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unholyhelbig · 5 months

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Part two of mafia nat???

Title: The Oversight [Part 2/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3079

Warnings: Hostage situation, brusing, mentions of child abuse, horrible grammar, and Quiznos

[a/n: Thank you all for the great response to the first chapter! I'm making this a thing, for sure!] Let me know if you're interested in being added to the taglist for this story!

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

“The usual, sweet girl.” You set the plate of pancakes down in front of Veronica. A happy face was painted against the golden surface with whipped cream, with cherries and two slices of bacon divided perfectly for hair. Your daughter never seemed to grow tired of the meal and would swallow down a glass of milk with just a bit of strawberry syrup.

Despite having completed the maze on the back of the kid’s menu at least a dozen times, she remained infatuated, kicking her feet back and forth as the orange crayon made its way through the boldened lines.

You tentatively moved a lock of brunette hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. “Eat your food, kiddo. Big day tomorrow.”

Veronica nodded and started to fork down the smiling face. She didn’t speak much, a few words here and there, and that worried you enough to take the day off from work. You had found a speech therapist right outside of the city that accepted your HMO plan with enough fervor that you made the soonest appointment you could.

While you worked hard to shield Veronica from the life that you were determined to break away from, you were distressed. Kids were smart, they didn’t’ get enough credit. You were sure that she noticed the only meals she ate was at this diner and at school. The way that you were here all the time, dressed in the same uniform stained with ketchup and coffee. The way you fell asleep on the second-hand sofa for a few hours at a time.

“She your kid?”

While your back was turned, mind rushing with intrepid thoughts, someone had sidled up against the counter with an empty white mug, its mouth flipped to the ceiling. The blonde looked innocent enough, if not in despite need of the coffee she was asking for. Her accent was thick. Russian or Ukrainian, nothing you could fully place.

“She is a very good artist.” She tapped her finger against the orange drawing of a sunset in the corner of the placemat. “A lot of talent in this one.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment, picking up the coffee pot. The blonde nodded and smiled back as you poured her a cup. “She gets it from her father.”

While you weren’t entirely sure that was true, you did know that the talent wasn’t from you. You never had the artistic eye. Veronica, on the other hand, was a quiet force to be recon with when it came to art. Even at a young age, you knew whole-heartedly that she had a future in it if she stuck with it.

“That so?” The woman took a long sip of her coffee, not flinching at the heat. “She should keep going. It’s important to have something to hold onto.”

The memory flickered in our mind as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It could have been a day, or a week, and your heart ached just as fiercely for your daughter as it always had. She would be in safe hands for now, you were sure. Your sitter knew about your devoted love, your resilience to make sure that Ronnie was okay. You were all she had, and being tied to a chair until your muscles felt like jelly was not a good sign.

You weren’t sure what had pulled you out of a fitful sleep for a few moments, but there was a light squeeze on your shoulder. Your head shot back and collided with something. There was a soft grunt, and your inhale burned your lungs. When you blinked awake, there wasn’t complete darkness. A less harsh light had been turned on.

The blonde from the diner was standing in front of you, robbing a tender spot on the center of her nose. “Ouch, that really hurt!”

“Sorry, I-“ you frowned, snapping your mouth shut. You weren’t going to apologize. You were the one that had been kidnapped, not the other way around. “What’s happening?”

Natasha had left you without another word, and you hated the way you missed her presence. You’d drifted off in the quiet and considered it a better punishment than Clints vicious blows to the face. The girl in front of you held a bottle of water up as a peace offering.

She cracked open the top, and even if you weren’t quite sure if something was in it, you didn’t care at the moment. She guided it to your lips, and a few drops dripped over your chin. It cooled the burning in your throat.

“Thank you,” this time you meant it. Natasha had made it clear that there was no good cop, but this was starting to look like your reprieve. You tested your luck. “If they’re going to kill me, why hold me?”

“They are not going to kill you. Natasha is a cautious woman. She did not get to where she was without crossing a few lines. You claim that you’re not on drugs and my sister wants to make sure that is truthful. Can you blame her?”

From a technical standpoint- no, you couldn’t. You searched for some type of resemblance in the woman and came up with nothing but a slight similarity in the slope of her nose. She smiled, crossing her legs, and sitting back against the chair.

“Let’s play twenty questions.”

You lifted an eyebrow, and it sent a shooting pain to your temple. “If I get one wrong, do you shoot me?”

She laughed, “No wrong answers. Can you believe that I want to get to know you? I’ll go first. My name is Yelena, and my favorite color is green. Forest green if you would like to get specific, which I would.”

“Dark red.” You said “I’m y/n.”

“Oh, I know. How long have you lived in the city?”

You rolled your shoulders back again. They were stiff. You’ve never been this uncomfortable in your life, and not just socially. There was a cool calmness about Yelena that put you at ease. Though, she was one of your kidnappers, and most-likely a member of the secret underground organization that had inexplicitly frequented the diner.

“My whole life. Not this part of town, though. East lower with my mom and my dad until my mom died and my dad got himself killed when I was seventeen.”

“Foster care?”

“For a year until I was old enough to be out on my own. I’m not going to let my daughter end up the same way. That was the hardest year of my life and if she loses me then… Her father isn’t around, but I’m afraid that going into the system would be best case scenario.”

“She’s six?” Yelena asked.

“And a half, but yes.”

“Non-verbal?”

You nodded again. This felt like a shitty game of twenty questions. Yelena already knew all the answers and you could still taste blood and the aching in your jaw. She tapped her fingers against her knee, uncrossing them and leaning forward.

The ceiling still stretched above you. There were rafters that you could barely make out in the darkness. You blinked so you wouldn’t cry. Still, when you spoke next, your words came out pinched and you couldn’t help but feel weak.

