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kookslastbutton · 10 months

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Lovin' You Right ༓ jjk (m)

✑ Summary: Your new badass neighbor won't leave you alone. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

Pairing: new neighbor!jungkook x fem!reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, e2l, neighbors, oneshot/drabble

Word Count: 2,031

Warnings: cussing, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, missionary, praising, rough s*x, d*rty talk, sp*nking overst*mulation, reader's first-time, sl*t calling once, oc a bit of an uptight b at first, little manhandling, jk rides a motorcylce, jk giving it to oc straight, a very wet date bc MV made me do it

Now Playing: seven by jjk

A/N: no explanation, this is just what i thought of when i listened to jungkook's song 'seven'. Hope you enjoy! 💞

He looked like a real hard ass with all the black leather he wore, arms covered in ink, and chains hanging from his neck. You know the type, the guy your mama wouldn't want you bringing home.

He was your next-door neighbor and he rode a mean motorcycle. It was loud as fuck and woke you up about ten times during the night. And every time he saw you in the hallway? He'd have this shit-eating grin on, like he wanted to devour you whole.

"Think our mail got switched up again," he said, handing you a pile of letters. "Gonna need to talk to the mail man or somethin'."

"Oh geez," you replied, doing your best to avoid eye contact of more than three seconds–his eyes were just a little too piercing. "Thanks." You shoved the letters under your arm and carried on your way. It was laundry day and you desperately needed to have clean clothes.

"Hey wait," he kept on your trail. "How's your day goin'?" He rushed ahead to open the laundry room door, allowing you to go first.

Look at him trying to be a gentleman, hmph. You held your head high and walked through the door. He'd break your heart as quick as he'd take it.

Like an itch that won't go away, Jungkook followed you as much as he could. No matter how much you scratched, he'd be right there, burning holes in the back of your neck. He'd watch you dump your clothes in the washer, walk you to your car whenever you needed to go anywhere, hell he even helped you carry in groceries when given the chance.

"What do you want Jeon?" You finally popped the question. He didn't look like he was simply "being generous" or "doing his part to make the world better". He was bumming around for something, he had to be.

"Go out with me," he simply quipped, knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Excuse me?"

He rolled his eyes, he was too old for beating around the bush and he was fed up with you giving him the silent finger. Not once have you told him to beat it straight to his face so he's gonna shoot his shot. "Yes or no __? You know I like you, why else would I be bugging the crap out of you?"

"'Cause you want to fuck me then leave me for your other neighbor, the one who lives on the other side of your door." You crossed your arms against your chest. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He narrowed his eyes, tiniest of smirks on his overly gorgeous, no good, lying face. " No you're right. I do wanna fuck that pretentious attitude you got. It's been pissing me off for weeks."

He took a step towards you, caging you between himself and your kitchen island. "What gives you the right to be this bitchy huh? You act like you know everything there is to know about me, but you're too damn stubborn to open your eyes and see it's all a complete farce." He leaned his head forward to graze his lips along the edge of your ear. "I don't know what little girl fairytales you've been taught but I'm not the monster you need to watch out for....and prince charmings don't exist, princess."

You shoved your hands against his chest but he grips them tight in his own. "We don't have to go out anymore. I see what you really think of me."

He released your wrist and headed for the door. "It's really a shame," he hollered before leaving. "You're really beautiful."

God you hated him.

For the next week, Jungkook was no where in sight. He didn't come see you, he didn't bring you anything, he went completely M.I.A. It was a breath of fresh air but by the second week, you wondered where he was and if he was okay. He did drive a motocylce afterall, maybe he got in an accident and you didn't know.

You stared at his door, hesistant to knock in fear if him actually being in there. He'd likely laugh you off when he saw you, so you purposefully picked a time he'd most likely be out and about anyway. You hated that you kinda knew his schedule.

Jungkook quirked an amused brow at you when he finally cranked his door open. He was wearing light washed jeans and no under shirt, his pecs were on full display. "What can I do for you princess?"

"Nothing," you spat, definitely not looking below his thick neck. "Just wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid yet."

"Checking up on me huh?" He put an elbow on the door frame, eyes darkening. "That's sweet."

"Fuck off. You're healthy it seems so I'm gonna go check up on the other neighbors now. I think Mrs. Baker set the fire alrms off the other day so I need to make sure she's oka—"

You're arm was yanked back as soon as you moved to turn around. "Fuck you're bullshit __. You missed me didn't ya?"

"Not much to miss Jeon." You're such a liar, Jungkook muttered to himself. The whole world could see you were having a conversation with his pecs this whole time—too damn timid to look him in the eyes.

"Shut up and say you'll go out with me already. I'm tired of waiting for your ass to come around."

You swallowed your pride and there you were, watching Jungkook splash in every single puddle. He just had to propose going out the one day it was storming out.

"Wipe that sour look off your face!" He stomped in the water, drenching you entirely.

You shrieked at the sudden coldness. Big droplets of water soaked your face, clothes, shoes, everything. "You're such a child Jungkook!"

He ignored you and wrapped his muscular arms around you. The white tank he wore was drenched as well. "You're having fun, admit it."

You scoffed. The only reason you agreed to go out was to show him how ridiculous it would be for the two of you to go out. You and Jungkook were likely the most incompatible people for each other. While he was out riding his bike with heavy metal blasting, you were watching the latest law drama in you're pajamas. It was only a matter of time before this expirament of his would show him the true results of your intermingling.

"C'mon," he took you by the hand and dragged you through the rain. "Just be in the moment __. Let the rain shower over you and be free!" He grabbed your other hand and began spinning you both in circles.

"I'm going to get dizzy."

"Then only look at me. Look at me and don't worry about what's around us. Focus on a single subject and you won't get dizzy." He pulled you by the waist, forcing you to stare straight at him.

He was right. The dizziness went away but your knees feel like jelly.

"What's holding you back?" Jungkook smiled and it was the most genuine smile you'd ever seen. "Look at me __. Look at us. What do you see?"

As you stood there in the pouring rain, a pair of deep, boy-like eyes locked with yours. This was him, the thought dawned on you, a soft-hearted guy who wasn't afraid to open himself up.

You felt a pang of guilty settle in your gut–you weren't the better person like you so believed. You're closed off, comfortable in your space. Skeptical of anyone and everyone. You were wrong to see Jungkook as a careless, arrogant, motorcycle thug and it was a hard pill for you to swallow.

"I don't know." You replied softly, shivering at the faintest touch of his fingers supporting on your back. "I'm sorry, I don't know Jungkook."

"Well I see something worth sticking around for, rain or shine. I think I've become an idiot for you and I don't think that bothers you as much as you let on. You sought me out after I gave you space and I've literally been playing in the puddles this whole date and you haven't ditched me yet. So if you want some more of this, I'll give it to you with open hands, open heart, and I'll make sure to be loving you right." He winked before finishing. "As many days as you'd like."

Jungkook didn't give you much time to respond before he pressed his lips against your own. He made sure to go gentle, barely brushing them over your lips.

You understood immediately–if you wanted this, you were going to have to be the one to seal the deal.

And you did, kissing him with full force. You hoped you wouldn't regret this in the morning.

Ever since that night, you and Jungkook had started going out. It was slow at first but six months later, you and he finally made your relationship official.

"Shh," he cooed above you. He was a bit of a blur due to the pitch darkness of the room but you felt him everywhere. He was straddling your naked sides, praising your body like it was art. "Doing so good for me baby, making me so hard–fuck."

It was your first real-time being with a man and being your new boyfriend, Jungkook made sure to be extra attentive. "Kook," you moaned, back arching and pussy throbbing from where he had recently entered you.

He dragged his thick length out of you before slamming back in, a little rougher than the previous thrust. "That's it," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me hear those pretty moans. Been dying to hear them since I first saw you in those cute little sweat shorts you like walking to the laundry room in."

"Faster Kook, please." You gripped his muscular back, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist. You needed him lodged so far in your gut that you'd literally see stars. "Plea–please."

"Shit baby, if you start begging this early I can't promise you I won't go completely feral and I don't want to hurt you."

"I want all of you Jungkook," you said. "You said you'd love me right, so do it." And that's all it took for your boyfriend to lock down on your waist with firm hands, pounding into you with all he had.

You tried looking up at him, wanting to look him dead in the eye as he fucked into you but you couldn't handle it. He was dripping with sweat, his muscles were tense, veins were protruding out of neck, and his teeth were clamped shut. He was focused and he knew what he was doing. You on the other hand were a complete opposite story.

"Jung-Jungkook, oh god, fuck!" You screamed incoherently. His big cock reached every inch inside you, stretching you out with every snap of his hips. Never in your life had you had so much pleasure in a short amount of time. And embarrasing it may be, you were definitely going to come far before the usual.

"Look at you fucking falling apart already. Too much for your tight little pussy to handle isn't it? Well you begged for this, and now you're gonna take this cock like a big girl aren't ya," he barked, landing a sharp slap to your ass.

"Shit!" You yelped, clenching around him automatically. "Gonna come Kook...please-please. It's my first time I-"

You came without finishing the plead, sticky white substance ran down your thighs and onto the sheets. Jungkook's wet length continues to move in you, pushing some of your cum back in. The erotic squelching makes your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Mhm yeah." He planted a trail of rough kisses up your neck, teeth nipping at the delicate skin. "And now you're gonna come again, and again, and again til you're dripping with my cum. I'm gonna then eat you out while my fingers play with your clit. But congrats on your first-time baby, because from here on out, you're gonna become my slut , and I'll be fucking you seven days a week."

A/N: written a little different than usual but yeah...haha idk. Tysm for reading and lmk your thoughts 💞

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#bangtanbathhouse #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bts au #fic:toolatetodream #kookslastbutton

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honestsycrets · 9 months

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querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.

❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.

❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.

❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.

“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”

Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.

"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.

“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”

He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.

“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”

Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.

“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.

“See ya then!”

Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.

“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”

She looked back to the paper in her hands.

“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”

Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.

“Wanted for--”

You swiped the paper from her fingers.

“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”

“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”

“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”

You would know.

“O—okay, mamá.”

“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.

"I know."

You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.

You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.

Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.

"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.

"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.

"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"That's a real pretty name."

"Sure is. ¿por qué?"

You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.

"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."

Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.

Wanted for double murder.

Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.

Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.

A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.

God, not him. He was obsessed.

“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.

“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”

“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”

“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”

He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.

“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”

“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”

“Not according to my reports.”

You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.

“What’d you want me to do with that information?”

“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”

“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”

“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”

“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."

“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”

Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.

But only Diosito could judge you for that.

You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.

You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.

With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.

Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.

It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.

You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.

You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.

“Dios mío.”

Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.

“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”

The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.

“Miguel.”

“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.

“You were always a bad liar.”

“Look, not smell.”

“My point stands,” you say.

Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.

“Mine too.”

You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.

He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.

“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”

“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”

The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.

“Who’d that be?”

“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.

“After all these years?"

"Claro."

"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”

“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."

“Where else is there?” you said

“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”

"There's nothing here."

"Nothing but you."

You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.

“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”

The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.

“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”

“Gabi go to your room.”

“I’m not--”

“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”

She darted up the many steps to her room.

"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.

“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.

“How old is she?”

"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.

“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.

“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.

“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.

“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.

“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”

“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."

"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.

“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”

Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.

“That ain't true!”

“Gabriella,” you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”

Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.

“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”

“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”

“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.

“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”

“He was my friend.”

“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.

“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.

“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”

He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.

#miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel o'hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara/reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spider 2099 x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #atsv miguel imagine #atsv imagine #atsv x you #atsv imagines #atsv x reader #atsv fanfiction

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buwheal · 4 months

Text

[You've Got Mail!]

You can now send your favorite salesman emails!! YAY!!

Here's some rules and information about the askbox.

First and foremost;

I try to answer as many asks as I can, but I will not answer every single one. Sometimes I just cant do anything with it that will work realistically with the perimeters of the world, and I apologize!! Its nothing against you guys!!

(Unless you break the rules ofc.)

So if you dont see yours after a long while, it’s probably something that wont work, sorry! You can always send more than one ask whenever and see if that one works instead!

Besides that, here’s the rest of what you need to know!

[RULES] :

Spamton physically PRINTS OUT each "email", so dont send asks that have a physical interaction. Sorry! Thats just how i decided to set up the world/situation, and is not really anything against you guys :-)

(more of a request than a rule tbh) Preferably try to send real questions or statements. most joke asks are funny, but are surprisingly hard to create an in character response for. You can still send joke asks if you really want to, just dont expect an answer X-P

I know he may be a personification of spam emails... BUT DONT SPAM!!! I mean it! It clogs the askbox and is a real pain. You can send him more than one ask, though, as long as you arent repetitively sending a ton in a short burst!!

