die."

She pursed her lips and got back to her feet. "I'm gonna go warm up the soup. That'll help, right?" Steve made some kind of unintelligible noise, and Robin nodded. "I'll be right back."

It took longer to find the can opener than it did to heat the soup, and a concerted effort not to spill it on her way back up the stairs with it, the bag of oyster crackers crammed under her arm. She wasn't sure that soup actually helped colds or whatever Steve had, but it seemed like the right thing to do, and it wasn't like she could just leave him here alone. He probably hadn't left the bed, hadn't eaten anything. She'd probably have to excavate him and make him take a shower.

Or not, she thought as she got back to the room to find Steve had excavated himself to the floor and was lying spread eagle in his boxers. She sighed, setting the soup and the crackers on the nearest flat surface.

"Steve? Are you okay?"

"You left," he said plaintively.

"And this was as far as you got following me?" She didn't mean it to come out so incredulous, but it was better than outright laughing at him. Probably. "Get up, you should be in bed."

Steve groaned and put an arm over his face. "I don't want to be in bed. I've been in bed all day. Alone."

"Well, now you're gonna be in bed all night alone, too," Robin said, nudging at his ankle with her socked foot. He twitched his leg and kicked at her half-heartedly. "I'm not feeding you soup on the floor."

"But you'll feed me soup in bed?" Steve asked.

"I'm not feeding you soup anywhere."

She nudged at his foot again and he twitched his foot back at her again, but he struggled to roll over and crawl back onto the bed. She waited until he was seated and at least somewhat stable before she opened the bag of oyster crackers and put it in his hands. He stared down into it with a frown.

"Not soup," he said after a few seconds, and Robin coughed to hide her laugh as soon as he looked up at her.

"Crackers," she said. "I'm going to go get a thermometer and frankly I don't trust you with a bowl of liquid unsupervised right now. So eat some crackers, I'll be right back."

She left him there, staring into the bag of oyster crackers as if it contained all the answers to the universe, and made her way to the nearest bathroom. She wasn't sure which one he'd keep a thermometer in, but she guessed the upstairs one, nearest to the bedrooms. A bit of searching proved her right. She tromped down the stairs just to make a little noise in the huge empty house, grabbed the cold syrup she'd brought, and returned to his room to find him exactly as she'd left him, crackers uneaten.

"Robin," he said, without looking up. "I think I like both."

She looked between the crackers and the soup. "Well, that's good," she said, moving to set the cold meds beside the soup, which she picked up and stirred before holding it up for him to see. "Do you wanna trade me, and then you can put some crackers in and have both?"

Steve's face screwed up. "What? No, not- not- that's not both. I mean, I-" He looked up at her, like she should understand, and she nearly fumbled the bowl in her grasp when she realized what he meant.

"Oh." She stood for a beat, and then: "Like both."

He nodded, and dropped his gaze away, back to the crackers, and hell, apparently they did contain some answers to the universe. "Yeah. I think I might be... both-sexual."

"Do... do you mean bisexual?" she asked gently.

He nodded confidently now. "Yeah, that's what I said."

It wasn't, but she was pretty sure she didn't need the thermometer anymore to tell her how high his fever was- the answer was surely very high, to the point she considered maybe trying to carry him to the hospital immediately. To the point where she was pretty sure he wasn't going to remember any of this in the morning. She sat beside him and gingerly tugged the bag of crackers from his grasp, replacing it with the bowl of soup, which he immediately wrapped his hands around like they were in the arctic and it was his only lifeline. She sprinkled some crackers over the top, and watched as he fished them out with his spoon, more eating the damp crackers than the soup.

She leaned against his shoulder. "I wish I could know what conclusions you would have reached if I'd handed you the soup instead."

Steve snorted. "It wasn't the- it wasn't the crackers." He shoved the two he'd fished out into his mouth and held the cracker-bereft bowl closer to her for more of them, until she obliged. "I kept having dreams."

"God that's even better," she said. "Steve Harrington fever-dreamed his way into a sexual awakening."

"You're making it weird," he told her, using the back of the spoon to push the crackers under the surface before scooping them up.