“The world is a horrible place, and the odds are already stacked against her, you know?” You sniffed to keep snot that you couldn’t wipe away from dripping onto your shirt already soiled with blood. “She’s a good kid. She’s funny, and smart, and I want her to have a life where she thinks everything is okay, even if there’s a possibility that it never is. Ronnie doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t need to know.”

Yelena swallowed hard and nodded. She stood and closed the distance between you. Her hand was warm against you skin as she tentatively wiped away the moisture on your cheek. She gave you the rest of the water. “Okay. Drink.”

You were foolish to trust her. There was something in the water that was tasteless but rendered you unconscious all the same. You blinked awake, not sure how much time had passed. Your mind was swimming relentlessly, being forced in and out of lucidity had done nothing for your resolve.

Sunlight, something you thought you would never see again, flitted through an open window. A cooling summer breeze accompanied the sight. You’d been freed somewhere along the way, and your gratitude wasn’t lost on you.

Dark purple bruises encircled both of your wrists. Your whole body ached, and you let out a low moan at the sudden blinking movement. “Oh… fuck.”

“That’s a beautiful sound.”

Your back was pushed up against a dark oak bedframe, heels shoving you back. There was a lightheadedness swirling around you. A nice bedspread was underneath you, and the room itself was dripping in riches.

It was large with floor to ceiling windows, the walls slathered in deep maroon paint. There was a wall of bookshelves filled with expertly bound books. Two chairs and a small cocktail table was set up in a beam of sunlight.

Natasha held a crystal glass of unidentified alcohol in her hand. The ice floated within the deep brown liquid as if it were afraid to make a sound. She wore a suit, one that hugged her sides. Her lips were painted red to match the walls and she tapped her nail against the glass, observing you.

Her words sent a pang directly to your core, and that embarrassed you more than your exhaustion. Blood flooded into your cheeks and the very corner of Natasha’s lip twitched in response. She set her glass down on the table.

You recoiled as she rose and transplanted herself on the corner of the bed. She was gentle with her movements as if you were an animal that she was afraid to startle. Natasha had a tight hold on her operations. She was nothing more than a myth. Simply the boss.

Somehow, she scared you more now than she did before. When you were tied to the chair, you were certain that you were going to die. But now, in this royal-style room, you were filled with questions about why she let you live.

“I don’t make mistakes, but unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the people who work for me.” She was glaring at the design etched into the duvet, gold embroidery. Her perfectly manicured fingers thumbed the flower. “You were profiled, and you were profiled wrong. I don’t go after single mothers, especially ones that don’t keep certain… habits.”

There was a sinking feeling that you weren’t meant to speak. This was the delicate moment during a hostage situation where the robber has a gun pointed at your head, the finger on the trigger and a burlap sack of money in the opposite hand. Your words would do nothing but loosen the safety.

“This is being dealt with, believe me.” Natasha looked up at you, her eyes fierce, a beautiful fern color that bounded off the darkness of the walls. “But you must understand, y/n, I am not known for my kindness, and I am certainly not known for my mercy. You still took the money, and you still owe me.”

You drew in a breath, opening your mouth to protest, but Natasha held up her hand and you snapped your jaw shut. There was a bit of amusement in her stare that you didn’t have the mental capacity to dissect.

“Yelena said that you know how to fight. Or, at the very least, take a hit. So, I’m not asking. I’m telling you that work for me until your debt is paid off.”

Natasha had gotten impossibly close to you. That same deep scent of mint filled your lungs. It wasn’t comforting, but it didn’t’ unsettle you anymore, and neither did her warmth. You winched when she reached up and grabbed your face, squeezing softer than Clint had, her nails still dug into soft bruising.

She whispered her words, breath hot on your lips. “You belong to me now, and I don’t always play nice.”

Natasha ‘not playing nice’ looked a lot like having a driver drop you off in front of your apartment without your shoes. The sidewalk was cold despite the hot day, and as you stared up at your unit, you swore that the curtains flickered. You blinked and squeezed the bridge of your nose immediately regretting it the second you felt the shooting pain reach your eardrums.

They had taken your keys, presumably to make copies, and the sweatpants that you were given were much too big around your waist. You had sinched them with a shoestring, just counting yourself lucky that they’d provided a change of clothes in the first place. Even the shirt was stained and had a logo on it for a defunct Quiznos in queens.

Your body threatened to give out as you took the stairs two at a time up to your apartment. You still didn’t’ have a grasp on how much time had passed, but it was evening when you left work, and the sun felt like a mid-day assault on your senses.

Frantically, you knocked on your neighbor’s door, wiping your sweaty palms against your pants. Natasha’s pants. More than likely- Clints pants. It took a few moments for the door to swing open, but when it did, you were flooded with relief.

Darcy had an eyebrow lifted at you. “Holy shit,”

You didn’t let her get another word in edgewise before you engulfed her in a hug. She let out a breath at the impact and after a few seconds, pulled you in closer. Darcy was a friend, someone you trusted enough to watch your daughter. There was a soft spot in your heart for her. You didn’t let go when she backed the two of you into the living room and let the door fall shut behind you.

“I was three seconds from calling the police, y/n.” she pulled back, squeezing your shoulders. “What happened to you?”

You were instructed on what to say, word for word. You’d repeated it twice to Natasha and once to the driver. Lying to Darcy, someone who was the equivalent of a lie detector. Her eyes were hard, her voice hushed.

“I got jumped by a couple of guys on the way out of the restaurant. I was stranded on the other side of town, no phone. I tried to get here as soon as possible but I got a little banged up. I’m okay, a little shaken, but okay.” You frowned, “What day is it?”