Dont be sexual or romantic, please! Even "As a joke". I dont like Spamton like that and it makes me uncomfortable, plus I can't really answer that in character in a way that wouldnt provoke more of that. Thank you!!

Be respectful and patient!! I am just one person doing everything, lol, and this got far more popular than anticipated, so i will take a long time. I try my best to get at least one out every other day but i'll need breaks eventually!!!

I cannot spawn or give/spawn/materialize things for/to Spamton if you ask because of the way it’s set up. You are really just lines of text from a computer to Spamton, BUT... You can still do a lot if you think outside the box. or,, errr,, outside the computer. Kind of. Your words and your actions affect him and his reactions to you, so word it correctly and you can get him to do something or say something. Hes not stupid though, and he CAN usually tell when your intentions are... less.. than good.

[INFORMATION] :

[YGM!] is technically an AU!!! not only do the events of the game not occur, but this is also set before then!

Asks are put out one a day, regardless if i have more than one, UNLESS i need to connect two(or more) to complete one event.

I am one person doing every ask and every unique frame of art, so expect 1 ask (If youre lucky, two) maybe every other day Monday-Friday depending on my workload per day. I have weekends off so more asks, around 2-3, CAN (but usually arent) be done for future use.

This is just for fun!! I am using the askbox to exercise my drawing consistency, Spamton's personality, and the way he speaks and responds to different situations! This is a way I am using to improve my understanding of him as a character, so it wont be always consistent as I am growing and learning!

Just a little disclaimer, he WILL be mean. He is a sour, nasty, grumpy, bastard and I am absolutely not opposed to him responding as such. Just keep that in mind when sending an ask if you dont want that!

If you want a common outcome, talk to other people about it! go crazy! I dont mind long threads on my posts if you want to create a plan. Infact, I can even help and tell you things occasionally!!

What you say to him DOES and WILL affect the way he responds. Trust is lost far easier than it is gained, so keep this in mind. It is possible to regain his trust, but still hard. He is not a trusting person to begin with and being mean certainly doesnt help. BUT.. I am not opposed to being mean. Infact, they are quite fun to do. Either way is entertaining for me, so do as you will. YOU can choose to hurt or help him.

Using tone tags, while not required, are really helpful and assist me in understanding the intention in your ask if you think it may be interpreted another way! (i.e. sarcasm) :-)!!

I pick and choose asks depending on his situation, or if i have a good idea for a response, so you may need to wait a bit before i can get to yours!! Ones that i have an idea for take priority, especially when its to progress a scene. Or, alternatively, i am saving your ask for something i have planned.

I WILL reuse frames and poses to get these out faster and for my convienence :-) especially for the frames where there is no need to change his pose! So like.. dont think too hard about it lol.

Also, i prefer if you specify if the ask is for me /or/ Spamton. I do still do normal asks, lol. If its for me, just let me know!! I can usually tell, but most asks will be interpreted as for Spamton. I appreciate ones that start with his name before said thing is asked/stated specifically!! (i.e. "Spamton, __ __ __")

I wont be consistent with the way its answered. Sometimes it's one panel, sometimes its a couple panels, or sometimes they're animated gifs!! It varies depending on what i feel, so if youre lucky you can get a gif, lol. Those take longer usually though. Ive mostly switched to a gif formatting rather than multiple panels in a comic style, for the formatting! The animation quality can vary :-)

Thats about it!! Have fun!! ^_^

#spamton #spamton g spamton #deltarune #[you've got mail!]#<- this is the askbox tag!#deltarune spamton #spamton deltarune #spamton askbox #[YGM!]#[YGM!] questions

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twilghtkoo · 1 year

Text

late night soju chat

summary. in which, haechan has been coming home late the past few days because of work and you’ve been up every time he returns.

pairings. haechan x streamer!reader (f)

genre. fluff, established relationship, idol!au

warnings. reader is drinking (legal), i also do not know the gaming/streaming lingo that well so (･_･;

—

“oh yeah! i’m really excited for the legend of zelda tears of the kingdom.. the sequel to breath of the wild.” you answer to the viewer who commented asking if you preordered the game yet. “i did get the collectors edition though, first, i thought i shouldn’t, but i ended up getting it.” you take another shot of soju easily, the liquid going down your throat as you tilted your head back in a quick motion.

user omg yes the inclusions are so pretty!!

user i’d get it just for the art book cus link <3

the digital clock by your monitor reads 2:15. the chat already pointed out how they can tell you’re tired, but you told them you can manage and wait.

“chat, strawberry soju and the strawberry milkis is so dangerous. it literally tastes like a fruit punch or the pink starburst.” you exclaim, finishing pouring a bit of the flavored milk and yogurt drink into the shot of the soju.

user don’t drink sm!!

user soju is so good oml

you scoff, “guys this is like my third one, don’t worry!” you attempt to assure the chat. you’ve done a few streams drunk, and thankfully those times you were under the influence, your boyfriend was watching and about two doors down. one time you fell asleep on your chair, and you fell asleep for a good fifteen minutes til haechan came to the rescue and ended the stream for you.

user where’s haechan when we need him

user i’m so tired lmao

user when are u dropping merch

“haechan should be on his way home,” you reply to your screen. “he’s gonna be super tired so i’ll end it when he gets here.” haechan’s schedule has been hectic these past few days, leaving in the early mornings and coming home late at night. he’s told you that you don’t have to wait up for him and to go ahead and sleep, not wanting you to stay up for him. but you barely see him throughout the day, so you’d like to greet him when he walks through your door. finally, kissing his lips and hugging him tightly, rubbing his tense muscles.

you're looking through the art book and showing chat a few pages that had you squealing. a game that you've been playing since you were a child, it was definitely your number one favorite and you're glad your followers are finding interest and are even up at this hour with you.

user i can't believe nintendo sent this to u early D: that's such a big thing yn im so happy for u!!!!

you smile after taking another shot. "thank you user, i know, when i saw the big ass box in my mail i was over the fucking moon. and i was holding myself back from opening it as soon as i got it, but i decided to wait and open it with you guys." you told your viewers honestly, preparing another shot.

user oh i can't wait for ur tears of the kingdom gameplay !!

user aye lemme get a sip

"user thank you for the 1,000 bits!"

your house was pretty quiet, of course, at this hour of the night. but past your headphones you heard rustling from outside your streaming room door. you moved your headphone off one ear to listen in.

you slightly gasped into your mic, with a grin. "chat i think haechan just got hoooome!" you took the shot that you had prepared earlier.

"this is so good," you hummed quietly.

user haechan is hoooome

user my fav couple <3

"haechan? baby?" you called out.

you hear a few sounds going off in your headphone, mostly being subs and cheers asking about haechan and some about you.

"yn? babe, you're still up?" you hear haechan from the hallway and his footsteps coming closer, he knocks on your door before peeking his head through the cracked door.

"hello handsome, i missed you." you greeted him from your gaming chair, holding out your arms for him to walk into them so you could embrace him. he drops his leather bag by the door and immediately takes the steps to you with a tired smile. he was dressed in the same clothes he was in when he left in the early morning.

he groans softly in your hold, you squeeze his frame and rub his back soothingly, trying to offer as much relief from his tiring day.

user haechan!!!

user YOOOO

user aww look at them :(

he acknowledges that you are streaming but he doesn't hold back on showing you affection. he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent. "i told you you don't have to wait up for me."

you continue to softly rub his back, "i know, but i wanted to to see you."

"are you still gonna stream?" he has a feeling you won't and that you'll turn it off and go to bed with him.

you shake your head, pulling away from the hug you look up at him.

"no, i just turned it on a few hours ago and decided to just chat with my followers until you got home, i'm about to end the stream now." you tell him and glance over at the screen to keep up with the comments.

user hi haechan

user haechan we tried to tell her

user we were baysitting for u

user HAECHAN SAY HI

he looks at your desk set up. "damn, baby. drinking on the clock? that's why your cheeks are a bit rosy." he teases, pointing at the almost empty bottle of soju, his other free hand holding yours.

you shrug, "i was thirsty."

you giggled, "chat says hi, say hi back to chat." you continued, pointing at the flowing of comments.

the top half of his face was cut off by the camera since he was pretty tall and he was standing, he crouches down a bit and waves at the cam.

"hi everyone, thank you for watching yn and thank you everyone for staying up with her."

you smile at him interacting with your viewers before starting to poke his sides. "can i get a kiss first and then i'm going to turn this off."

he effortlessly cups the side of your face gently and leans in to press his lips against yours, his thumb caressing the soft skin of your rosy cheeks and he pulls away.

you wet your lips as you turn with your chair to focus on chat.

haechan is still standing beside you but he reaches for the soju bottle and easily gulps down the last of it before putting it back on the desk.

"okay guys, like i said earlier, i planned on ending this stream when haechan got home. so i'm going to go now, good night everyone and thank you for watching and staying up with me. bye!"

user goodnight yn and haechan!!

user aww goodnight

user goodnight

user night yn :)

he waves with you before the stream ends. he drags you out of your streaming room after you turned everything off properly, walking with you tiredly, hand in hand, to your shared bedroom. ready to sleep in all afternoon with you in his arms, because tomorrow he finally has a rest day. and he wants nothing more than to be with you.

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vasito-de-leche · 2 months

Note

A short (or not) ramble of scenarios and questions for reverse: 1999 self aware. (sorry if this bothers you, I just don’t have enough confidence to post it on my own blog (plus I love your content))

- Okay so first of all, in the main page of the game, when you click on the upper left corner with your level and username, you go to a screen with Vertin looking fly as ever along with some user information.

So if Vertin can see the game’s ui, then she can see the year in which the player has joined the game (2023-2024). I haven’t dived deep into Vertin’s character so I can’t portray her reaction to much, but I feel like she would tell this info to someone close like Sonetto.

Also our motto: I put “When in a rush, say ‘runs in high heels cutely.’”. I’d be so embarrassed if anyone (even fictional sentient characters) saw that. Like im dead.

On that topic, when you mentioned in your Sonetto self aware post that she can sometimes see us, and honestly, I’d be even more embarrassed. Cause like, if any of the characters from games I played, were sentient and could see me, id pray they didn’t see my bad angle. Like imagine looking up to the sky to see, just for a second, the chin of a head as the hands go to scratch their nose. Like the first impressions I would make.

- P2p players. Imagine the player spending money on the game (at the risk of Vertin possibly seeing their credit card number) to help level up or get costumes for their fave characters.

(Some misc. questions)

-what would happen if player didn’t log in the game for a while (a week to a month as best) cause I would ditch some games to spend more time on others

- What does Vertin think of the mail messages that the player gets? Like the latest mail I got was the discord event invitation. Upon closer inspection and critical thinking, it would hint that there would be more players other than us because it says the winners get 60 clear drops (oh and money too)

- If I remember correctly, I think you mentioned about Vertin hearing the player sometimes. So imagine her hearing us trash talk certain character *cough* Constantine *cough*.

(Anyways, I love your content ❤️ especially your fmn headcanons, can’t wait to see more posts!!)

;R1999 - Self-Aware AU (2)

Answering some questions and discussing the Self-Aware AU. A follow up of this post.

not a bother at all, you bring up really good questions and details that are fun to explore! I'm glad you like my stuff, have a nice day o7!

On the subject of Vertin seeing the player's profile.

With the way I intended to portray Vertin within the AU, I don't think she would be affected by the date on the Player's profile!

This is the date you came into contact with her from your perspective, whatever time and space that flows within your world, not hers─the world behind the fourth barrier that she cannot see nor hear nor even fathom, let alone try to make sense of. In a way, it's like expecting ants to care about concepts we made up, such as time. They understand night and day, they do not understand 3PM nor 8AM.

Is it truly proof that time can go beyond 1999, when this is something that only she can see? When it doesn't affect a single thing within her universe by being part of a game menu meant for your eyes only? There's also the fact that she finds out the proper time of the world in the 1.4 update, in Chapter 05.

Her dynamic with the Player is something I like to keep vague, so that everyone can fill in the blanks, but ultimately it is something so complex and private for Vertin─who sees it as a one-sided relationship, since she cannot hear nor see you, unlike other arcanists who may reach the 100% bond─that I don't think she would talk about it with anyone, not even Sonetto! The name on your profile and whatever message you've written there are secrets she will take to her grave. The idea of Vertin being the eyes and hands of the Player, but having no way to truly see or hear them makes for a really fun concept to explore!

And on the subject of messages, let's be honest, if you've written something funny or some modern shitpost, chances are she won't understand it LMFAO so it's okay! I literally just have my socials and "men enjoyer" listed there.

Oh! But since you brought it up, the message section could be a fun, little way to communicate with Vertin, since she can read what's on there!

As for P2P players, Vertin wouldn't see any information from the Player's credit card since that's something that happens outside the app lolol. Like, to me, it directly opens to google play transaction stuff.

On the subject of the player dropping the game for long periods of time.