"It's already weird," Robin said, shoving her shoulder into him a little more for emphasis, and then: "Congrats, by the way."

He stilled, twisting a little to look sidelong at her. "Is it... is it something you're supposed to congratulate? Should I have-"

"No, Steve, no," Robin told him, shaking with laughter and dumping more crackers into his soup to distract him. "I'm just- you've just come a long way from the guy I sat behind. I like this you a lot better."

"Oh." Steve turned back to the soup and fished out a couple more crackers, but then just sat there with the spoon resting on the edge of the bowl. "Me too."

Robin smiled. "I think I'll like you even more when you're not delirious."

Steve chuckled, the sound turning into a cough he fought to suppress. "I think I'll like me better then, too. You brought meds?"

"Yeah," she said, nudging his bowl. "I'm not giving you anything on an empty stomach though. There are limits to my ability to nurse anyone and they stop at cleaning up if you puke. So, drink up."

He gave her a bit of a lop-sided smile, but he raised the bowl to his lips and took a few slow sips, and Robin clambered to her feet to get the meds with a smile of her own.

#stranger things #robin buckley #steve harrington #stranger things fic #buckington besties #my writing #askbox prompts #prompts are indeed still closed #but this person is my friend and I can't bring soup over #so she gets this because it's all I have #FEEL BETTER FRIEND!!!!!!#asks

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kourtniwritesagain · 11 months

Note

ahhh okay so Solangelo, my babies.. i’m trying so hard to think of a prompt for you Kourtni but my brain is failing me lol

mmmm okay maybe like.. comparing tans?? like Will is super tan and Nico is super pale (sun lover and sun hater, we love to see it) and they’re comparing and Will is like wow, you’re so pale, and is touching Nico’s arm/leg/torso etc and it TICKLES and it all just starts a lil tickle battle

vmskcnsb i love your writing and you’re so lovely and i wish I had better ideas swimming in my head for you!!! so even if you don’t want to write this prompt know that i’m glad you’re here!!

Quick warning: nakedness is mentioned, but only mentioned.

"I swear, you're so friggin' white, you're actually reflecting the sun right now."

Nico heard his boyfriend (and wow, that's still a strange thought), but he refused to dignify that outrageous accusation with any type of response.

Yes, Nico was pale. It came with the whole 'child of Hades' schtick. But Nico wasn't one of his zombies, thank you very much.

"Nico, seriously. You spend a lot of time outdoors. How the hell are you so pale?"

Nico was stretched out on his stomach on a towel on a beach in California (Will's idea); Nico was shirtless and quite enjoying the warmth of the sun. Now, though, Will was standing over him, dripping water all over his chest. Cold water.

"Can you drip somewhere else, please? You're ruining my warmth."

"I thought I was your warmth."

Nico could hear the smirk.

"That's what you get for thinking." Nico snarked. "Not all of us can have the skin of a Greek god."

Will snorted. "We're both demi-gods...from the literal Greek gods. You have no excuse."

Nico said nothing.

Will sat next to Nico and ran a finger down Nico's back. "Pale as a zombie."

Nico twitched violently at the touch. He turned his head to glare at Will.

"Sorry, forgot you were ridiculously ticklish."

"Whatever." Nico scowled and settled back into his previous position.

Of course, Will couldn't leave well enough alone.

"You know, the more time you spend outside shirtless, the less pale you'll be," said Will as he started lightly stroking a good majority of his fingers over the expanse of Nico's back. "I, for one, would prescribe lots of shirtless time. And as a doctor, you should listen to me."

Nico was full-on writhing in ticklish agony at this point. However, he didn't want to give Will the satisfaction of admitting to anything.

"Y-You're nohohot a doc-DOCTOR!" Nico's last word came out as a shout because Will decided that Nico's ribs were a fantastic place to stick his fingers in.

Will shrugged. "Close enough."

Nico was lost to laughter as Will also gave up pretending to do anything but tickle Nico silly.

"Pleheease!" Nico flipped onto his back, but it was a mistake because now his stomach was open, and Will wasted no time in scrabbling his quick fingers all over.

"You gonna do what the doctor ordered and spend the next considerable amount of time naked?"