Your eyes searched the room for a clock, for anything that would give you indication, but Darcy, while one of the sweetest people you had ever met, was a bit scatter-brained. You trusted her with your daughter, and with your own life, but there were spare computer parts strung out across her coffee table, on the couch, and the television stand.

“Y/n, you’ve been gone for two days.” She lifted your chin with a curled finger, making a hissing noise as she sucked in a breath “Oh they got you good. You’re sure you don’t want to press charges?”

“More trouble than it’s worth.” You shrugged your shoulders. “I would love an icepack, though. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I’ve got frozen peas and corn, dealers’ choice. Ronnie finally fell asleep; I kept telling her that nothing was wrong but she’s too preceptive for her own good sometimes.”

It was a bad move, but you gave Darcy a thankful squeeze on the shoulder and moved down the hall to the guest room. It was the cleanest place in the house, reserved for visitors. Darcy still had zoomed in photos of computer chips. They were like little mazes without an escape, her personality shining through.

Veronica was laying on top of the duvet, curled up in a blanket that was typically strewn across the base of the bed. She wasn’t asleep, her tempered gray eyes flicking to the door and then lighting up when she realized that it was you. You leaned against the doorframe, warmth flooding you.

You wrapped her in a bone-crunching hug, squeezing her into you as if you never wanted to let her go. She smelled like Darcy’s shampoo, a light floral concoction that comforted you. Ronnie’s hand squeezing the fabric of your borrowed shirt.

“Hi, baby” you pulled back slightly, enough room for you to give her a kiss on the forehead, pushing back ringlets of curly hair. “I missed you.”

Her nose scrunched up and her little fingers ghosted so softly over the pulsing bruises on your face. You never wanted her to see you like this, for anyone to see you like this, but at the moment you didn’t care. Having her in your arms was enough to erase all of that doubt.

“It’s alright. I’m alright,” You assured, and she crunched her nose again. “Oh, you think I stink?”

You probably did. You’d been strapped to a chair for 48 hours, nearly vomiting up what little food you’d consumed the night of your abduction. You’d sweat through your clothes, and the borrowed ones weren’t much better in the scent department.

“Too bad, little one,” you poked at her sides, eliciting an infectious giggle. “You’re stuck with me, stink and all.”

You let yourself go slack against her, trapping her under one of your arms. Veronica playfully tried to shove you off and you let out a grunt at each attempt. Eventually her arms wrapped around yours and she settled into you.

Maybe some sleep wouldn’t do you bad. Your body was about to give out, and the only instructions you’d gotten from Natasha other than the white lie of your injuries, was to hang tight and heal until she contacted you, and she would contact you.

“I didn’t know which one you wanted, so I brought both.” Darcy said from the doorway. You mumbled into the pillow in response, nothing legible. “Oh, we’re cuddling, or is this a hostage situation?”

You winced internally at the words, but sighed contentedly when you felt the weight of the frozen vegetables against your shoulder blades. You melted into the pillows, the bed dipping down as Darcy laid on the other side of Ronnie, as you drifted off to sleep.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x you #Black widow #Black widow x reader #Mafia au #Mafia boss au #Mafia Natasha Romanoff #Marvel #Marvel Fanfic #Yelena Belova #darcy lewis

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libraford · 10 months

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Have you shared the story of you joining the track team with us? I feel like you have but I can't remember any details.

I SHALL TELL YOU A TALE OF PURE FOLLY!

The year us 1999, I am in seventh grade. Like most seventh-graders, I hate everything that I am forced to do but I especially hate Pep Rallies. They are hell for my tiny little social outcast ADHD brain: loud noises, forced enjoyment of an activity, sports, pointless interaction with people I can't stand, and the potential for relentless bullying afterwards.

So we had a pep rally.

And I, for the first time in my rules-following life, decided to skip.

My class filed into the gym, I ducked into the bathroom, and waited for the sound of the doors closing.

Problem was that I didn't think I'd get this far and I've never been in the habit of delinquency, so I had no idea what to do next. I started wandering the halls just a little bit, testing out the freedom of having broken the rules, going down hallways that weren't part of my routine...

...when I heard dogs barking.

You see...

...the pep rallies weren't exactly about basketball. The pep rallies were an excuse to make lots of noise so no one heard the police dogs when they came looking for drugs in people's lockers.

And I am not where I'm supposed to be. I am where NO ONE is supposed to be. And I panic, because if I show up to the pep rally late they are going to notice.

I did not think this through.

So I start looking for somewhere to be while the police are searching for worse criminals than myself and I see a bunch of students in the cafeteria. One of them is a friend of mine, so I wouldn't be completely out of place in this location, so I came in and sat down next to her. A roster is being passed around and I sign it so that I can say that I was accounted for during the pep rally in some way.

The teacher who is heading whatever this is stands up in front of this group and says:

"Thank you for coming to the track and field tryouts. You've all made it in."

Uh...

...woops.

I think I'll just sit through this one meet and then quit. People do it all the time, I don't think anyone would notice.

Except that this is a small town and everyone knows everyone- so the teacher/coach helpfully informed my father that I'd joined the track team voluntarily and in no way was it a mistake of any kind.

My whole family is sports nuts. My dad was in charge of the sports page at the news paper, my mom will talk excitedly about college football, and my brother has excelled in every sport he's ever been in.

I'm a textbook case of Not That. Art student, lead violist, and the most exercise I get is dodging projectile rocks on my way home from school.

But my dad is SO proud of me when he hears about it. Lee is doing a Sport? A Sport that's physical? A Sport with a team? A SPORT!

Like... he bought me new shoes and stuff to clean the shoes with and all kinds of first aid stuff for my muscle pains and oh my god for the first time in his life I was in a SPORT!