Hmm, in the first post I said that there might be characters ouside Vertin and her suitcase who may be self-aware, with their own goals and such. But nothing truly "matters" unless the Player is there to witness it. So to keep including these possibilities and details, I feel like there's two options, pick whichever you like the most!

One, time continues as usual within the game─but once it reaches an important date where the plot is meant to kick in with some important event, it simply resets back to where you left it. This is a world that exists outside of your perception, but cannot continue without you.

Two, time freezes entirely within the game─but only for those who are not self-aware. Keep in mind we're talking about long periods of time, this wouldn't happen if you log in every day, or every few days. This is what happens when your phone picks up the fact that Reverse: 1999 is one of the unused apps taking up space in your phone. This is a world that stops existing once you stop looking at it.

In both options, the Wilderness would remain unaffected as it seems to be entirely disconnected from the flow of time and space outside of it.

On the subject of the game's mail.

Since the messages auto-delete and all, I can't check but I'm pretty sure Vertin receives mail too? There were a few ones from a few characters a while back like Druvis III or An-an Lee, and I think the implication is that they were vaguely addressing Vertin?

If someone has screenshots and can confirm this, please let me know!

Either way, the easy answer is that yeah, she knows this is a game, so she could make the assumption that there's more players. She has access to your friend list, after all! And even if you don't have anyone added, the fact that it exists is enough for her to start connecting the dots.

I don't remember saying that Vertin can hear the Player, though! I think I was pretty consistent with her not being able to see nor hear you, to have the Player as some sort of eldritch, unknowable entity. But I also write so much stuff in this blog that it's hard to keep up sometimes lolol, if I've mentioned somewhere that Vertin can hear the player, it was a mistake!

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #self aware au #vertin

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the-ace-with-spades · 8 months

Text

An AU where Jake didn't go to USNA but got a scholarship for football at the same uni Bradley got a scholarship for baseball.

They're both part of NROTC but Bradley is a second-year midshipman and he's one of the very few midshipmen who are not mentoring anyone in the program dunno how nrotc works I'm guessing similar to our military youth programs, bear with me

He's instantly intrigued — Bradley seems to be the most unavailable person in the whole program, never really engaging for after-training outings or parties, never making small talk and never trying to even make connections that would help with networking once they were commissioned.

So Jake kind of observes from afar for the first few months and he realizes Bradley is exactly the same outside of NROTC too.

Despite the lack of engagement, every single instructor and coordinator from the program seems to know him. More so, most of them don't even comment on his lack of extracurricular engagement or mentorship, but even send him off for extra trainings that are typically only awarded for being exceptional.

They live in the same student building but on different floors. Bradley is an RA for his floor and the female-only floor above, something Jake only discovers when his own RA is kicked out and his heating problem is delegated to Bradley.

Bradley is also a TA (which is very unusual for a sophomore) for one of the physics professors — Jake is studying mechanical engineering and Bradley is doing aerospace engineering and he sometimes sees Bradley assisting, even if it's mostly for different majors.

Jake's fascination grows even more because he doesn't get it — Bradley is unavailable to anyone but he's also so nice. Most of the students in the dorm he's coordinating like him, which is not really something that happens with RAs, he's respected both by the midshipmen and their instructors and seniors, many of which keep on friendly jabs with him or extend invitations to outings despite Bradley's repeated refusals. He is incredibly nice to the actual few students who come for help from him as a TA, from what Jake heard, and he's got a good few girls crushing on him, some of which are pretty popular in the uni circles.

Despite that, he doesn't seem to have any friends. Jake doesn't see him at parties, or going outs, or study groups, or even of some midshipmen-organized extra trainings. It's like he's keeping everyone at arm's length.

Finally, he has an occasion to start something with Bradley when he goes downstairs to the mail room. Technically sorting the mail and putting it in the right boxes outside of the mail room is the porter's room but the porter seems to be there maybe four hours a week so usually they just break into the room and look for their own shit in the mess.

He goes downstairs and Bradley is sitting on the floor with a list of the students in the building and a stamp with red RETURN TO SENDER, sorting through piles and piles of mail.

"I didn't think it was part of your job."

"It's not," Bradley answers. "Someone has to do it, might as well be me. Seresin, right?"

Jake doesn't squeal but oh god, Bradley knows his name. "Yeah."

"Your parcel is in the ready pile," he says, pointing his thumb parcels near the door.

"You want some help?"

"You've got nothing better to do on a Friday night?"

He could've asked the same question. "I have three assignments I need to procrastinate on."

Bradley gives him a long look but finally says, "Fair enough."

They stay in silence and Jake doesn't know how to start a conversation. Bradley seems focused and aloof and just, once again, so unavailable.

The opportunity arises when he is going over the stack of parcels in the corner of the mail room.

"Your name is Bradshaw, right?"

"Yeah."

"Those are for you."

"They're not."

"I mean, there's no room number but it does say Bradley Bradshaw."

Bradley is quiet for a minute but gets up from where he's been sitting on the floor and slowly walks to stand next to where the boxes are stacked on itself.

Without hesitation, he stamps both of them with RETURN TO SENDER.

"You aren't even going to check what's inside?"

He gets quiet again, looking at the stamp on top of the parcel far longer than needed, before he says, "I don't have any family left, whoever sent it isn't anyone I'd like to get anything from."

Jake bites down apologies — Bradley doesn't seem to be the type to need pity.

"It can't be returned to the post," Jake points out. "No return address."

Bradley sighs and takes out a pen from his pocket, leaning over the boxes.

He doesn't mean to snoop but he catches Bradley writing P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky in the addressee line and San Diego a couple lines lower. So obviously Bradley knew who it was from.

Some things change after that evening — Bradley answers his hi when they see each other at training or waves back when Jake sees him in the lecture hall or brings his mail straight to Jake's room and chats with him for a few minutes at his door.

But most things don't change — he still refuses to join any going outs, even if it's Jake asking him, still doesn't talk much to anyone, still refuses simple invitations to grab lunch together in the cafeteria or go to a movie later that week. Still seems to be using a Don't have time or If you don't need me, I'm going as frequent excuses. Still seems to be entirely unavailable to anyone who wants to catch him outside of his strictly obligatory settings.

He's talking about this with his mom, using the phone booth outside of their dorms, because he's never had trouble making friends with anyone (even if he admits he could make more than friends, with Bradley, eventually, maybe, wishful thinking aside) and his mom tells him, "He sounds really busy, baby, he probably doesn't have time for friends."

"How can you have no time for friends? It's college."

"Jakey, he isn't like you, he doesn't have any support from his family, he's probably struggling to stay afloat with the scholarships requirements and the college job and studying and military training on top of it."

"So what? There's no way to—be friends with him?"

"I think you'll have to fit into the free time in his schedule, baby. because that's the only kind he has."

It takes some time but he does realize that Bradley's time is truly limited. His days are packed tight, on top of what Jake already knew — the TA job, the RA job, the baseball scholarship and the NROTC training — he also works in the local garage one day a week. He literally has a few hours he can actually spend with someone during the day and Jake slowly tries to use them up.

Brings him coffee for the early morning walk-in tutoring he hosts at college, eats lunch with him when they have a training break, even as Bradley does his assigned reading and only half-pays attention to him, comes downstairs to the mail room every evening Bradley sorts through it, brings him cupcakes from the cafeteria on the lunch break between lectures, even though Bradley spends it alone in the professor's office, making lesson plans or marking papers. Visits him in the garage he works at and keeps on constant chatter as Bradley gets covered in black oil and stinks like fuel.

Slowly, he can see Bradley smiling when he sees Jake. Can see Bradley sharing his homemade divine lasagna and chicken soup made from scratch with Jake. Can see Bradley joining him in the gym, not just staying on the outside of the group. Can see Bradley chatting back as he continues to do what he's doing, no longer just letting Jake run his mouth.

There's a bit of a hiccup when Jake offers Bradley to join him on Christmas break in Texas — tells him they can drive if Bradley doesn't want to pay for plane tickets they can make a road trip of the thing and all. Only another call to his mom makes him aware that Bradley probably can't afford either and, as his mom doesn't hold back and points out Bradley won't react well if he offers to pay for it.

So instead, Jake stays for most of the Christmas break in the halls. Apparently, Bradley is organizing a small Chrismas dinner for anyone from the halls who is staying over (a total of seven people), so things get a bit busy — the spare time Bradley has is, well, spare. When he finally has the time, he is working in the garage or finishing his assignments — Jake sometimes forgets, with all the things Bradley does to stay afloat, that he's actually still a student — so he mostly trails behind him and chatters when he thinks it won't annoy Bradley too much.

Bradley offers to drive him to the airport. It's the first time he's offered to take a good chunk of his time and make it free by rescheduling things, just for Jake.

He even parks at the airport and walks him all the way to the security check line, not just leaves Jake in the drop-and-go area.

Jake gives him a small Christmas gift — a key chain with A4 Skyhawk he bought when he visited the aviation museum in Horsham with some of the other midshipmen. They both want to go into the aviation pipeline once graduated so it seems like something Bradley could like, even if it's a bit silly.

He wasn't sure, if Bradley would actually take it — he's been reluctant to take many things, every single lunch or coffee Jake got him had to be either repaid or covered by Bradley the next day.

But Bradley hugs him. Puts the key chain on his car keys ring.

When Jake comes back, he's expecting progress because, you know, Bradley's been warming up to him. Instead, Bradley seems to be dead on his feet, getting annoyed quicker than usually, going as far as telling Jake to 'keep quiet for a goddamn minute'. It all kind of becomes clear when he is car pooling with the guys for the NORTC training and sees Bradley, honest to god jogging the three miles from the halls to the training site, military backpack with his uniform and gear towering over his shoulder — it's five in the morning.

"You doing a new training regime or something? Running everywhere instead of driving like a normal human being?"

He doesn't look at Jake as he says, "The Bronco broke down."

"I mean, that car is older than you," Jake points out, trying to tiptoe around the issue and get Bradley to admit what the exact problem is — he never does, if you ask directly, Jake knows by now. It's like asking for help isn't in his nature.

"It's not safe to drive," he explains. "I can't brake in time anymore, the brakes are about to give out completely."

"Can't you fix it?"

"I need a new drum brake master cylinder," he says. When Jake stares at him, he adds, "It's gonna cost around two hundred bucks, which I don't have."

"I could lend you the money," he offers.

"I don't want your money," Bradley says, just like he thought he'd — taking any offered help from anyone isn't in his nature either.

So Jake tries to work around it — asks his dad and his uncles if there's anyone they know who could maybe give him the right master cylinder for free or at a very discounted price. When they finally find a guy who has a collection of spare parts for the early Broncos but no Broncos anymore and is willing to send the cylinder as long as someone pays for the postage, he writes down his number and promises his friend Bradley is going to call soon about that.

And thank the fucking god, Bradley accepts this kind of backhanded help.

Bradley fixes the Bronco on the hall's parking lot. He jogs from the garage with a borrowed jack lift strapped to his back, pops the car on it and the other one he already has in the trunk so the wheels are up, pops the tires off and pops the front mask up and gets his white tank and plaid shirt covered in grime. It's already dark by the time he takes the jacks away and sits behind the wheel.

Jake's spent the whole time uselessly chattering to him as he always does — he has absolutely no idea about cars — but he lets himself be waved into the passenger seat.

Bradley drives out of the parking lot, down the empty road to the campus and brakes so hard Jake has to hold himself up against the dashboard.

"Better than new," Bradley says and Jake's never seen him grinding as widely and as honestly as he is now.

He is sweaty and covered in oil and stinking a bit, but his curls are flopping on his forehead and the ratty mustache he's been growing lately is out of order and he's looking at Jake with those big brown cow eyes — he just can't not kiss him.

So he leans over the console and kisses the smile on his face.

The leap of faith pays of because Bradley keeps on kissing him — he pulls the hand brake on and lets both his hands settle on Jake's waist and things continue until Jake is being guided onto the backseat over the console and being kisses again and again, and Bradley's hands go lower and lower.

They get each other off and then go back to the halls. They don't talk about it but now any time they're alone — in the lecture hall, in the mail room, in Jake's or Bradley's room — he can just lean in and kiss him as much as he wants to and still get the brightest of smiles as a reward.

They're back in the mail room and maybe Jake's just spent twenty minutes trying to crawl up Bradley's lap (to no avail) when he notices — Bradley got another package, this time PLEASE AT LEAST LOOK THROUGH THE THINGS BEFORE SENDING IT BACK written in bold marker on top.

Bradley curtly tells him to just stamp it with RETURN TO SENDER. But he can't help himself — he gets his keys out and cuts through the tape on top, opening the giant box.

"Jake—"

He takes out the first thing that's on top of the pile inside — a stuffed goose the size of over half of Jake's torso. It's a bit grayed up and smells like dust but it's also so cute.

"That yours?"