"Yohohou just s-said shirtlehehess!" Nico laughed harder at Will's brazenness.

"Semantics." Will waved a hand nonchalantly.

Nico cackled as Will moved his hands to that awful spot right below his collarbone.

"Still waiting for you to accept my prescription."

Nico tried to scrunch his shoulders, drop his chin, push at Will's hands...anything to get the tickling stop. Except accept the ridiculous 'prescription' Will wanted.

However, he couldn't take much more of the tickling.

"Okahahay! Just stop!" Nico could say no more as Will went back to his collarbone.

"Yay!" Will grinned brightly and immediately ceased his attack.

Nico curled in on himself, still laughing which kinda lessened the impact of the death glare he sent to Will.

"We start your prescription today." Will said, leaning over Nico and grabbing his chin to lean in for a kiss.

#kourtni answers things #tickling #tickle fic #ticklish!Nico #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #solangelo

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tonicandjins · 2 years

Text

owtft: just me, just you

characters: wonwoo/reader

chapter summary: The only people you ever dated was Kim Mingyu from high school (and it was only because he was a rising actor and you thought celebrities were cool. Kim Mingyu was the exact opposite of cool.) and Lee Donghyuck for literally two days because you learned that he lied about being the same age. You never mentioned a Josh. And now that he thinks about it, you never mentioned ever dating in New York for six damn years.

words: 3600+

disclaimer: names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. i do not claim to own or to have invented any copyrighted characters or concepts that i write about.

taglist: @svtreverie @just-here-to-read-01

◆ ◇ ◆ ◇

There are certain guidelines, rules if Wonwoo could describe it, when it comes to his friendship with you. Stupid made-up rules, Jeonghan would say, but rules nonetheless.

The first rule is to always keep your hands warm, even though Wonwoo, himself, is always quivering as soon as the temperature hits 21 degrees.

You take the hot pack happily from Wonwoo’s hands as soon as he takes them out the pocket of his coat, your hands pressing the pack in between and Wonwoo could only watch in awe at how your nose is now covered with blush. He makes a quick note of making sure to send a quick text to your helper to ensure that the floor from your home is all warmed up. When you’re ready and have hugged Jeonghan long enough, Wonwoo offers to push your luggage cart towards the exit. You happily agree, and Wonwoo is taken aback when you walk with him, your arm finds its way looped into his, pulling him closer and essentially warming up his chest.

“I should be used to this,” you say when the three of you walk, Jeonghan taking the lead. “I mean, New York is stupidly cold, too. But Korea’s is honestly worse. It’s not even officially winter yet.”

“The papers say the first snow is expected to fall in a couple of weeks,” Wonwoo comments randomly, remembering what he read from the newspaper earlier today.

“As expected,” you hum, tone teasing. “Only Jeon Wonwoo reads the paper for news these days.”

Wonwoo smiles. “If you read more, you would have more knowledge in that empty brain of yours. What a waste of skull.”

Laughing, you smack his forearm, to which Wonwoo feigns his pain. “Excuse me, Mr. Jeon Wonwoo, but I just finished my MBA with flying colors.”

“MBA is only supposed to last for two years. You took yours for four,” Wonwoo retorts.

“It’s because I was going back and forth with my art gallery!” you reply, defensive. Jeonghan laughs, and Wonwoo kisses the top of your head, reminding you that he’s only joking.

“Speaking of,” Jeonghan butts in, pausing his tracks so he could walk the same pace as you and Wonwoo. “Do you plan on taking the gallery to Seoul?”

“Hell no,” you reply all too quickly, eyebrows furrowed, as though it’s the most ridiculous idea ever.

“Let me take that,” Jeonghan interjects, taking the cart from Wonwoo’s palms, pushing it. Wonwoo takes the opportunity to hold hands with you, smiling before kissing the back of your hand. The three of your make your way out of the airport, with you and Wonwoo leading the way to his car.

“It’s not the best idea,” you continue, Wonwoo letting go of your hand so he can help Jeonghan put your luggage in the trunk. “In the US, mom and dad sponsored the whole thing. Luckily, everyone in New York City is a junkie for art no matter who the artist is, so it worked and I gained a little profit out of it. Here in Seoul, I’m not so sure.”