(Just to emphasize- he has always been PROUD of me. He thought I was a genius because I showed him how to make chocolate dipped strawberries at home without a fondue pot like... he's pretty sure I'm going to save the world somehow. But this was the first time that I had ever shown even the smallest bit of interest in doing a Sport, which is HIS special interest and now we can BOND!)

So I try.

You know... I hate running.

I actually have a condition caused by a childhood illness that impacts cartilage development as well as asthma from a bronchial infection when I was in 5th grade.

But my dad came to all of the track meets that he could and I was so deep into the lie that quitting now would break him.

So I try my hand at non-running events: shot put and discus. I'd still have to run during practice, but I was allowed to go off and do Not Running for a little bit.

I can't remember the actual numbers or anything, but I remember that when I first did shot put with proper form, the coach kind of turned her head sideways and said 'damn.'

So turned out that being at the roly-poly stage of my larval development meant that I was still learning how my personal body chemistry affects the build of muscle. The answer is 'very quickly.'

It starts getting hard to find shirts that will fit my biceps and now I'm in trouble for wearing non-standard issue tank tops to school from practicing shot and discus.

If this were a movie, it would mean that suddenly being a jock meant that I had been accepted by my peers and something something Mean Girls something something. But no, because having incredible muscle as a thirteen year old did not do anything to disspell the rumors that I was a lesbian and unfortunately I was still bullied relentlessly. Nor did I ever throw a punch because I don't like hurting people and no one ever taught me how to fight. But it did mean that I had a handful of girls ready to use teeth and nails to defend the shot put champion.

Which is important because I was the ONLY shot put and discus thrower in the school.

And as I found out- the district.

I went almost an entire season without competing against a single person, winning the event by default.

Until the semi-finals.

And I did have to compete against an assortment of other thirteen year olds that were just now learning that they had upper body strength. But because they ALSO were the only ones competing in those events they had never competed against another person either.

So we all sucked.

I got gold in shot put. Bronze in discus. But to their credit there were only three competitors.

Huge fucking deal for my dad.

Not a huge deal for the rest of the track team, who all did really poorly in most events BUT throwing events, which meant that this was our last game of the season.

And so ended my short, accidental career as the middle school shot put champion.

"Did you try out again in 8th grade?"

Fuck no. I hate running.

#accidental track star

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ladykailitha · 1 year

Text

Can Anybody See Me? Part 2

Holy shit, guys. I have never had such a response to a story before. Thank you guys so much.

Tag list of 50 has now been filled. Any other requests for tagging will be denied. I’m sorry.

Edit: Also if you saw the title as something else? No, no you didn’t. And any reblogs you see with anyone instead of anybody are a figment of your imagination. (*thuds head on laptop* I have the title right on here...in my file *wails*)

Part 1

The next morning Eddie got up for school excited for the first time. He had a mystery to solve and his name was Steven Harrington. Probably the third or whatever shit rich people got to with naming their kids. He rummaged through his closet looking for his favorite band tee. But he stopped when he found an old shoe box down at the bottom.

Eddie frowned and pulled it out. It was a bunch of pictures of Eddie when he first came to live with his uncle, Wayne. He looked at the shaved head and bruised face.

His dad had taken one look at Eddie that morning and decided his hair was too long. He had grabbed Eddie by the hair and dragged him into the bathroom and shaved his head. The bruises to the face were from Eddie trying to escape.

Eddie had suffered a concussion and it was then the state had taken notice. They had packed up his stuff while he was in the hospital in a big black garbage bag and told him he would be going home to his Uncle Wayne. In Indiana. So far from the life he knew. But it meant being safe from his dad and that was a plus in Eddie’s book.

It’s how he knew what Steve was going through. Maybe not exactly the same. But he knew concussions and knew they were a bad business.

He put the pictures back in the box and tucked it under his bed. Maybe he didn’t need to know why Steve was hurting. Maybe it was enough to understand. He pulled on his second favorite band tee and his jacket. He grabbed his bag and hurried out the door.

Eddie bit his lip. He didn’t have any classes with Steve today and wasn’t able to check up on him. He was tempted to break into the office and pull Steve’s schedule. But that would get him detention and he was still trying to keep his promise to his uncle.

How was he going to do this?

And then the answer literally dropped in his lap. A book was thrown at him by someone. He picked it up and looked at the cover. It was some old homework journal was about to throw it away when a piece of paper fluttered to the ground.

Frowning he picked it up. By some miracle it was Steve’s schedule. He looked up to see if he could see who threw it at him. But it could have been anyone. A lot of people were avoiding his eye, but that could be for any number of reasons. They bought from him and now they can’t look him in the eye because he knows. They want to buy weed and don’t know how to broach it. They think he’s a freak. They have a crush on him. You know, the possibilities were endless.

But at least he knew things he didn’t before. Like holy hell, the kid did a lot of sports. He looked at baseball and swimming and basketball with his mind whirling around in his head. How did he keep all the rules straight?

Math third period Eddie knew. History was Steve’s first period. Which was probably how his messed up brain managed to spew that information at Eddie yesterday. Baseball was seventh. Basketball his eighth. Swimming was second. English fourth. Art was sixth. Art, huh? That was intriguing. Probably thought it was an easy elective. And chemistry was fifth. So it looked something like this.

Odd 1-History 3- Math 5- Chemistry lunch 7- Baseball

Even 2-Swimming 4-English 6-Art lunch 8-Basketball

Huh. Eddie never noticed, but Steve was always in his lunch period. That was certainly interesting. He wondered what Mrs Hall, the guidance counselor would do about all his sports now that he couldn’t play anymore. He supposed swimming was still fine, nothing to hit you in that. But baseball and basketball were definitely out.