Bradley gets up from where he's sitting so quick — a second and he's next to Jake, taking the plushie out of his hands. "Ducky—"

"Ducky? That's a goose, isn't it?"

Bradley is honest to god red in the face but doesn't let go of the goose, bringing it closer to his chest and it's freaking adorable. "I was two, I couldn't tell the difference."

"So," Jake says, feeling like he's defusing a bomb. "You still wanna send it back?"

"I—I don't know."

"Maybe—Maybe I could help with that," he offers. "If I know the details, or at least some of them."

It takes him a minute but when Bradley finally starts talking, everything just spills out of him. He tells Jake about his dad, and about his mom, and then about his other dad and pops. He doesn't get too into details but they come around back to his last year in high school and how his dad pilled his papers and they haven't talked since Bradley found out and left the house with a bag and his car and nothing else.

Jake says, "That's just stupid."

The second it leaves his mouth, he knows he's said the wrong thing even if it was honest — he can see in real-time as Bradley rolls back into himself, closing off in less than a minute and suddenly there's so much distance between them.

He angrily writes down the same P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky and San Diego address on top and chucks the goose plushie back inside.

"I guess I'm stupid then," he says quietly and a blink and he's out of the mail room. He's not answering when Jake knocks on his room door.

Jake doesn't have the heart to actually let that package go back to P.Mitchell & T.Kazansky, or Bradley's dad and pops. So he brings it into his room upstairs.

He doesn't mean to go over the things inside, not too much, but he thought he could at least grab the goose — Ducky — and give it a wash. When he reaches inside, there's a goddamn plushie of a Spitfire in there, its tag saying RAF Museum, London, and Jake can't help looking for more.

There are photos and polaroids, three people commonly on all of them with a baby Bradley. Old Hawaiian shirts, a leather jacket, knots of seashell jewelry, a few rolled-up posters, a whole notebook with handwritten recipes, birthday cards.

He doesn't look any further but instead takes the return address from the box and writes up a postcard to P.Mitchell & T. Kazansky saying he'll force Bradley to keep it all.

Problem is, Bradley isn't talking to him, no matter how hard he tries. He thought he'd be like that for a few weeks at the most and then forget but he's worse than he was before he and Jake met in the mail room for the first time — doesn't even say a word to him when Jake tries to start a conversation, he's gone so far as to change his complicated schedule completely so Jake can't see him outside of NROTC and his TA role.

He calls his mom again.

"Jakey, honey," his mom says, with a tone that suggests he's an idiot. "That boy bared his soul to you and you said his feelings were stupid."

#not finishing it sorry #they get back together and Jake forces him to talk to Mav and Ice after all but it takes like two years #(also he doesn't realize that T.Kazansky is the four star admiral Kazansky until he actually meets them on Thanksgiving)#this should be a 60k slow burn fic but i don't have enough energy #or time #sorry #i hated uni and i might be going back to it so im having the feelsTM #hangster #fic ideas #op #charlie writes

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hongcherry · 2 years

Text

By Your Side || cs

"The quiet guy who lives next door to you hardly seems to notice you, but you can't help but notice him—he's gorgeous. You've given up all hope of striking up a conversation until he comes to your rescue one night after your ex shows up at your house, drunk and looking to take you back, whether you want him or not." - Prompt

🩹 Pair: San x Reader(f)

🩹 Rating/Genre: NC-17; Fluff, slight comfort, slice of life, neighbor au, strangers to lovers

🩹 Word Count: 6.4k

🩹 Warnings: Minor injury (cuts/scrapes), small amount of blood, intoxication/drunk character, insinuating cheating, cursing

🩹 Author’s Note: This is my first non-BTS fic, so I’m nervous! Ateez has really stolen my heart. They’re now one of my ult groups, so expect to see more of them on my blog heh. I’m excited to start writing for them. I have more Ateez fic ideas in mind that I’m looking forward to writing in the future! As always, I hope you enjoy it.

ateez masterlist | main masterlist

The slope of his nose was perfectly leveled. His hair was straight and parted in the middle to expose some of his forehead. His lips rested in a slight pout; his brows furrowed as he struggled to slide his key correctly into the keyhole of his mailbox. You would have offered to lend him a hand, but he soon got the key in successfully. The view of his face was covered by the mailbox’s door.

You should have torn your gaze from his profile. If he caught you staring, it would be too awkward to extract yourself from the situation. You would stumble over your words as you tried to formulate an excuse. However, he was like a magnet. Your eyes stayed glued to him, scanning what little you could see now. Perhaps it was the fact his hair color had suddenly changed from a bright pink to a dark black. Although you enjoyed his magenta hair, the black hair made him more alluring. While the obvious change in his appearance caught your attention, you couldn’t deny that another reason why you were so fascinated with the man was that he was extremely handsome. From his soft eyes to his sharp jawline; it was difficult to ignore him.

San has been your neighbor for almost a year now. Recalling his move-in day brought a smile to your face. Not just because he was your gorgeous new neighbor, but because his friends came and helped him move his furniture and boxes. You were leaving your apartment to run a grocery errand and had stumbled upon yelling whispers. His friends were trying to stay quiet amongst their chaos, but it was clear whispering was not their forte. Although you didn’t stay for long, you had gathered they were arguing about how to get your neighbor’s couch through his door. Through the havoc, you had caught your new neighbor rolling his eyes with a smile on his face as he carried a box inside behind them. They were finished by the time you had come back from your grocery shopping. And even though you didn’t see your neighbor and his friends, you could faintly hear them through the door. Usually, the noise would slowly boil your blood, but it was hard to get irritated by the contagious laughing next door.

A soft click and the rattling of keys tore you from your memories. Much to your horror, you were still staring at your neighbor. You ripped your gaze to your own open mailbox and hastily grabbed what little mail you had to distract yourself. However, your stare didn’t go unnoticed as you swore you saw his lips curl into a small smile before he left without a word.

Your shoulders sagged when he was out of your vision, eyes dropping down to the two envelopes in your hand. You had never been the greatest with keeping up with checking your mail, but after your neighbor made himself a home next door, getting your mail was the highlight of your days. It became an excuse to get a glimpse of the eye candy living adjacent to you.

Eventually, you would grow out of this strange attraction you had for your neighbor. At least you hoped you would. You had realized trying to start a conversation was harder than you imagined. It wasn’t because he gave you the cold shoulder, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to say something to him. Every time you had built up the courage, your throat would close up and prevent any words from escaping. You wouldn’t be surprised if he thought you were a creep at this point. He never struck a conversation either. Maybe you had already scared him away.

The thought had a sigh leave your lips. You didn’t want to do that.

You shut your mailbox and twisted the key, locking it. You stared at the small, metal door. Today will be the last day for a while, you told the inanimate object. You were going to give your neighbor some space.

It was time to let go of the silly crush you had formed. It wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Choi San was a quiet man.

He kept to himself and was never the cause for any ruckus that occurred in your apartment complex. Well, he may have been if he was with his friends, but never alone was he any trouble. He was an enigma, and you couldn’t help but feel more drawn to him because of it. You wanted to know him for more than a pretty face.

Five weeks passed when you didn’t check your mailbox every other day. You had been accustomed to visiting your mailbox frequently, so it felt strange not to. Any time you had seen San, it was simply through passing. He would be leaving his apartment while you were entering yours or vice versa. You kept your gaze averted, forcing yourself to resist the urge to steal a glance. It wasn’t easy. Though, getting rid of any addiction was always difficult. No matter how weird it sounded, you had come to terms you were addicted to San. At least, you were addicted to the attraction you felt when you spotted him. You shouldn’t have been so down the first time you skipped going to your mailbox. Whatever trance you were lulled under in his presence was too strong to ignore.

You shook your head to yourself when you realized your thoughts were drifting to the man next door. Again. Goodness, you were hopeless.

You snatched your phone from the counter and strolled to your TV. You sunk into the cushions, pulling the blanket that was slung over the couch’s arm over your body. Despite it being the weekend, you had no plans on going out.

Last weekend was a friend’s birthday, and you were still trying to regain the energy you had expelled. The nights were fun, but you needed a few weeks to recuperate.

Twenty minutes passed before knocks at your door startled you. A quick glance at your phone’s clock informed you it was half-past eleven.

You were going to ignore the knocks as it was late, but the sounds persisted.

Sighing, you pushed off your blanket and shuffled to the door. You quietly glanced through the peephole and cursed inwardly when you saw who it was.

Normally, you would turn away from the door, but a part of you was worried about why your ex-boyfriend was knocking at your door so late. The relationship ended a little rocky, but you didn’t hate him. You hadn’t talked to him since and avoided his friends in case you would accidentally run into him. Because you didn’t dislike him enough to feed him to the wolves, you opened your door.

Hyunwoo’s eyes widen at the sound of your door opening.

“Oh, I’m sh-o glad you a-answered,” he sighed in relief, hand leaning against the frame of your door. Most of his weight was on that hand. You were sure if you moved it, he would lose his balance.

There was something off with him.

“Are you okay?” you questioned moving your hands slightly in front of you in case he was to fall.

“Peachy,” he answered. He tilted his head as his eyes took in your night attire. The long shirt and short shorts weren’t anything designer, but it had Hyunwoo smiling.

“You not occupied, are you? ‘M just wanna shee you. Was ‘bout’a go home, but Kwan dropped’e off here. I don’t remember telling ‘im that though,” Hyuneoo rambled, his other hand waving aimlessly as he spoke. His gaze dropped as his brows furrowed at his last sentence. He looked confused suddenly.

The more he spoke, the more you realized he was intoxicated. If it weren’t for his slurring, you would know from the smell of alcohol coming from his mouth.

It was late and you did not wish to spend your weekend taking care of your drunk ex.

You glanced behind him to see if his friend had come along too—hopefully sober. Unfortunately, all you saw was empty space.

“Where’s Kwan?” you wondered. Please say waiting in the car.

“Gone. Sh-aid ‘m betta’ off here.” Hyunwoo looked up at you again, face no longer scrunched with confusion.

“Is he coming back?”

Hyunwoo shrugged and looked down when he heard something drop. Following his gaze, you saw his phone on the floor. Before you could pick it up for him, he moved the arm resting against the door frame to grab it.

“Wait-” you tried to stop him.

“’S’kay,” he mumbled as he reached down. Barely a second later, he was losing his balance.

Your hands reached out to grab his shoulders, but his knees had already hit the floor.

“Owww,” he whined loudly, making you do a quick glance at the other doors around you. Great. Someone’s going to hear that.

“Is Kwan sober? I’ll call him and have him pick you back up.” You grabbed his phone and stuffed it in your pocket then pulled Hyunwoo up from the floor. You helped him lean against the wall outside your door.

“N-no!” Hyunwoo exclaimed and reached a hand to stop your movements. Your eyes widen at his fast reaction. “Not leaving ‘til you talk to me. Want’o talk.”

His head leaned back, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed harshly. His hand still gripped your wrist. Despite your wishes, it appeared you would have to babysit him until you could figure out what to do.

“Why ‘ou look sh-ad?” Hyunwoo pouted. The hand on your wrist slowly moved up to your face. You grabbed his hand and stopped it from caressing your face. You moved it back to his side. “Always hated sh-eeing you sh-ad.”

You ignored his words.

“Let’s get you inside while I call a ride for you,” you suggested and started to slowly move to your door. Your phone was inside, and you didn’t want to leave him outside alone. You could drive him back to his home, but you didn’t want to be responsible for him any longer than you had to. You weren’t sure why Kwan would leave him here like this, but you weren’t happy with that knowledge.

Forgetting he was unstable, Hyunwoo hastily pushed off the wall to stop you from going inside. Although you didn’t understand what he was fearful of, you guessed it was because he wanted to stop you from calling someone.

“Hyunw-” you gasped as you felt him grip your waist firmly and begin to stumble.

Unlike before, he fell with you in his hold.

You staggered to the floor.

“Shit,” you hissed as you felt the heel of your palms burn from scraping the concrete floor. There was also an aching pain in your ass from falling backward on the hard ground.

Suddenly, the sound of a door clicking open stole your attention from the stinging in your hands.

Standing with a startled expression was your handsome neighbor. His hair was wavy and fluffy, making you want to ruffle his locks. He wore black sweatpants with white stripes down the sides and a grey muscle tee. You wondered how such a cute face could be on a body like that. The contrast was eye-catching.

After four weeks of barely seeing him, you wanted to stay seated on the floor with your eyes glued to his. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you didn’t have the chance because Hyunwoo’s voice brought you back to your situation.

“Don’t worry,” Hyunwoo reassured your neighbor, hand waving him off as he tried to stand up. “Jus’a’lil accsh-ident.”

San’s expression soon turned into concern as his eyes darted from Hyunwoo to you. He quickly moved forward and held out his hand.