“You were in the papers last year,” Wonwoo points out, placing the last bag in the trunk before closing it shut. “You wouldn’t know, because you don’t read.”

“That doesn’t guarantee that enough people would know my name or if anyone would be interested enough to buy tickets,” you mumble.

Jeonghan immediately opens the door to the backseat, knowing full well that the passenger’s seat in Wonwoo’s car (whichever car he decides to use, at least) has always had your name in it. The older one watches as Wonwoo gently places his palm on top of your head when he helps you enter the car and sit on the passenger’s seat. He gives him a funny look from the backseat, and Wonwoo pretends as if he doesn’t see him.

“Besides,” you continue. “I don’t really want mom or dad to spend any more money on me. This is exactly why I’m back home.”

Jeonghan hums in response as Wonwoo closes the door and jogs around to settle himself on the driver’s seat. Wonwoo starts the ignition, and his heart somersaults when you lean over to kiss him on the cheek, mumbling a thank you for keeping you warm. He nervously watches Jeonghan smirking from the rearview mirror.

“So, what are your plans?” Jeonghan asks as Wonwoo starts to drive.

You hum, breathing out. Ah, that sigh, Wonwoo thinks. The infamous sigh of uncertainty.

“Well,” you start, looking over. Wonwoo reminds himself not to look at you and focus on the road. “I plan to work for Jeon Co and Ltd until I save up enough money to build my own gallery.”

“You say it like you cannot afford it,” Jeonghan laughs.

“My parents can,” you correct. “Not me.”

“When are you starting?” Jeonghan asks.

Jeonghan also works for Jeon Co and Ltd. Wonwoo’s and Jeonghan’s parents are cousins, and you could say that all three of you alongside many of Wonwoo’s cousins already grew up together. Jeonghan works as the director of Operations, while Wonwoo works as the Chief Operating Officer, directly working for his father.

Another sigh leaves your lips. Wonwoo recognizes it as the sigh of silliness.

“Oh, I don’t know, Hannie,” you say, pouting, head turned towards Wonwoo. “I’m not sure if the COO would hire me.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “It’s the Human Resources people that you should be worried about.”

“Hey, I have an MBA,” you reply, a proud smile adorning your beautiful face.

“You failed Algebra,” Wonwoo reminds you. “Twice.”

“Wonwoo!” you gasp. “Jeonghan doesn’t know that!”

Jeonghan only laughs from the backseat.

Wonwoo and Jeonghan take you to your parents’ house, the former promising to come sleepover tonight as soon as he’s done with work, and they leave as soon as you’re settled and all warmed up. The two return to work and finishes up the day, but all Wonwoo could really think about it coming home to you after all the meetings he had to postpone so he could come pick you up at the airport.

You send him a text message in the middle of a meeting with a partner company, telling him that he owes you tteokbokki and fishcake for leaving you all alone at home. He reminds you to catch up with your helpers because everyone in Seoul had missed you immensely. His chest warms up when you send him a selfie with your long-time helper, Auntie Junghwa, your cheeks pressed against Auntie Junghwa’s cheek, your eyes squinting, and Wonwoo wonders if your cheeks ever hurt from smiling so beautifully all the damn time. But then again, he thinks, smiling warmly has always been so natural for you, and Wonwoo would spend the rest of his life making sure you’re always smiling happily.

When the meetings are done, Wonwoo’s secretary reminds him that it’s twenty minutes past seven, telling him he hasn’t touched the dinner she had prepared for him an hour ago and it has gone cold. Wonwoo apologizes like the polite man he is, and thanks her, assuring her that he will have dinner as soon as he gets home. The woman looks distressed, probably from all the hours of working today, and Wonwoo makes a mental reminder to buy her flowers the next day and purchase a gift card from Louis Vuitton for her.