Eddie chewed on his lip. The sports weren’t going to get Eddie closer to finding out what happened to Steve. They would close ranks so fast. At least Steve and him had lunch together so that would at least make it easier befriend the guy.

Art, though. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. He had art in his fifth period. He could doing some snooping there. After all art is where true expression lies. And if there was anything going on it would show in his art.

The start of a plan was forming in the back of his mind. Yeah. This could work.

At lunch, Eddie slid in next to Steve as soon as he sat down.

“What’s on the menu today, Harrington?” he asked grinning.

Steve looked up at him in shock again. “Um...applesauce and plain toast, with a can of ginger ale.”

Eddie winced. “Still feeling the nausea?”

Steve nodded. “I’m starting to wonder if it’s ever going away.”

“It’ll stick around for about a week,” Eddie said softly.

Steve frowned. “How would you know that?”

“How don’t you know that?” Eddie fired back. “This is your second concussion.”

“Didn’t go to the doctor either time,” Steve mumbled.

“You want to run that past me again, Harrington?” Eddie asked.

“Doctors mean having to call my parents,” Steve explained, “calling my parents means that they’ll have to come back from their trip, coming back from their trip means I get into trouble, getting into trouble is not good for a concussion, so I don’t.”

“Why would you get into trouble for having a concussion?” Eddie asked, furrowing his brow.

Steve started counting it out on his fingers. “Getting into a fight. Hanging out with black people and by extension, siding with said black person. Having to drop out of sports. Watching my grades plummet. Not speaking to Tommy and Carol. I can keep going if you’d like...”

Eddie shook his head. “Holy shit, dude. I didn’t think I’d see a shittier dad then my own, but yours and your mom take the cake.”

Steve looked down at his applesauce mournfully. “It’s not that bad. At least my dad doesn’t hit me like Tommy’s dad does.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up. “Are all rich dads douchebags?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Look, I’ve got to eat my own lunch,” Eddie said slapping the table and standing up, “but if you need anything come find me.”

Steve nodded, but Eddie didn’t think he would take him up on it.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #canon divergence #the boy with the bat #ladykailtiha writes

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simply-wlw-kpopstan · 29 days

Text

1.The beginning

⚠️ Spoilers ahead

Baek Harin

She's the type of girl that gets what she wants, no matter the consequences. But what happens when she wants something she can't have? Someone who doesn't want anything from her?

You met on a sunny day at a bookshop, she was looking through the shelves as someone bumped into your shoulder making you drop your bag. The person didn't acknowledge you and just left the store as you bent down to pick up your stuff.

"are you okay?" a soft voice filled your ears. You looked up to see a beautiful girl staring down at you, "some people really don't care about others." she smiled.

"yeah, I'm alright thank you."

"You're not from around here are you?" She tilted her head slightly as she looked you up and down, "i'm Baek Harin. My family runs one of the businesses down the street."

"one of? How many do you own?" you chuckled but quickly stopped as you noticed the serious look on harin's face, "sorry. I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

"Oh no, it's just that it's refreshing to meet someone new. You really don't know anything about this place. My family owns Baekyeon Group, it's a big corporation here."

"ah, now that I understand." you looked around the store as you noticed some people staring, " so those people staring aren't because of my clumsy mistake but because of you."

You noticed the stunned expression on her face before she turned around, "if you didn't drop your bag you wouldn't have caught the attention from the whole store."

You furrowed your eyebrows, was she mad? Maybe she didn't like her status being brought up? "i-I didn't mean to-"

"didn't mean to be disrespectful? Yeah, you've said that before." she passed by you as an older lady walked inside the building, " what school do you go to?"

"i have some offers but I don't know yet" your gaze fell to the older woman who was staring at harin and you.

"you should come to baekyeon girls high school" harin didn't send you another glance as she left with the older woman.

You couldn't help but think back at your meeting with harin, eventually curiosity got the best of you and you decided to look her up. Baek Harin, the grand daughter of Baekyeon Group. The list of businesses under Baekyeon Group seemed to be endless and random. You couldn't believe how powerful her family must be, the things they can achieve with one phone call.

Before you know it you had gotten a letter from baekyeon girl's high school offering you a full scholarship and privileges of using the facilities for your art projects. How did they find you? How did they even know about your art? You were going to take it, you would be crazy not to but you couldn't ignore the feeling that something was off about all of this.

As luck would have it you run into Harin during your first day, " so your name is y/n? Nice to know since you never introduced yourself."

"in my defense I didn't have much time to introduce myself." you chuckled, "do you know the way to the-"

"no need. You're in my class." she smiled and motioned for you to follow her, "our class has a few privileges, we have separate breaks from others and we're the only class in the building." As she walked you around the school you couldn't help but notice the smell of smoke, perhaps harin was a smoker? You didn't blame her, she must deal with a lot of pressure with a family like hers." we have another classmate who's Into art so she'll show you around the studio during our break."

"huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks." you got so lost in your thoughts, you zoned out during her tour. "sorry, I was just thinking."

"well if there's anything you need you just tell me and I'll fix it for you." you don't know why but the way she said that made you a little uncomfortable, perhaps it's just your nerves for the first day?

Soon enough you got introduced to other students and then the pyramid game. You didn't like it and weren't afraid of voicing your opinion about it, the others got a little scared as you declined and doah explained you would be in F if you didn't play. You took your chances and nobody disturbed you. Days went by and you spent all your breaks and study time in the art studio, Sometimes yurim joins you to work on her own paintings but your mostly on your own.

One day you were working on a clay sculpture, using a description of some mythology book you found in the library, to create a unique creature. Little did you know that harin was standing in the doorway, watching you in silence as you worked on your project while listening to music. Only when you turned your body halfway to check if your creature looked good did you see harin.