“Are you hurt?” he asked as he waited for you to accept. His voice was tender like the gaze he had cast toward you.

Even though now was your chance to feel his skin upon yours, part of you didn’t want to. You were too embarrassed at having been caught on the floor with your drunk ex somewhere behind you. You couldn’t even entertain your lingering crush on him at the moment.

Because you didn’t want to make the situation any worse, you took his hand anyway and allowed him to pull you up. His hand was large around yours and cool to the touch. You muttered a thank you as he lifted you. He was stronger than you imagined, and you accidentally stumbled from the strength he used to help you stand.

His hands rested on your shoulders to steady you while yours came to rest on his biceps. A slight blush bloomed on your cheeks at the feel of his bare skin, and you quickly retracted your hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly then glanced behind you, not bothered with you having touched him.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m okay-”

Abruptly, San quickly held out a hand and grabbed Hyunwoo, stopping him from falling on you again and dragging you all to the floor. San’s other hand still rested on your shoulder.

He looked at you after studying Hyunwoo for a moment. “Can you walk?”

Once you nodded, San moved the hand that was on you to grab Hyunwoo. He could hold him up better.

“Did you want him in your home, or should I rest him against the wall?” San questioned, quickly assessing Hyunwoo’s state. Although you both have never spoken to each other, the only form of exchange were head nods, you had heard his voice on occasions. Sometimes while he was on the phone or if his friends came over. Nevertheless, his voice was as smooth as you remembered. You would have indulged in the way it comforted you if it weren’t for this particular situation.

“’M can walk!” Hyunwoo scoffed and attempted to push San’s hands from him. “Yn, tell ‘im to let me go.”

“Follow me,” you quickly said and ignored your ex’s whining. You didn’t want another neighbor to see what was happening. You stepped inside your apartment again, holding the door open as San helped Hyunwoo stagger in. You gestured to the couch then shut the door.

“Whatcha’ doing, man? I sh-aid ‘m can walk!”

San disregarded Hyunwoo’s pleads as he guided him to your couch. He eased your ex down on your couch, having to quickly push him back onto the cushions when Hyunwoo tried to stand again.

“You’ll be fine. Just sit for a while,” San said calmly to Hyunwoo, yet there was a firmness to it that made it sound more like a command than a light suggestion.

Hyunwoo huffed in his face but stayed seated finally.

“Yn,” Hyunwoo called. “He ca’eave now.” He gestured to San who was hovering near the couch in case Hyunwoo decided to kiss the floor again.

You glanced at San, wanting to tell him you were okay now, but part of you didn’t want him to go. Whether it be because you needed his strength if Hyunwoo were to fall again or if you simply wanted to be in his presence without standing near your mailbox.

As if San could sense your hesitancy, he offered, “I can stay if you want. I don’t mind.”

“But I do!” Hyunwoo protested.

“That’d be nice,” you sighed, a headache forming.

“It’s not ‘ike you’o ignore me,” Hyunwoo interjected; his body sagged against the cushions as if feeling defeated.

“May you give us a moment? Sorry. You can sit over there,” you asked San and pointed at your dining room across the room.

“Of course,” he answered politely and took a seat at your dining table. He pulled out his phone and averted his attention from you. You figured he did that more so out of courtesy than boredom.

You moved closer to the couch to grab your phone.

“Why did Kwan leave you here?” you asked Hyunwoo. One of his hands reached up to grab your forearm. He stared at you with half-lidded eyes, lips tugged down in a frown.

“Something ‘bout me bein’ annoying. Sh-aid I needed to talk’o you.” He tugged, rougher than you believed he meant to, but it caused you to fall next to him on the couch. For some reason, your eyes quickly glanced at San, but he was still looking at his phone screen.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “What did you want to talk about?”

As you waited for his answer, you scrolled through your contacts to find Kwan.

“Us-h,” Hyunwoo said and gently rubbed your forearm. When he noticed your attention was heavily directed to your phone instead of him, he placed a hand on yours that was holding the device.

You finally glanced in his direction.

“Maybe we should talk about it another time,” you lied and tried to keep your voice low. Even though it was probably best to talk about that topic when he was sober, you didn’t want to talk about it at all. You felt the conversation would be redundant as you’ve already talked things through. At least, that’s how you felt.

“Pfft,” he scoffed and pushed himself farther into your cushions. Maybe he thought he could embed himself in your furniture so he couldn’t leave. “You’re ignorin’eh too much for me’o believe that.”

“Hyunwoo,” you sighed and gently removed his hand from yours. “It’s been a year already. I thought you moved on.”

As discreetly as you could, you began searching through your contacts. When you found Kwan’s name, you sent a quick text telling him to pick Hyunwoo up if he was sober.

“A year?” Hyunwoo wondered. The look on his face showed he didn’t realize how long it’s been. You barely have seen Hyunwoo after the breakup–could count the number of interactions you had with him on your hands. Sometimes it was at a shared friend’s event or through passing at local stores since you both lived in the same city. Regardless, it was never more than 15 minutes at a time.

Hyunwoo’s shoulders sagged, eyes squeezing shut as if to erase that thought from his mind. “Right,” he mumbled more to himself.

A vibration in your hand turned your gaze away from your ex. Luckily, Kwan was fine to come back. A silent sigh left your lips as you felt relieved that you wouldn’t have to drive him home.

“Get some rest, okay?” you said. You wanted to say you’d talk about it later, but you knew you didn’t want to, so you refrained from the offer.

Hyunwoo’s energy must have decreased exceptionally. He simply nodded and let his head fall back. Gently, you adjusted him so he was laying down. You waited for a few minutes in case he woke up and became needy again. When he didn’t, you carefully got up, placed his phone next to him, and went to where San was seated.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with this, but thank you for helping,” you said as you sat down across from him.

San tucked his phone into his pocket and sent you a reassuring smile. Your eyes flickered to his small dimples. You never saw them too much, but they always had your heart warm in your chest. They made him look much cuter.

“You don't need to apologize,” San assured. “I’m sorry you had to get stuck with your drunk friend.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, but why should you? It didn’t matter if San thought he was your friend or your ex. The details were irrelevant.

Instead, you said, “I’m still grateful you helped me.”

“‘Course,” he murmured.

His gaze moved to your clasped hands on the table. You started to feel conscious of them under his stare and began to tuck them beneath the table. However, San was quick to stop the movement.

He slowly turned your hands over, palms up. You looked at him confused.

“You should clean this,” he instructed kindly and traced a small area on your hands.

You averted your gaze down quickly.

On both palms were red areas with scratch marks. The areas weren’t big, but you could still see the worry in San’s eyes.

The warmth in your chest spread at the fact he cared about your wellbeing even though he didn’t really know you and the injuries weren’t major.

“Come,” he said and carefully rose from his chair. The layout of the apartment must be similar to his because he navigated to the kitchen sink with ease. That or he saw it when he sat at the table.

Silently, he turned on the facet, checking the temperature several times as the seconds passed. You watched with more attention required. You had never imagined the neighbor you’ve been smitten with would be in your apartment. Let alone helping you clean a wound.

You took the time to stare at his profile while his focus was on the running water. He had small stud earrings and his skin was light honey. His hair fell in front of his face, the wavy locks concealing his eyes. You were partly glad for that so he couldn’t see you staring…again.

Once San was satisfied, he hastily washed his hands and then held out a hand. You quickly placed a hand in his. Probably a little too fast, but you didn’t want to be caught distracted.

He led your hand under the water. His movements were gentle as he cleaned your scrapes. For someone who was physically strong, he knew when to be tender. After he cleaned both hands, he dried them off with a clean towel you had handed him.

“Do you have band-aids?” he asked while drying your hands.

“I’ll be fine,” you brushed off his question. Not because you didn’t have any, but because you already felt he did enough. You didn’t want him to think you were totally useless.

San chuckled lowly and peered at your face through his hair. You had the urge to move his hair to see him clearly but resisted.

“I know,” he said, “but just let me play doctor for a few more minutes.”

His teasing tone caught you off guard and you lowered your head to hide the small smile forming on your lips.

“I-I’ll go get them then,” you replied and left to retrieve them before he could stop you. You could hear the faint sound of his laughter as you moved to your bathroom.

You wished you weren’t so nervous being in his presence but after months of admiring from afar, you couldn’t stop fumbling over your words and thoughts.

When you came back, San was leaning against the kitchen counter, hands resting behind him on the countertop. The position had his shirt stretch slightly across his torso. While he had broad shoulders, his waist tapered to give him an attractive figure. His gaze was on your ex sleeping on your couch. You couldn’t read his expression and part of you wondered what he was thinking.

“Band-aids, Dr. Choi,” you announced and held out the box.

San turned his head to you, a smile forming on his lips at your joke. He stood up straighter at the title and took the box from your hold.

“Thank you, Ms. Yn,” he played along. He pulled out some band-aids, picked the correct sizes, then started to open them.

“Now I’m not sure if you’re my patient or my assistant. I don’t think it’s appropriate for doctors to ask their patients to bring them items.”

You giggled at his dilemma and held out your hands when he gestured for them.

“I can be whatever you want me to be,” you teased, not taking the time to consider the multiple meanings that one sentence held.

Your response had San faltering in his movements, thumbs paused as he was in the middle of pressing the ends of the band-aid flat against your skin.

“I-I meant that I didn’t care if I was a patient or an a-”

You stuttered as you tried to explain yourself; however luckily for you, loud knocking interrupted you.

The booming sounds of the knocks startled San and he quickly jumped away from you, letting the second band-aid flutter to the floor and a small yelp escaped his mouth. You bit your lower lip to stop smiling at his reaction. You hadn’t even considered that San might be easily scared. Before you could go down the rabbit hole of thinking of his other traits, another knock emitted.

There was a groan near the couch, and you realized the knocking must be Kwan.

You quickly went to the door and swung it open, not bothering to look through the peephole.

“Long time no see,” Kwan said with a smile that didn’t seem genuine. You had met him through Hyunwoo and while he liked you initially, he started to dislike you after your and Hyunwoo’s breakup.

“Hey,” you greeted. “He’s on the couch sleeping. I can help move him to the car.”

You stepped aside to let him in. As you were about to guide him to where Hyunwoo was, he stopped you.

“What did he tell you?”

“What?” you questioned as you shut the door.

“Do you know why I left him here?” Kwan asked, not bothering to explain himself. His voice was pretty hushed. Maybe he didn’t want to wake Hyunwoo.

“Something about him being annoying,” you recalled.

Kwan scoffed. “That, but also because he’s been so pathetic lately. All he talks about is you and how you broke his heart.”

You gave him a confused expression; you didn’t like where this was going.

“The breakup was mutual. How could I br-”eak his heart? You stopped yourself from asking because there was no point. You knew Kwan would just formulate a reason that would make you feel guilty. Although you didn’t want to hurt Hyunwoo, you both ended the relationship in agreement. You were simply going in different directions in life.

“Look,” you sighed. “He isn’t my responsibility, and he needs to move on. We’re not getting back together.”

You stood your ground even when Kwan sent a cold glare in your direction.

“Even if we did, you think I would be happy? You think me being unhappy would make Hyunwoo happy?” you tried to explain.

“You could be happy if you just-”

“No,” you stopped him with a raised hand. “I’ve moved on. Hyunwoo is a good guy-” Kwan scoffed. “-But I don’t see a future with him.”

“You’re so-!”

“Kwan?”

Both you and Kwan moved further into the apartment at his name being called. Hyunwoo sat up on the couch and began to stand. For once you were grateful for Hyunwoo. You didn’t want to hear the rest of Kwan’s sentence; it was most likely filled with profanities.

“Hey, buddy.” Kwan moved to help Hyunwoo stand. “You ready to go?”

Hyunwoo hummed and then looked at you.

“Call me later, ‘kay?” He spoke slowly, voice a little groggy.

You stilled at the question. You would call if he wasn’t going to try to convince you to get back together, but every conversation after the breakup consisted of him dropping hints of wanting to be with you again.

You must have stayed silent for too long because Hyunwoo exhaled a defeated sigh. Kwan sent you another scowl, threatening with his gaze to say yes.

“It’s fine. Never mind,” Hyunwoo said and waved his hand as if to push away the question that was hanging in the air.

“Why can’t you just talk to him like an adult, Yn?” Kwan interrupted rudely.

“It’s fine, Kwan,” Hyunwoo repeated. “‘M not gonna’ force-”

“No, Hyun, you deserve a simple talk with her.” Kwan directed his attention to you again. “It’s the least she can do.”

You stared at him incredulously. He’s acting as if you cheated on Hyunwoo with ten guys, but you didn’t do such a thing. Why would Hyunwoo agree to break up if he really didn’t want to?

“There’s nothing else to say,” you argued.

“Evidently that’s a lie because Hyunwoo’s been moping-”

“How is that my fault?” you snapped.

“Are you serious, Yn?!” Kwan exclaimed.