His secretary has been working for the company for a long time. Mrs. Lee previously worked as his father’s secretary for over 15 years, hence it’s also safe to say that she watched him grow up. Wonwoo vividly remembers middle-school you and him waiting outside his father’s office while your parents were in a meeting; Mrs. Lee would always make sure that you and him were entertained until your parents were done. When Wonwoo got the position of COO as soon as he finished his MBA, his only request was to have Mrs. Lee as his secretary. His father gladly granted that, knowing full well that anyone would work more effectively with Mrs. Lee on their side.

When all is settled and done, Wonwoo leads the way to the elevator with Mrs. Lee trailing behind her. The two make their way to the parking floor.

“How’s Y/N?” Mrs. Lee asks. “I have not seen that lady in two years. The last time was when she visited you on your first day as COO.”

Wonwoo smiles at the memory.

(Wonwoo remembers that he had been ecstatic, all too delighted to have his own office, after two years of sharing an office with another manager like him.

The day had been so exhausting, knowing how easily Wonwoo’s social battery runs and drains, but he couldn’t be more grateful. There were so many people at Jeon and Co. Ltd’s annual party, which is also the day his father decided to announce Wonwoo’s promotion. The previous COO had retired, and everyone knew there was no better person to replace him than the heir of the company himself. Wonwoo was, of course, well aware of the privilege of being the son of the CEO himself, but that never meant that he did not work hard to earn this opportunity to be appointed as the COO. In most fairytales, positions like this are handed in a silver platter, but Wonwoo’s father, growing up from the slums and making his way through the success that started with a dream, with no inheritance or privilege, had always been so transparent about making Wonwoo earn the position. Hence, Wonwoo, who had always looked up to his father and had always told everyone that his father was his hero, worked hard to earn it. Unlike most heirs, as early as his education in high school, Wonwoo studied hard. His grades were beyond what was expected of him, and he even got included to the list of the famous top 1% in the entirety of South Korea. As soon as he got his degree, he decided he wanted to be involved with the business as early as then, which is why he worked as a manager for a couple of years while taking his MBA.

Wonwoo would say the day could be the happiest day of his life, but you hadn’t been there.

While he sat on his own executive ergonomic office chair that he chose himself, he thought about you on the other side of the world. It was around 8 in the evening, and the noise had died down an hour ago when everyone left as the conclusion of the entire afternoon of celebrating. Wonwoo had known it was maybe 6 in the morning where you are and he had reminded himself to call you as soon as it was safe to say you’ve woken up. But of course, as someone who gives Wonwoo a heart attack anytime he doesn’t expect it, you had entered his nearly empty office. Wonwoo had almost fallen out of his seat.

There you were, just as he was thinking about you, wrapped in a dark coat, hair a little messy, looking like you’re out of breath. Your hands carried a present, a canvas wrapped in black and white paper.

“I’m sorry,” you had said, catching your breath; Wonwoo was already walking towards you, knees shaking. “My flight had been delayed for a few of hours. I swear, I wanted to be here before lunch but—”

But Wonwoo had already taken the gift from your hands, carefully placing it on the coffee table nearby, engulfing your frame in a tight, warm hug, closing his eyes, praying that it wasn’t a dream.

“Congratulations,” you had mumbled against his chest. Wonwoo had to remind himself to keep breathing, because he was losing it at that point. None of his senses were working well. All he knew was that you were there, with him, on the supposed happiest day of his life thus far, making it the happiest day of his life thus far.

“You’re here,” were the only words that Wonwoo could say. On a normal day, he would have been anxious about you possibly hearing how loud his heart beats, thumps, when you’re around, but in that moment—in the middle of his new office, Seoul’s busy streets having no idea that Jeon Wonwoo, the newly appointed COO of Jeon and Co. Ltd is at his happiest state—he couldn’t care less. You were welcome to listen to the beat of his heart, his arms around you, yours around his.

“Of course, you dummy,” you laughed, pulling away a little so you could look up at him, eyes glistening. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. It's just, the timing of everything was just awful, I’m sorry I was late.”

“No, sweetheart,” Wonwoo had replied, shutting off the thoughts in your head because he knew well how much you hated disappointing anyone. “You’re here. And that’s all that matters.”

You had buried your face back to his chest, Wonwoo kissing the top of your head, and mumbled how much you’re proud of him.