"Hey, What are you doing here?" you questioned as you took out your ear buds.

"I was curious about where you escape to during breaks and yurim said I could find you here" she said as she stepped into the room, "What's that you're working on?"

"just a little mythology creature. I looked up some creatures and combined my favorite one's into one" you pointed to your sketches on the table beside you, "they're rough sketches but get the idea across."

The brunette walked closer towards you and looked down to the papers. Only when she was focused on your drawings did you realize how you looked. Your t-shirt, jeans and hands were dirty with clay, it was even on your face and in your hair since you took out your ear buds without wiping your hands first. "Don't get me wrong but don't you go for a smoke around this time? "

Her eyes immediately fly up to yours with a smug smile on her face, "and how do you know what I do around this time?"

"I-I uh" you stammered before clearing your throat, "you can see you're smoking spot from here." you pointed towards the window and she follows your gaze to the window.

"so how many times have you been watching me smoke?" She turns her attention back to you as she slowly walks closer to you.

"It's not like that." you tried to find something to say as you got too distracted by Harin stepping closer.

"You're pretty good by what I'm seeing. I could help you get your name out there, I know some art gallery owners." she stopped when there was barely any space left in between the both of you, "you must have very skilled hands if you can make things like that."

If she wasn't standing so close to you your brain would've come up with a clever and smooth come back but alas, Harin filled your senses and you didn't even think about your words when they fell from your lips, "I am great with my hands." by the look on her face you knew she didn't expect you to say that and it pulled you back to your senses.

You grabbed the cloth from behind you and cleaned your hands from the clay residue, " it's very tender and soft. I know perfectly where I need to caress, where I can be a little rougher, when I need to get it wet." you trailed off and noticed her little breath she took before wetting her lips. "I could show you if you'd like." you smirked as you finished toying with her.

"What?" this was the first time you saw her taking a step back herself, it was always the other person that backed down and you noted it down as a victory.

"tell me, have you ever gotten dirty yourself princess?" you knew the nickname could be a lowblow but it was a calculated risk, " you have a lot of people running errands for you. I know because I see them come and go when you're smoking out there. Don't you want to get your hands dirty yourself?" you took a step closer to her and before you know it you had her pressed against the table.

Big mistake on your part. A sound came from the hallway catching your attentions and as your gaze slips to the hallway harin picks up a paintbrush and smears it on your cheek, "there, I got my hands dirty."

"wha-." you were stunned but quickly laughed it off. "that was very sneaky." she caught you trying to steal away the brush and quickly put it into the water jar.

"I win" she smirked.

"really?" harin followed your gaze to a wet clump of clay that was laying on the opposite table and She shook her head.

"don't even think about it. I can ruin you if you do." you scanned her face to call her bluff but she was dead serious.

"I won't if you apologize for this." you pointed to your cheek with a challenging expression. She grabbed the cloth from before and dipped it into the water jar.

"i'm not going to apologize for something you started." she handed you the cloth and walked towards the door, "besides you were already covered in clay. You should probably spend more time practicing your art instead of watching me smoke." she sent you a smug smile before leaving you alone in the studio.

As you were cleaning up another student walked in and saw you cleaning off the paint from your face and immediately turned around without saying anything. Based on the weird things going on in this school you just brushed it off and continued your work.

Things had changed when Seong suji joined your class. Harin started to smoke a lot more, she didn't really talk to you and the tensions in the classroom got a lot heavier. You'd be lying if you said you didn't know about the bullying but you really didn't know that Harin was one of them.

Suji visited you in the studio during one of your breaks, "Hey I heard about what happened in here a couple of days ago. I didn't know she was doing this to you too."

"What?" you looked up from your sketches as she walked closer.

"Harin? I heard that someone walked in here after she left and you were covered in clay and had paint on your face. Why didn't you tell anyone? Jaeun and I went through the same we can help each other."

"we were messing around. she wouldn't do something like that. She's a good person, sure she can have a scary look in her eyes but it's just a look."

"you don't have to defend her y/n. We know what she's capable of. You ca-" suji got cut off by the door flying open.

"What's going on here." dayeon's voice filled the room, " are you plotting something?" She smirked. "I can't wait to tell harin about this, maybe she'll finally let me have my way with you." her eyes stayed on you as she walked closer.

"What are you talking about?" your heart started to race, you knew what dayeon had done in the past. She's quick to lose her temper and if you're at the recieving end it won't be pretty.

"haven't you wondered why nobody comes after you? You're an F just like Jaeun and suji but we don't hurt you because Harin said you were off limits. That Will change once she knows about this and I'll make sure we make up for lost time" dayeon had a sinister smile on her face.

You looked out the window but harin wasn't in her smoke spot. Where was she? By this time she's had a smoke and someone finds her there to ask whatever it is. it always looked exhausting to you. She tries to escape and yet they still find her, always wanting something from her. Was she bullying someone right now? No, you can't let them get in your head! "don't you have anything better to do than stand here and threaten me? And you.." you turned your attention to suji, "don't talk about things you don't know, Harin didn't do anything wrong that day. Things escalated and whatever happened is between me and her."

"Why-" suji tried to speak but you cut her off.

"don't. Both of you get out. I need to focus on this and you being here is ruining my mood." you sat down and focused on your papers. Suji and dayeon stood there for a minute before they left, you heard them fighting down the hall but you couldn't care less. Why should you care about them when they tried to bad talk Harin? Then again why would those two help each other? Why did she tell them you were off limits? Is she playing a game with you too? It didn't take too long before the door opened up again and there she was, Harin.

"dayeon told me something very interesting. Are you-"

"If you're here to play games I'm not interested." cutting her off wasn't the best idea but you had to know if harin was capable of the things they accused her of.