“If she doesn’t want to call, then she doesn’t want to call.”

The new voice had all three of you turning toward the kitchen. You had forgotten San was still here in the midst of your personal chaos. San’s once calm demeanor turned fierce. You had never seen this side of San, but you had a suspicion he was holding back on saying more.

Kwan let out a dry laugh.

“Ah, I see,” he said and shook his head. “When did you find him? A day before you broke up with Hyun?”

San clenched his jaw, body tensed as he forced himself to stay put when all he wanted to do was kick him out. Maybe not with force... Unless he had to. He saw himself as a lover, not a fighter, but that didn't matter if you were in danger.

It was clear Kwan had made a false persona of you. You were sure he believed you had done something sinister to Hyunwoo that led to the breakup. Though, it also made you realize that Hyunwoo let him believe that. Did he even try to save your face?

“I think it’s time for you to go. Thanks for picking him up,” you said and disregarded Kwan’s gibe. You didn't need, nor want, to listen to him anymore.

You moved toward the door, but Hyunwoo and Kwan didn’t follow.

“Will you call him?” Kwan asked sternly. He wasn’t going to leave unless you agreed.

Exasperated, you opened your mouth to say fine, but San cut you off.

“It’s clear she has nothing more to say. Drop it and leave.”

“The question wasn’t directed to you, pretty boy,” Kwan said, rolling his eyes.

“Yet you’re meddling with issues they need to solve on their own,” San retorted. His eyes were glued to Kwan’s. If San had acted like this when you first saw him, you would have avoided him at all costs. Everyone has their dark side, per se, but San’s was much darker than you had imagined for someone who seemed like a loving cat.

“I have to because Hyun won’t gro-!”

“Let’s just go. M’ head’s killing me, man,” Hyunwoo said, body struggling to stay upright any longer. Although he wasn’t completely sober, the nap at least knocked some sense in him.

Kwan pressed his lips together but began to walk toward the door. You held the door open and watched as they made their way to the exit.

As they passed you, Hyunwoo tripped. You reached out to grab him, but Kwan held a hand to stop yours. The quick action had startled you and you pulled back. You could hear San’s hurried footsteps as he came closer. You weren’t entirely sure why he was suddenly by your side, but you guessed it was in case Kwan tried to do something.

“Don’t touch him,” Kwan snarled at you and led him out the door without your help.

The second they were out the door, you shut and locked it.

You pressed your back against the door and inhaled a deep breath. Your eyes stilled on the ceiling, trying to ease your tense shoulders as the seconds ticked by.

“Do they visit often?” San asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

“No. They haven’t been here in a long time,” you said and glanced down at your feet. Why did Kwan have to stir up unwanted emotions?

“If they come back, you can just call me and I’ll come over,” he said earnestly.

“They won’t harm me. I don’t need to burden you.”

“They are capable of it, though, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You looked up at San, head tilting as you tried to force yourself to be rational. The sentence had butterflies flapping in your stomach that you tried to ignore. He was just being friendly–probably would say that to anyone. Knowing how sweet and protective he seemed to be could confirm that suspicion.

“Thanks,” you muttered. “But I still don-”

“What’s your number?”

You stuttered incoherent words as you tried to grasp his question. In the back of your head, you knew he was asking so you could call him if you needed his help. Though, you couldn’t stop the thought of him asking you this for another reason.

“Should I just give you mine instead?” San chuckled softly when you didn’t answer right away.

“No- I mean sure- No, wait, I can just give you mine.”

San laughed again and pulled his phone out. He navigated his way to his contacts and added a new one.

“Number?” he asked again.

This time, you gave it to him.

“I sent you a text so you have my number. I’m serious; let me know if they come back. You won’t be bothering me. I’ll probably come over if I hear them anyway.”

“Why?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

San gave you a small smile. “Because I can’t let my mail buddy get hurt.”

“W-what?” you gasped and looked at him with wide eyes. San laughed, a corner of his lips quirking up in a smirk. The sound of his laughter had you smiling involuntarily; however, they quickly dipped down when he continued.

“You’re not very discrete,” San said teasingly.

“What would I need to be discreet about?”

“You know, I kept thinking I had food or something on my face,” he started to say, “but then I just realized you simply enjoyed looking at me.”

San grinned wider, eyes turning into crescents as he watched your expression change into horror and embarrassment.

“I’m s-sorry!” you said. You were uncertain what else to say and you sure weren’t going to admit the reason why. The embarrassment you felt now would last a solid six months, even more. You didn’t want to add additional time. However, it seemed San was having fun seeing you flustered.

“Why sorry? Who said I didn’t like it?”

A small yelp left your lips, and you brought your hands to your face to hide your flushed cheeks.

“Why haven’t you been coming to the mailboxes lately? I was getting worried.” Although San’s tone was still light, you could catch the hint of concern.

“I went.” Not entirely a lie because you did go, but very briefly and at times that no one would be there. “Must have missed each other.”

San quirked an eyebrow up in disbelief. “I highly doubt that,” he said and gave you an encouraging smile to tell the truth.

“F-fine!” you huffed and pulled your hands from your face. “I didn’t want to creep you out.”

San stared at you long enough to make you feel awkward. You were about to apologize again when San spoke.

“Why would a pretty girl staring at me creep me out? I found it endearing.”

You were sure your cheeks were already pink. Now, they’re bright red.

“Don’t say that,” you said bashfully.

“Mhm,” he hummed as if in thought and kept a smile on his face. “Very cute indeed.”

His reply made you feel he was talking to himself. You hadn’t prepared for San to say such things. Even when you daydreamed of interactions with him, they never turned out like this.

“Would you be okay with hanging out together sometime? Not just when you’re in need of a knight in– Actually, I guess I would be a doctor in sweats instead of a knight.”

You laughed at his joke, recalling how he had tended to your wounds ever so carefully. The lighthearted tone had eased your nervousness.

“Yeah, I would like that,” you answered with a smile of your own.

San nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” you asked, surprised. You were excited to finally be able to learn more about San, but tomorrow felt too soon. You needed time to mentally prepare.

“About five? I would say earlier, but it’s already so late that I doubt either one of us will want to be up early.”

At the mention of time, you quickly reached for your phone to check. However, you had left it somewhere and from where you stood, you couldn’t see the clock in your kitchen.

“It’s two,” San said.

“O-oh wow. I’m sorry I kept you up.” You didn’t realize how long it’s been–how long you’ve been keeping San from sleeping.

“You apologize a lot, huh?” San observed to which you blushed again. “It’s okay, really. Don’t stress about it. I wanted to stay. So, what do you say? Tomorrow at five?”

“Where will we go?”

San shrugged. “I haven’t thought about that yet. Just wear whatever you feel comfortable in. I’m sure you’ll look b- I’m sure it won’t be anything fancy.”

San’s cheeks turned their own shade of rose as he quickly changed his sentence. Despite not knowing what he was going to say, you felt your heart beat a little quicker with the thought of what he had planned.

I’m sure you’ll look beautiful.

It may not be exact, but you let yourself indulge in what could be a false statement because it made you feel good. His pink cheeks were a good hint that you were probably correct, though.

It felt good to have him finally feel shy. It gave you some confidence.

“Okay then,” you said. “Tomorrow at five.”

San beamed at you. You couldn’t wait to see more of his smile.

“If they ever come back, call me. I don’t care if it’s four in the morning, okay? You have my number.”

“Okay,” you said and reluctantly moved off the door so you could open it.

“You mean it?”

“I do.”

And you did.

Because Choi San was such a caring person you could feel how genuine he was being. You hadn’t wanted to call him at first because you weren’t sure if he was just saying that to be polite. However, you could sense he was being serious with every fiber in his body. Plus, you believed him when he said he would come on his own accord if he heard anyone disturb you.

You slowly opened the door for him and watched as he stepped outside, hands digging into his pocket to retrieve his keys.

Before he stepped into his own apartment, he glanced at you.

“Sleep well, Ms. Yn,” he said sweetly.

You giggled at his reference. Playing along, you replied, “Goodnight, Dr. Choi.”

The warm smile on his handsome face was the last thing you could think of as you fell asleep, eager and anxious for tomorrow.

You weren’t sure where your and San’s relationship was going to go, whether it will be platonic or not. One thing was for sure, though. You wanted Choi San in your life simply because he brought a light you weren’t going to be able to replicate. And that alone was cherishable enough.

ATEEZ COMEBACK LET’S GO!!!!! I’M SO HYPED FOR IT. THESE PROMOTIONS ARE CREATIVE AND INCREDIBLE. I’m extremely amazed by the marketing strategies–unannounced posters, AirDropped codes??? These trailers for their movie comeback? Hello?! Stan Ateez lol. I love that they’re using their storyline to guide their promos. Also, my favorite stage on Kingdom was their Rhythm Ta performance, so I’m very anxious to see what all they’ve been working on. Anyway, I’m just excited to get more into the Ateez community. I need more fellow Atinys in my life! Please be my friend 😫 lol

Thank you for reading! 🧡

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY. Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#san fanfic #san fluff #ateez fanfic #san comfort #ateez fluff #ateez comfort #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez neighbor au #san neighbor au #ateez au #mimikookie writes #q #ateez ff #choi san fanfic

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quinloki · 1 month

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Canon Characters vs OC vs x Reader

Disclaimer: This is just my two cents, and my perspective on things, and I'm not trying to lay down the law for everyone. I needed to just put this to words though, in order to sleep.

I was thinking about this because of a post I saw, and some, we'll say, kind of useless comments associated with the post. Mean-spirited stuff.

Normally, in one ear and out the other, but the vibes just kicked me off down a rabbit hole of sorts an I wanted to try to put some of my thoughts to words.

First, some style vibes:

Canon x Canon Canon/Canon stories are, to me, like reading an episode of that show. I'm sitting down in front of a TV or whatever, and I'm experiencing the story As A Viewer. I like this style because I don't really have to expend much energy and I just kind of roll with whatever's happening. Generally some sort of 3rd person perspective.

OC x canon OC/Canon stories are like being on a carnival ride. I'm sitting in a car on a roller-coaster, and maybe the OC is sitting next me. I'm experiencing the story more deeply than strictly canon stories, but my connection with the OC is no deeper than say, my connection with Katniss Everdeen when I read The Hunger Games. Sometimes 3rd person, sometimes first person.

Reader x canon Reader/Canon (or Reader x/ OC) is like putting on a VR helmet. I don't get much physical input about the "Reader OC" because I'm experiencing the story through their eyes. I don't expect the reader to be me, but there's a bigger feeling of immersion to be had. Some description might happen cause it's relevant to the story, and it's still a type of ride, I can't jump the rails on the roller coaster, after all. (Even with a VN you still follow the tracks). Sometimes first person, sometimes second person (I'm partial to 2nd person perspective, but that's just me).

I love Fan Fiction, I love it. All of it, and man even more than anything, what I love is that I'm going to dislike 80% of it. Because that 80% was written for someone who is not me. (Hell, that number's probably closer to 99% if we're looking at ALL fandoms, but I digress).

Second - The VENT:

What got me the most in the post that prompted this, was someone saying "Bring back the Mary Sue OCs!" and then they went on to describe something more detailed, and I just -

Look, respectfully, fuck you.

The point is, you're not going to be happy no matter what. Whether it's "mary sue" OCs, or x readers, or alternative universes, or a ship you don't like, you're going to find something to be unhappy about.

Cause people have been bitching about all styles of fan fiction since the first "You've Got Mail" chimed in 1991. And until 1998 and ff.net you really had to hunt for it, and until 2007 and Ao3 the idea of tagging a fic for any reason wasn't really a thing. Every click was a surprise! \o/

I just have seen the same song and dance a dozen times. It's exhausting. People become okay with OCs and decide x readers are the enemy, and before that OCs were *all* Mary Sues and cringe and people who made OCs were the enemy, and before OCs people who wrote even a little OOC were the enemy, and people who wrote AUs were the enemy, and you can write fan fic but it HAS to be Canon Compliant, and everyone MUST be in-character at all times - "They would not fucking say that" was the enemy.

Look, just please - please - in any capacity, stop it with the "All X style of story telling is crap" mindset. There's over a dozen different ways to do x readers alone. I know 20 x reader writers and I don't think any of us have the same style, preferences, or vibes.

I've had a lot of comments along the lines of "I thought I hated x readers, but I really loved this." on a few different fics I've written. Sometimes it's not the style of the fic, sometimes it's the style of the writer, and my Brother In Christ - you're going to have to read some awful shit to shuffle through the thousands of writers out there to find the vibes that resonate with you.

Ostracizing entire swathes of fan fic because you need something to be "The Enemy" so you can lift up something else, and then bitching you can't find anything new to read seems like a personal problem.

And I know y'all are scrolling by TONS of posts that don't interest you, every day, as a matter of course. So don't give me that "clogging up the tag" BS, because we deserve to be here same as anyone else in the fandom.