“I love you,” you had mumbled.

Wonwoo didn’t need another second to say it back.

And now that he thinks about it, would it have been a bad idea to have kissed you that night?)

“She’s well, gained a little weight but don’t tell her I told you,” Wonwoo replies, chuckling. Mrs. Lee laughs.

Wonwoo smiles even wider, remembering that you told him earlier that you plan to eat your weight for the next month so you could hibernate the entire winter.

“She’ll visit on Monday,” he confirms. “She’ll find you when she comes.”

“I hope so,” Mrs. says. “How old are the two of you now?”

“Twenty-six,” Wonwoo answers.

“And when do you two plan to get married?” she asks, and Wonwoo’s taken aback. Mrs. Lee finds his reaction funny, his eyes wide, as if a secret has just been unveiled. “Oh, Wonwoo, honey, you cannot hide anything from me.”

“We’re, we’re not together like that,” he defends.

“At least not yet,” she adds. “Wonwoo, honey, you’re both twenty-six. Don’t you think it’s about time you tell our oblivious Y/N what you feel towards her?”

Wonwoo sighs. The elevator dings, telling them they have arrived at the basement, where the parking area is located.

“Mrs. Lee, it’s not that easy,” he answers as they step out. “If it were that easy, I would’ve confessed in second grade.”

The two walk together to find their own car, and of course, Wonwoo waits for Mrs. Lee to say something before they part ways. She always liked saying the last words in a conversation.

“You have shown it for many years now, Wonwoo,” she says. “The only thing you need to do now is to say it.”

“I’m sure she knows, Mrs. Lee,” Wonwoo replies.

“But has she ever heard it come out of your mouth, dear?” she asks. Wonwoo is silent. “Goodnight, dear. Go home safely.”

Then she drives away.

◆ ◇ ◆ ◇

As promised, Wonwoo returns to your parents’ home with a bag of overnight essentials and tteokbokki and fishcake.

“You didn’t have to go out of your way for tteokbokki,” you pout when you take the plastic bag from his hands and settle them on your kitchen counter. “We could have gone tomorrow. And Jeon Wonwoo, why do you come home only at nine in the evening?”

Wonwoo’s nose scrunches, laughing at your nagging. “Meetings,” he answers and helps you take out the food from the plastic bags, settling himself on the stool from the island counter.

“Things has to change now that I’m home,” you announce, hopping so you could sit beside Wonwoo. “Less meetings. More me time.”

“The untouchable chaebol in you is oozing,” Wonwoo teases, breaking a pair of chopsticks for you. “How’s Seoul so far?”

“Cold.” As expected. “But I missed you.” Wonwoo ruffles your hair. “For a minute, I kind of forgot that you’re big time now, with your COO title and cool ass office and your unavailability because you’re literally the most in-demand person in Jeon and Co. Ltd. these days.”

Wonwoo watches you take the first bite from the famous rose tteokbokki, moaning in delight as soon as its taste hit your tongue. “Gosh, nothing in New York could top the tteokbokki down the street.”

“Right?” Wonwoo asks, smelling the food first before nibbling the simmered soft rice cake. You hum in agreement. “There’s a new restaurant nearby the office. Mrs. Lee bought lunch from that place a week ago and it was scrumptious, like literally no words at all.”

“Does the place look nice? Something I can post on my Instagram?” you ask, mouth full.

“I haven’t been there,” Wonwoo answers. “Let’s go there tomorrow. And all the other places I’ve discovered while you were gone.”

“You act as if I was gone for ten years,” you joke.

“You were gone for a long time,” he rebuts. “Long enough to miss new places to try. Did you know how hard it was to take Jeonghan? He makes me pay for everything. Am I even his dongsaeng?”

You laugh, taking a stick of skewered fish cake from the box.

It’s true, Wonwoo thinks. He loves Jeonghan and would die for him, but all he ever does is make Wonwoo pay, saying that the one who invites should be the one to pay. Wonwoo could say that your love language is most likely food, even though it’s not officially one of the five from the list he found on the internet when he was trying to learn more about love. (Of course, Wonwoo is the only one who would read to learn about love.) Your eyes have always sparkled differently when Wonwoo brings food for you, even when you two were little. You had always liked sharing food, even though Wonwoo is so annoyed by it if it were other people. Anyone could cut themselves in half, begging for him to share his food, and Wonwoo wouldn’t bat an eyelash, but with you, it had always been different. You were the exception to many things in his life.