"games? Who said I was playing games with you? Was it suji because she's just looking for attention, you shouldn't believe anything she says."

"I'll choose what I believe myself but it was dayeon who told me." you dropped your pencil on the table as you looked up at her, "why did you tell them I'm off limits? What does that even mean? Why do you even come here?"

"Do you want them to treat you like they treat jaeun and suji? I can easily call it off right now" She says bluntly. "I come here because I like spending time with you."

You scoffed at her answer before looking back at your papers. "you like spending time with me but have been ignoring me for the past few days. Do you really think I would believe you like that?"

"Did you miss me? Is that why you're lashing out right now? " you can hear the smile in her voice.

You Quickly turn back to face her, "No." you stood up from your place and walked up until there was no space left in-between you two. "i'm being like this because I don't know who you are. There are more than enough people talking about what you've done to them, how you manipulate them into getting what you want but I never listened because that's not how I know you. But even your friends are telling me the same stories now and it's getting harder to see you in the same way then before harin."

"friends? You think dayeon is my friend?"

"i'm starting to think you don't have friends, you have pawns. You're just testing what kind I'll be to you."

"that's not..." she sighed and took out her phone, "give me your number." she held out her phone but you didn't take it, "fine" she put it back in her pocket and took one of the papers and pencils from the table. She scribbled down an address and slipped the little piece in your pocket, "come to that address tonight if you want to know who I am."

"What if I don't?" you asked as she was nearly out of the room.

She stopped in the doorway, "I won't disturb you or intervene in anything that's related to you."

"you mean I'll no longer be off limits."

"that's up to you now." and with that she left you alone once again. So it was true. Harin had told everyone you were off limits. what else were they right about?

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#baek harin x reader #baek harin #pyramid game x reader #pyramid game

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kookslastbutton · 10 months

Text

Too Late to Dream ༓ jjk (m)┃ch. V

✑ Summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

Pairing: economics professor!jungkook x fem!artist!reader

AU/Genre: angst, smut, fluff, marriage au, age gap, series

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 3,342

Warnings: 8-year age gap, mentions of professor-student relationship (oc was a Masters student), jk has milk obsession, oc injured, both lonely :(, mommy issues, lots of family drama/in-laws, fighting, pent-up issues/desires, jk has daddy issues, jk being good hubby to oc

Now Playing: Make It Right, Tryna Be, Infinity, It Will Rain, Heaven+

A/N: I've heard the requests and I think it's time to fulfill them–how did they get together?! Yes, it's here and I'm excited to finally share! Also, yes this took up whole chapter so a tiny break from present-day stuff but we'll be back at it next chapter. 💞

<< ch. IV ༓ ch. Vl >> | series masterlist

Before marrying you, Jungkook had the same routine. He got up, showered, brushed his teeth, put work clothes on, grabbed breakfast, and ran out the door with twenty minutes to spare. Trying to find a parking spot at 7 a.m. at the university was no joke and he had to leave early or some college kid would take the last spot and not think twice.

His night routine was similar. Jungkook finished the day between 5 and 6 pm, slowly regretting he ever agreed to teach evening classes. He’d kick off his shoes, eat dinner, grade some of his student’s papers if needed, brush his teeth again, and went to bed.

It was a constant cycle and with no one around, not even a pet, Jungkook’s life was fairly quiet and systematic. Sometimes his buddies would come over on the weekend for a couple of hours and that surely rocked his world.

But that wouldn’t happen often during the school season due to his ridiculously packed teaching schedule. The most recent person he’d hang around during those months was Taehyung and if he wasn’t free, Jungkook would spend his time at the grocery store–stocking up on milk.

4 years ago

“That was two weeks ago man,” Jungkook says, pushing a cart with five-gallon jugs of milk to his car. He’s on the phone with Taehyung who's reminiscing about the grand opening of the new art exhibit and how “lovely” it was to meet you there.

Jungkook doesn’t need reminding though.

He clearly remembers seeing you there and Taehyung happily making a complete fool of him once he found out who you were. Thankfully you hadn’t seemed to mind too much since you and Taehyung soon moved on to discuss various art theories, masterpieces, and underrepresented artists.

“You didn't have to stay y'know.” If Jungkook didn't know any better he'd think Taehyung was salty. "You could've left at 8 pm like you planned. __ and I would have been fine."

Jungkook winces hearing the man's argument. He did think about going home at 8, but it unsettled him to leave you alone with Taehyung. His colleague was enjoying himself a little too much that night and there’s no telling what he’d do or say when he’s overly comfortable.

Jungkook had to stay until you left.

"Are you kidding me? Leaving you unsupervised would've been the worst idea after all your endless blubbering." Jungkook pops the trunk of his car, stuffing the jugs of milk inside. "God knows what you'd scar __ with."

On the other line, Taehyung smirks through the speaker. "No, that's not it......you weren't going to leave me alone with a woman, an attractive one at that."

Jungkook grabs the last jug of milk, slamming it on the floorboard. "Student, and stop talking about her like that. She's my stu—"

"Say student one more time and I'm going to take all your milk and give it to Yoongi hyung's cats."

"I swear to god, Taehyung, if you touch my milk I'm never going to another art museum or wine tasting with you again." Jungkook is very protective of his dairy products.

"That's okay. I don't need you when __ says she'll be happy to go with me sometime." Smug bastard, Jungkook thinks. There's no way you said that.

"That's bull Taehy—"

"Look she's in her masters and is literally eight years younger than you. It's not that serious so stop acting like she's fresh out of high school. Besides, you said it yourself, she's not a child."

Jungkook grunts, shoving the cart into the others. "She's a young lady who happens to be enrolled in the school. As faculty, we have no business thinking or talking about her outside those terms."