#quin grumbles #I'm so aggravated I don't even really know how to tag this #like almost 30 years of it I'm just so done #I just wonder what amazing stories we're not getting #cause of some fucker using Mary Sue to belittle someone #or someone beating someone else over the head with plot armor because their protag survived something terrible?#How many “Oh.” moments have been missed because someone criticized the very concept of reader insert?#I'm way past my usual bedtime so I'm just rambling at this point #and I am being meaner than I'd like #but JFC #I'm not going to let people's bullshit opinions stop me or anyone else from writing if I can avoid it.#Write what you want #gush about it #talk about it #TELL ME ABOUT IT #IDGAF if it's cringe or overpowered or broken or flawless or an OC or a reader with a name or WHATEVER #If it brings you joy #then do it #and if people are too mean to scroll by it when it's not their thing #and then complain like they're entitled to do so #block 'em.#and tell me who they are so I can block them too #then write more #cause I promise it'll bring someone else joy too

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jessybarnes · 8 months

Text

All Of Me

Fandom: Marvel - Moon Knight

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader / Marc Spector Reader / Moon Knight x Reader / Khonshu x Reader (Platonic)

Rating: 18+ Only!! Minors DNI!!

Tags: Angst, fluff, smut, monsters, injury, blood, crying, guns, fingering (female receiving), light restraint, wall sex, p in v, unprotected sex, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and I think that's it.

Word Count: 3,177

Beta(s): Just Grammarly and me

Written For:

@anyfandomaubingo - O4: Historical AU

@anyfandomangstbingo - I2: "Put. The. Weapon. Down."

@anyfandomdarkbingo - I4: Kindly Restrained

@anyfandomfluffbingo - N4: "This is where I saw you for the first time."

@badthingshappenbingo - O5: "Who did this to you?"

@thebo3bingo - G3: Vulnerability

@mfbingo - O5: Sharing Is Caring

@fandoms-writings - Remi's Neon Milestone Party: See writing prompts I used as a bonus below 🥰

Prompt(s): Used: "You shouldn't be out here by yourself." / "Let me kiss it better." / "What if someone hears us?"

Title Card: Yours Truly

You sigh as you check your phone for probably the thousandth time in the last ten minutes. Today is your one year anniversary with Steven, and you're supposed to be meeting him for a romantic indoor picnic at the museum where you met him. His plan was to let you in after he finished closing up the night.

Except he's late. He's never late.

You pull his contact info up and hit the call button, hoping he'll answer. It rings four times before going to voice-mail and that only makes the gnawing feeling in your gut worsen. His car's still here and it's well past the time his shift ended.

Deciding it's been long enough, you walk up the stairs and try the door. It opens and your brows furrow. It should have been locked from the outside over an hour ago. Slipping quietly inside, you adjust your purse on your shoulder and walk into the main exhibit area.

You've been in here before plenty of times, but the atmosphere is much different at night time. It's dark except for the small lights illuminating each of the exhibits and it casts a dim glow around them, their shadows appearing on the walls. It's almost...eerie.

"Steven?" You call. Your heels click on the tile floor as you glance around the room. "Steven, this isn't funny! You were supposed to meet me an hour ago!"

There's a noise in the distance behind you and you whirl around quickly. Fear creeps up your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

"Steven, if you don't get out here right now I'm leaving!"

"You shouldn't be out here by yourself. It's dangerous."

You jump at the sudden voice behind you and quickly turn to see your boyfriend. Only he isn't smiling that goofy smile you fell in love with, and now that your brain has processed his statement, that's not his voice either.

"Steven? What the fuck is going on? What do you mean it's dangerous?"

He cocks his head and narrows his eyes, "I'm not Steven, and you need to keep your voice down or it might hear you."

You stare up at him, waiting for the part where he tells you he's joking, but it never comes. He's serious and you aren't sure if you're more fed up or scared at this point.

"Fine. If you didn't want to have our date then all you needed to do was say so. I'm not sure what this is," you gesture to him as you start to back away, "but I've had enough. I'm leaving."

You turn and walk back towards the entrance, but as soon as you get back to the lobby a low growl sounds to your right. Slowly turning, you see a monster that reminds you of something from a horror movie.

This can't be happening... this is a dream. You've fallen asleep outside on the museum steps and you're dreaming. There's no other explanation to what you're seeing right now.

Slowly, you begin to back up as it creeps towards you. Its long claws scrape against the floor as it bares its sharp teeth at you. Your back hits the wall and your breathing gets quicker as you realize you've got nowhere to go. You're cornered.

It lunges and you let out a high-pitched scream as you press yourself as far into the wall as you can. It all happens in a matter of seconds. The swish of a cape, the snarling of the beast, and the searing pain of one of its claws slicing your arm.

"Ah! Oh, my god! What the fuck?!"

"Get to the bathroom right now and barricade yourself in. Don't open the door for anyone but me, do you understand?"

You don't even answer him as you bolt for the back of the room. Even though your heels make it difficult to run, you manage to get inside and slam the door shut. Taking a second to catch your breath, you grab the bench and prop it up against the door before backing up against the far wall.

Your arm is cut, your hands are shaking, and you're not sure when you started crying. Carefully, you clean your wound and manage to stop the bleeding. It's then that you notice how quiet it is. There's no sound of a struggle or the deep growls of whatever the fuck that thing was, and you can only pray that it's gone.

The sound of the door handle jiggling startles you, and your heart begins to race again. Reaching into your purse, you pull out your handgun and cock it before pointing it at the door.

"It's me, let me in."

There's that voice again...

Steven doesn't have an American accent. His voice is soft and kind, not rough and deep.

"Yeah, no, I'm good thanks. You can leave and I'll see myself out once you're gone."

You hear him sigh.

"Listen, I know you're scared, but I need to look at your arm."

You're silent as you contemplate your options. He looks like your boyfriend, and he did save you, so maybe you should hear him out.

You keep your gun aimed true as you move the bench back to where it was before stepping back.

"Fine, but don't even think about trying anything funny."

You move back against the far wall again as he opens the door. Your hands shake as you keep your gun pointed at him, your cheeks still wet from crying.

"That's far enough. Don't come any closer!"

He puts his hands up, looking between you and the barrel as he inches towards you.

"There's no need for that, Y/N. The threats gone now. I won't hurt you."

Your heart begins to race faster, "h-how do you know my name?!"

Even though the person standing before you looks like your boyfriend, he's literally the exact opposite of how Steven would act. And now that you've witnessed that terrifying monsters can exist, you're not entirely convinced that this man isn't some form of demon or doppelganger.

He stops, closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again they're those soft, loving eyes you fell in love with just over a year ago.

"Y/N, please...I promise I'll explain, but you need to let Marc look at your arm. I'm so sorry this happened on our anniversary. God, I feel just awful."

The grip on your gun loosens, but you don't lower it, "Steven? Baby, please just talk to me now. What's going on? Who did this to you?"

He gives you a sympathetic look before tensing back up, his eyes squeezing shut. When they open back up, Marc has taken over again, his stare hard and determined.

"Come on, Y/N. Cooperate with me here. I'm not going to hurt you, but I have to look at your arm."

"I-I don't..." Your voice shakes as you try to make everything make logical sense.

"Dammit, would you just listen?! Put. The. Weapon. Down."

The seriousness in his tone makes you wince, but you let the gun fall to the floor anyway. He steps forward, kicking it to the side as he slowly approaches you as if you're a wounded animal.

"I'm going to touch you now."

His words held no sexual intention behind them, so why did they make you squeeze your thighs together?

He's careful as he extends your arm. His calloused fingertips graze your skin as he inspects where the jackal-like creature attacked you. Finally, his eyes gaze into your own, but his hands stay where they are.

"Good. It's not too deep, and the bleeding stopped. It'll scar, but you won't need stitches."

The tension crackles between the two of you like static electricity, the negligent space separating you seeming to get smaller by the second. Any response you had is forgotten as your lips part and your eyes flit down to his mouth.

"Let me kiss it better." His voice is husky as he presses you gently against the wall, one hand still on your injured arm while the other rests on your cheek.

You want him to. God, did you want him to close the distance and kiss you, but the rational part of your brain keeps you grounded. Your tongue comes out to wet your lips anyway though, and the hitch in your voice proves Marc is having an effect on you.

"Marc, I... I'm with Steven..."

"We're one and the same, sweetheart. Though we have different personalities, we share the same body."

He moves himself against you, and you can feel the outline of his cock against your lower belly.

"And not to mention, Steven's had this beautiful body all to himself. Won't you share, baby? I know what you crave," his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, "I know what you need. Let me give it to you, Y/N."

"Let me talk to Steven." Your voice is breathy, and even though Marc has a point, you still wouldn't feel right about it without at least talking to the man you've loved for so long.

Reluctantly, Marc drops his hands to his sides and closes his eyes. When they open again, they look relieved.

"Oh, Y/N! Oh, my sweetheart..."

He wraps his arms around you and pulls you against him, his face buried in the juncture of where your shoulder meets your neck. His accent comforts you like a blanket, but even if it wasn't there, you knew by the softness radiating off of him that this was Steven. Your hands tangled in his hair as he kisses your cheek.

"I'm so glad you're okay. I was so worried something had happened, that the monster or Marc had done something and..."

He stops, noticing your hesitation, and pulls back to look into your eyes, "What is it? He's said something to you, hasn't he?"

You sigh and hold his hands in yours, looking down at them briefly before wetting your lips.

"This is where I saw you for the first time." You thoughtfully recall the day you two first met. Steven's personality and love of ancient artifacts are what drew you to him. Like a moth to a flame, you were instantly captivated by him, and from there your love blossomed into what it is today.

He tilts his head to side slightly as his brows furrow in worry.

"Darling, whatever he's told you l-"

"He wants you to share me."

His eyes go wide, "Oh."

You play with his fingers, a nervous habit of yours.

"I asked him to let me talk to you."

Steven stays silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. He didn't even have the idea on his radar that his other personality would want you, but then he shook the thought away as quickly as it came because why wouldn't Marc want you?

His sweet, brilliant girl who has the prettiest eyes and the most contagious laugh. The brave woman who would move mountains to protect any living being in trouble, and not to mention how gorgeous you are to him.

He knows you have fantasies. Ones that he's not comfortable enough to fulfill, but maybe...maybe Marc could, and that's his deciding factor. He's always wanted to give you everything you wanted, and if this is something you want, then he won't stop you.

"Y/N, look at me, sweetheart."

You bite your lip, glancing into his eyes to try and guess what he's thinking.

His hand cups your cheek gently, "do you want this? Do you want Marc?"

You shake your head, "not at the risk of losing you. I love you, Steven."

He leans in and kisses your lips softly, bumping his nose against yours lovingly.

"And I love you, but I also know that there are things you want that I can't give you. You're not going to lose me, okay? Think of Marc as another side of me that you can spend time with from time to time."

Before you can make sure he's absolutely certain about this, he steps back and closes his eyes again, only this time something new happens. Grey and off-white surround his body and when he opens his eyes they're a brilliant white.

You gasp and slowly back up until you hit the wall, "S-Steven? Steven?!"

"Don't be afraid, Y/N. I won't hurt you."

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear Marc's voice again. Your eyes trail over the suit he's wearing. It reminds you of Egyptian clothing and the crescent moon emblem makes you want to reach out and touch it.

"Marc?" you whisper as he slowly closes the distance between the two of you again.

"I want you to see all of me. This is who I am. Moon Knight is a part of Steven and I too."

You reach out to tentatively touch his chest just as his gloved hand slides up your inner thigh. His fingertips brush against your panties making you gasp.

"I meant what I said before, Y/N. I know what you crave. Everything that you tell Steven, I hear too, and I can give you what you want."

He taps his fingers against your panty-covered clit lightly, and you can't help the moan that falls past your lips. "What if someone hears us?"

He chuckles, "baby, it's nearly midnight. We're the only ones here."

The last of your resolve disappears when the suit's mask dissolves away revealing his face. You kiss him fiercely and he lets out a low growl as he pulls your panties to the side.

"You're soaked, princess," he mumbles against your lips before pinning your hands above your head with his free hand. "Gotta keep you still."

You whine at his authoritative tone, but before you're able to say anything, he plunges two fingers inside of you.

"O-Oh, fuck!"

"Yeah? You want another one, Y/N? Think you can take three?"

Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you nod and another moan is ripped from you as he pushes a third finger alongside the other two, pumping them fast.

"You're close already, I can feel it. My pretty, little Moonbeam's gonna cum isn't she?"

"Oh, god! Marc, I-I'm-"

He kisses you hard right as your orgasm crashes through you, swallowing your moans.

"Good girl, baby. Can't wait to feel this tight, little cunt around my cock."