During your absence, Wonwoo didn’t really have anyone to eat with. Everyone at work knows he likes his food delivered directly to his office, so nobody ever bothers to ask him to join for lunch. And Wonwoo would rather die first than ask anyone but you to eat with him. This, Jeonghan had always known, so the devil himself made sure that he’s available (around, lingering annoyingly and on purpose in Wonwoo’s office) when the clock hits 11:50am. It took weeks for this tactic to work, but eventually, Wonwoo gave in and started inviting Jeonghan out for lunch (dinner, too, sometimes) and the one older always makes him pay. And imagine almost four years of that. Wonwoo reckons he could build a house with the amount of money he has spent on Jeonghan’s food alone.

You were away (away, never gone) for more than six years, having only to visit on some holidays, but not every year, not even on Chuseok, yours and his favorite holiday. When you moved to the States, your parents had also followed after you. It was a great opportunity for the company to expand the business in the mainland, anyway, and nobody wanted to pass up on that. Sometimes, Wonwoo would visit you, but with how hectic his own schedule was, he had only done that twice. (You took him to Central Park, and Wonwoo remembers taking so many pictures of you while thinking about every rom-com film set in New York and hoping you and him could have a cheesy, happy ending in the city, too.)

Absence make the heart grow fond, people would say, but Wonwoo had always known that he didn’t need you to be away to realize his own feelings.

Wonwoo wonders how was it for you, being away from him and all.

“Oh, Jeonghan is so going to like Josh.”

That’s not an answer Wonwoo expected.

“Josh?” he asks.

Have you ever mentioned a Josh?

Wonwoo’s mind traces the conversations you had with him over the phone. He might have missed it; you might haven mentioned it at three in the morning in Seoul, when Wonwoo’s mind is all groggy and cloudy from slumbler. But Wonwoo swears he would have remembered it the next day regardless. Josh? Doesn’t ring a fucking bell. Wonwoo’s going to get a heart attack.

“Yeah, I haven’t told you, have I?” Obviously. And you’re way to chirpy to talk about a Josh that Wonwoo has never heard of. “He was my senior in college. We took our MBA together. Tried to date for like two weeks. Broke it off because I realized—”

“Dated?” Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrows. The only people you ever dated was Kim Mingyu from high school (and it was only because he was a rising actor and you thought celebrities were cool. Kim Mingyu was the exact opposite of cool.) and Lee Donghyuck for literally two days because you learned that he lied about being the same age. You never mentioned a Josh. And now that he thinks about it, you never mentioned ever dating in New York for six damn years. The thought makes the screws in his brain spin faster, overthinking, perhaps you had dated the whole fucking time without telling him. Oh God, Wonwoo’s is going to pass out.

Wonwoo loses his speeding, fucking dashing train of thoughts when you lightly hit his chest.

“Stop overthinking, dummy,” you say before he goes overboard. “I never told you because it was never official and I was never sure if I liked him enough.”

“Why are we talking about a Josh, then?” he asks. “If it was never official.”

“Because he’s moving to Seoul, too!” you exclaim. Excitedly.

You and Wonwoo’s dynamics have always been constant, despite the years, despite the distance. Two peas in a pod. Always on the same page.

Wonwoo has a terrible feeling that things will change soon.