Marc pulls away and you sag against the wall, panting softly. Never in your life have you cum that hard before, or that quickly. The soft fabric of his gloves felt insanely good, and you found yourself wanting to feel them again.

"Please...," you beg, and he silences you with another kiss before picking you up and holding you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist as he frees his cock from the confines of his suit.

"Mine," he growls as he pushes himself inside you to the hilt. Both of you groan in unison as he holds you up with ease.

Marc fucks you hard, his thick cock stretching you as his hand still holds your wrists above your head.

"Fuck, you feel incredible...My precious Moonbeam was made just for me. Weren't you, baby?"

"Yes! Oh, Marc...please don't stop, please!"

A groan rumbles in his chest, low and primal, as he sucks love bites into your neck.

"Gotta make sure everyone knows who you belong to. Gonna litter your pretty skin with marks, baby girl."

You clench around him, feeling the familiar heat pooling low in your belly. The way he's talking to you, his confidence and possessiveness, and the way his cock hits your spot on every pass makes your head spin. You know you won't last like this, and the moment Marc reaches in between your bodies to rub tight, fast circles on your clit, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of bliss.

"That's right, Moonbeam. Cum. Cum all over my dick. Fuck, I can feel you squeezin' me. Come on, baby girl, let go for me."

His words send you falling over the edge, your lips moving against his with little finesse as you pant wetly against them. Marc grunts as his orgasm follows yours, thick ropes of his cum filling you.

The two of you stay like that for a moment before he sets you down on shaky legs. You fix your clothes and once Marc is finished getting dressed you smile softly at him as you lean in to kiss him again.

Just before your lips touch, the lights start to flicker and the walls begin to shake making you cling tightly to him.

"Marc! What's going on?! What's-"

"So, this is who you've chosen to distract yourself with, Spector." A deep, booming voice echoes throughout the room, but you don't see anything.

"Who said that?!" You bury your face in his chest, terrified something else might try to kill you today.

The shaking stops and Marc pulls you slightly back so he can look at you.

"Wait, you can hear him too?! Are you an avatar?"

"An avatar? Marc, what are you ta-" Suddenly, your eyes go wide as an enormous being appears in the doorway. It has to be at least eight feet tall, a bird skull is where its head should be, and it's holding a staff with what appears to be a crescent moon at the top.

You scream and look around for your gun, but Marc stops you.

"Whoa, hey, hey, it's alright. He's with me, Y/N. He's with us."

He turns around and positions himself in front of you anyway though, a deep scowl etched on his face, "What do you want, Khonshu?"

"You think because you helped me with one thing that I'm done with you? Don't forget who saved you, Marc. You're still indebted to me."

"We had a deal!", Marc growls.

"I'm aware, but we've still got work to do," Khonshu tilts his head so he can look at you, "and she's going to help us."

Your eyes widen, "me?! But I-"

"No! Absolutely not," Marc cuts you off as he steps towards him, "I'll help you, but she stays out of it. Don't involve her in this."

Khonshu chuckles deeply, "She doesn't have a choice."

"Like hell, she doesn't!"

"What do you mean, I don't have a choice?" You ask before stepping out from behind Marc. "What's going on?"

The bird-like being looks down at you, and you try not to be intimidated by how daunting he is.

"Do you have knowledge of Ammit?"

"Ammit? The devourer of souls?" You whisper. "But that's just a...a myth...right?

"Ah, it seems you're more competent than I thought. Good, you'll be of use quicker than I'd imagined."

Marc's voice cuts into your conversation before you can ask more questions, and you don't miss the hint of dread in it.

"Harrow's back, isn't he?"

Khonshu nods. "Yes, and he intends to unleash Ammit on the world." He pauses before pointing his staff towards you.

"And she's the key to stopping him."

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zapreportsblog · 8 months

Note

Soulmate au! Time😆😆

Jason Vorhees X Reader

Time soulmark: where there is a timer on your wrist that shows when you meet your soulmate face to face. Once they meet their timer goes to 00:00:00 and will sting a bit.

Plot: the reader and a few of their friends decided to be counselors for Camp Crystal lake. And although it’s supposed to gain some money, readers friends doesn’t seem to take it seriously though.

One day one of the readers friends got on their nerves so she decides to walk in the forest by themselves, while walking they didn’t seem to see where they were going because they soon bump into a tall guy, that guy is Jason, and also is their soulmate.

Awww my baby getting love finally <3

❝time seemed to stop when I met you❞

✭ pairing : Jason vorhees x reader

✭ fandom : slashers

✭ summary : you thought camp this year was going to be the same as all the other years but it seems it won’t be

✭ slashers masterlist

The mid-morning sun streamed through the windows of (Y/N)'s cozy apartment, casting warm patterns across the floor. (Y/N) sat at her kitchen table, sipping her coffee and browsing through her mail. Bills, advertisements, and then a peculiar envelope caught her eye. It was slightly worn, as if it had traveled a long distance, and it bore the emblem of a pristine lake surrounded by lush greenery.

With a mix of curiosity and excitement, she carefully tore open the envelope. Inside, neatly typed on creamy paper, were the words that would alter the course of her summer: an acceptance letter to be a camp counselor at Camp Crystal Lake.

Her heart raced as she read through the letter. Camp Crystal Lake had always been known for its picturesque landscapes and storied history. The idea of spending a summer surrounded by nature and working with children was certainly enticing.

Eager to share the news, (Y/N) picked up her phone and dialed her best friend's number. After a few rings, the call was answered.

"Hello?" a cheerful voice greeted her.

"Hey, it's me," (Y/N) said, her excitement evident in her tone.

"Oh, hey! What's got you all fired up this early?" her best friend replied.

"I just got a letter," (Y/N) exclaimed. "Guess what? I've been accepted as a camp counselor at Camp Crystal Lake!"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then a burst of enthusiasm. "No way! That's amazing! Congratulations!"

(Y/N)'s heart warmed at her friend's genuine excitement. "Thanks! I'm pretty excited about it too. But, you know, it's a big commitment. I'd be spending the whole summer there."

Her friend's voice was thoughtful. "True, but it sounds like a fantastic opportunity. You've always loved the outdoors and working with kids. Plus, Camp Crystal Lake is legendary. It's a chance of a lifetime."

(Y/N) nodded even though her friend couldn't see her. "You're right. It's just... It's a big step, and I'd be away for a while."

"Well, think about it this way," her friend suggested. "It's a chance for you to grow, experience something new, and create memories that'll last a lifetime. And I promise, I'll be here when you get back, ready to hear all about your adventures."

A smile tugged at the corners of (Y/N)'s lips. She was lucky to have such a supportive friend. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."

"You've got this," her friend encouraged. "And if you're worried about missing home, just remember that you'll have me and all your friends cheering you on."

Feeling a renewed sense of determination, (Y/N) took a deep breath. "You know what? I'm going to do it. I'm going to accept the offer and become a camp counselor at Camp Crystal Lake."

Her friend's excitement was palpable. "That's the spirit! I'm so proud of you. This is going to be an incredible adventure, (Y/N)."

As they continued to chat about the possibilities and plans for the summer ahead, (Y/N) felt a wave of excitement wash over her. She had taken the first step towards a new chapter in her life—one filled with adventure, growth, and the promise of unforgettable memories.

(Y/N) stood in the middle of her bedroom, surrounded by an array of clothes, camping gear, and essentials she'd need for the summer at Camp Crystal Lake. The excitement she felt was tinged with a touch of nervousness. This was a big step, a journey into the unknown, and she couldn't help but wonder what the upcoming weeks would bring.

She carefully folded her favorite hoodie and tucked it into her bag. Glancing around the room, she realized she had packed everything she needed, but there was something missing—an item of utmost importance. She walked over to her dresser and opened the top drawer, revealing a small, intricate mark on her wrist—the soul timer.

Running her fingers over the delicate design, she traced the numbers that were etched into her skin. The soul timer was a unique phenomenon in her world. It counted down the days until the moment she would meet her soulmate, the person destined to be her perfect match. It was a constant reminder that love was out there, waiting to be discovered.

Today, as (Y/N) touched the mark, the numbers were crystal clear: "1 day." Her heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and curiosity. Could it be possible that her soulmate was somehow connected to this new chapter of her life at Camp Crystal Lake?

With a fond smile, she closed the drawer and shouldered her bag. The anticipation was building, and she was ready to embrace whatever lay ahead. Leaving her apartment behind, she headed to the bus station.

As the bus rumbled to life and started its journey, (Y/N) found a window seat and settled in. The scenery outside changed from cityscape to countryside as she gazed out at the passing landscape. Her thoughts wandered to the adventure awaiting her, the friends she would make, and the memories she would create.

During the journey, her fingers occasionally strayed to her soul timer. The numbers remained constant—1 day. It was a countdown to not only the day she would meet her soulmate but also a reminder that each day was a step closer to the unknown.

The hours slipped by, and eventually, the bus pulled up to the entrance of Camp Crystal Lake. A surge of excitement mixed with nervousness coursed through (Y/N) as she stepped off the bus and took in the picturesque surroundings. The air was filled with the crisp scent of pine, and the lake shimmered in the sunlight.

Camp counselors and campers bustled about, preparing for the summer's activities. With a deep breath, (Y/N) walked forward, ready to embrace the adventure that awaited her. As she moved among the lively atmosphere, her fingers brushed against her soul timer once more. The numbers were a constant reminder that change was in the air, and perhaps her soulmate was just around the corner.

As the day went on, (Y/N) settled into the rhythm of camp life. She met fellow counselors, learned the camp's routines, and felt a growing sense of belonging. But beneath it all, that one-day countdown remained in her thoughts.

In the evening, as the sun set over the lake, (Y/N) found a quiet spot to sit by herself. The sky was painted in hues of pink and orange, and a sense of calm settled over her. She closed her eyes and touched her soul timer once more, feeling the connection to her own destiny.

With a smile, she whispered to herself, "One day. Just one more day until our paths cross." And with that thought in her heart, she embraced the tranquility of the moment, ready to embark on a summer that held the promise of adventure, friendship, and the possibility of finding the one person who would make her soul timer's countdown truly worthwhile.

(Y/N) had spent the past few hours at Camp Crystal Lake trying to immerse herself in the counselor experience. She had met a few fellow counselors and had expected them to share her enthusiasm for the camp and its mission. However, it quickly became apparent that some of them were taking the opportunity rather lightly.

As she watched them goof around and neglect their duties, (Y/N) felt a growing sense of frustration. She believed in making a positive impact and taking her responsibilities seriously. Unable to contain her irritation, she decided to take a walk in the woods, hoping that the embrace of nature would help clear her mind.

The forest, lush and serene, seemed to welcome her with open arms. The rustling leaves and the gentle sound of a distant stream had a calming effect on her racing thoughts. Lost in her own world, she walked deeper into the woods, not noticing that she had strayed from the well-worn paths.

Suddenly, she collided with a solid figure, nearly stumbling backward. She looked up, expecting to find another counselor, but her heart lurched at the sight before her—a tall, imposing man wearing a hockey mask. Fear flickered in her eyes as her instincts kicked in, telling her that something was off about this encounter.

"Who are you?" she managed to stammer, her heart racing.

The man remained silent, his eyes hidden behind the mask, but there was an eerie intensity to his gaze that sent shivers down her spine. He didn't seem to be a camp counselor, not dressed like any of them. She took a step back, ready to make a hasty retreat, but something held her in place—a strange sensation that seemed to tingle in the air.

Then, a realization struck her—she couldn't hear the familiar ticking of her soul timer. Panic gnawed at the edges of her mind as she glanced at her wrist. The numbers on her soul timer, which had counted down for so long, were frozen at zero. It was as if time itself had come to a standstill.

Trepidation mixed with confusion as she looked at the man before her. His soul timer was also frozen, the numbers stuck at zero. She couldn't comprehend what was happening. Was he her soulmate? The man who had been elusive and unknown until this very moment?

"(Y/N)," she whispered to herself, her voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. The soul timer, which had been a constant companion, was now a still, unchanging mark on her wrist.

The man took a step forward, and (Y/N) felt a mixture of fear and curiosity. Who was he? What did this frozen soul timer mean?

Before she could react, he reached up to touch the mask on his face, revealing more of his features. But it was his eyes that held her attention—the depth of emotion in those eyes was something she couldn't quite place. There was pain, there was something hauntingly human in his gaze.

As he stepped closer, (Y/N)'s heart pounded in her chest. She could feel a strange connection, an unspoken bond between them. Time seemed to stretch as they stood there, a silent understanding passing between them.

In that moment, (Y/N) realized that her journey at Camp Crystal Lake had taken an unexpected turn—one that defied all logic and reason. As she stood face to face with this mysterious man in the hockey mask, a cascade of questions flooded her mind, and the mysteries of their frozen soul timers entwined their fates in ways neither of them could have foreseen.

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