#one way ticket for two #wonwoo fic #wonwoo scenario #wonwoo angst #wonwoo fluff #wonwoo #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #seventeen au #seventeen fic #wonwoo au

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kaladinkholins · 4 months

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i think fandoms can be soooo ridiculous a lot of the time (see: all the nonsensical fan wars, discourse, etc) but i cannot understate how much i actually love fandoms.

like yeah it may be super nerdy and even cringe and outsiders look at it like "why tf do you care about these fictional characters so much?"

but 1) my field is literally..... literary studies..... in which all i do is study fiction and analyse it like an insane person, and 2) even if that WASN'T my field, thinking about the stories we consume is important even for any person to do, because thinking about stories exercises our brain to think critically!! why do you think our ancestors used stories as a medium to share knowledge, to propagate moral values and lessons? stories—telling them, thinking about what they're saying, and caring about the characters within them—are all inherent to the human experience!!!

so that brings me to fandom. because we are literally just making these little communities with each other based on our shared love for a particular story, and for a particular character or theme within them that resonated with us, or whatever. we're all here because we loved a thing so much that we built connections from it!!!

like yeah my irl friends laugh at me when i tell them i write fanfic, cuz ha ha what a nerd what a loser etc, but dude. i made genuine real friendships from fandom alone. from just obsessing over two characters we thought were cute together, we've gone to sending each other gifts and postcards and having voice calls and confiding in each other and sharing parts of us and our personal lives and our cultures (cuz we're all from different countries) with each other! like now i don't even share a fandom with most of my old fandom friends anymore but we still stick by each other and that's amazing???

also like, i cannot emphasise enough how amazing and encouraging it is to share your craft (art/writing/etc) with others in fandom. because for example if i make my own personal art or write my own original work, i'd have no one to share it to, no one interested to see it, and thus no one will be there to provide feedback or encouragement.

but if i post a piece of fan art or fanfic, people actually do see the work i post and care about the craft and the content it's depicting and even share their thoughts on it and that ??? is so motivating and lovely ??? because even though i make art for myself, art is still meant to be shared and seen at the end of the day—even if only with one person. so to be given the means of sharing our art in such a way, to have such a community that fosters so much creativity, it's amazing. i don't really get that anywhere else.

and especially to have this in like, a casual setting, you know, where you can just be yourself and do things according to your own time and energy without the pretenses of professionalism and a perfectly curated resume or portfolio, and all the confines of a rigid work schedule, which would all make the process of creation less fun and less genuine, and instead just more taxing and chore-like.

because fandom is essentially meant to be about doing what's fun for you! it's about sharing your creations and enjoying what others share with you. you make friends and you go ham with it.

and also it's why it's more frustrating when people take things too seriously and legitimately get upset over assumptions of other people's beliefs and hold the most minor grievances that could only be felt if you're like, chronically online.

but on that note, there are definitely still honest-to-god bad people in fandom spaces too (see: racists, TERFS, homophobes, groomers, harassers, etc). but that's the case with all communities, because bad people are always going to exist, and thus statistically speaking, the bigger a group or community is, higher chances are there's gonna be some awful people in there. but honestly that is its own can of worms and also that's not what this post is about, but i felt it necessary to address because i don't want to paint fandom as like, the best thing ever in the world, because fandom spaces are incredibly flawed, as everything is.

but i've always been one to appreciate things despite its flaws. and though this may be very personal to me, when i love things so much, i am still willing to stick around and try to change the culture around it in the ways that i can (like promoting internet safety measures, creating safe spaces for thoughtful and polite discussion, raising awareness on harmful stereotypes and fandom depictions or opinions, etc).

so regardless of the bullshit that online fandom spaces tend to perpetuate, i do very much still love the way that fandom allows me to connect with folks over something as silly as our little blorbos, and from there end up making life-long friends, or at the very least new acquaintances. insert reinforcement of my thesis statement about stories fostering human connection here. the end. send post.

#fandom #inspired by me feeling lots of love for my long-time fandom friends and enjoying making new ones since joining the BES fandom #like i still remember comments i got on my fanfic from years ago. telling me how much my work resonated with them?#talking about how much they cried reading my work? how much it touched them?#like to me that's insane. like i'm thrilled to even have one (1) person care about my work ykwim #bcs irl it's hard to find that kind of recognition? ppl hear like. “oh you write/draw? cool” and it's p much whatever #so yeah. fandom has always been v important to me like i met so many cool and awesome and nice ppl bcs of it #and though I've lost touch with a lot of the friends i've made i still think abt them a lot. they all mean smth to me still #lol joining a new fandom community is makin me feel nostalgic dont mind me!#shut up haydar #scribblings.txt

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