"For fucksake, Kook. You always make things so complicated!" Taehyung's baritone voice cracks through the speaker. "I'm just trying to get you to admit that you're into her some way or another. How many other students have I stayed to talk to and you couldn't give a—"

Just then a loud, high-pitch screech interrupts the call. Jungkook whips his head around immediately. He doesn't spot anything at first but a string of profanities remains audible in the distance.

"Jungkook, are you okay?"

"Yeah, but someones screaming and I can't tell where it's coming from." Jungkook walks around the grocery parking lot, eyes darting left and right. "Oh shit!"

There, near the bus stop, you lay on your side with your right leg stretched out and blood running from your temple. You try getting up but you fall right back down, cursing sharply.

"Taehyung I gotta go, it's __. I don't know what happened but she's laying by the bus stop and I think she needs help!" Jungkook shuts his phone and races to where you lay. He kneels next to you with sheer horror on his face. "__, what happened? What can I do?"

"Damn college boys, Dr. Jeon," you spit, dragging your leg up as far as you can. You reach for your bag which had flung about a foot away when you crashed. "So fucking eager to get off the bus and—oh damn that hurts like a bitch!"

"What hurts?" Jungkook lunges forward to catch your torso from slamming on the hard concrete. "Stay still okay? We need to get you to the hospital."

"I'm all set, but thanks. It'll likely heal in a day."

Jungkook shakes his head and wraps an arm under your back and legs. "Can you put your arms around my neck?"

"Dr. Jeon, I appreciate what you're doing but I don't want to go to the hospital. Please."

You're serious. No trace of bluffing or even simply trying to act tough. You really don't want to go.

"You need to be checked by a doctor sweetheart," Jungkook insists. "Whatever happened has made it so you can't walk. C'mon, my car is nearby and I'll drive you over."

"No, wait!" He feels you push against his chest.

"__. I'm not leaving you without making sure you didn't break a bone or something. I don't want to make things worse but you don't look so hot right now. So please, let me take you." Jungkook lifts you up when you give a barely consenting yes.

"You sprained your ankle pretty bad hun." Dr. Kim Seokjin draws your attention to the X-ray scan. "Second degree." He points to the visual of your partially torn ligament. "There's going to be a lot of swelling so you're gonna need to stay off your foot for at least 4 weeks."

"Do I have to stay here?" is your first question.

"For the first couple of weeks, we strongly advise—yes." Dr. Kim moves on to the next X-ray scan. "You also cracked a rib which will also take about 4 weeks to heal, or more. Of course you're head has suffered a mild concussion as well but it's very mild thankfully." Dr. Kim catches sight of Jungkook next to you, staring at the scans. "You're wife's going to be okay," he says mid-diagnoses.

"We're not—" you start to say but Dr. Kim continues talking.

"Wife, girlfriend, lover, what have you. The point is, much of what we have here will recover with a month of rest, ice, and elevation." He takes a pen from his pocket and starts jotting down something on paper. "I recommend two weeks here for moderation purposes. If things look good, you finish the healing at home. Still, be careful though, no funny business."

The blank looks on both your faces tell Dr. Kim he wasn't clear enough. "Yah, my filters going to die with you two doe-eyed deer. No funny business means no sex!"

"Oh god!" You outburst, mortified by the thought. Jungkook whips his head to your slack-jawed expression. "Dr. Kim, it's not like that between us."

The older man suddenly zeros in on your professor, eyes narrowing slightly. "What's the matter son? Having trouble getting it up?"

Jungkook jolts in his seat, startled by the crass response. "I—no, what? There's nothing wrong with my—"

"We're not together!" You shout before Jungkook's sentence finishes. "We're friends." Saying that your professor brought you here sounded a little odd for some reason, especially when Dr. Kim was already convinced you two were a thing.

"Mhm sure, heard the same thing from my wife before we went off and eloped." Dr. Kim treads to the door. If he has a dime for how many times he's heard that "we're friends" bs he'd be...well, he's already rich so never mind. "Let's move on to something more productive now, like getting __ settled in a room. The sooner she starts the healing process, the sooner she can be good as new again."

"Thank you Dr. Kim," Jungkook says, slowly standing up to stroll you and your wheelchair out of the room. You didn't like it but the nurses insisted you be in one to keep pressure off your muscles.

"Yeah yeah." Dr. Kim waves him off. "Just remember what I said, no funny business. Especially here at the hospital. You don't know how many times I've heard the nurses catching their patients on top of one another at 2 am in the morning. That better not be you two, whoever you are to each other."

"Yes, doctor." You both reply, thankful of the fact that neither of you are in any position to be looking at each other.

"Is there any way I can be here for less than two weeks?" Jungkook watches as you plead with the nurse. It worries him that you're still anxious to avoid medical attention.

"I'm afraid not," the nurse says simply. "If you need anything, press the call button and I'll be in as soon as I can."

Once the nurse leaves, Jungkook pulls up a chair next to your bed. "Stupid question but how are you feeling?"

"I'm in an ankle brace, my rib burns, and my head is still dizzy. I'm trapped in the hospital for two weeks and all because a bunch of nineteen-year-old boys couldn't wait to hit up some frat party," you groan, not bearing in mind your tongue. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this Dr. Jeon."

"You didn't drag me into anything __. I'm glad I was there when this happened and I'm even more glad that you're here, getting help." Jungkook clears his throat before continuing. "Even if it isn't ideal for you."

You ignore the subtle pry for information. "Please, Dr. Jeon. You don't have to stay any longer. It's the weekend and I'm sure you have plans."

Jungkook gives a faint smile. "So, you're saying this is none of my business?"

"No, not—not at all. I mean if you want to stay then I guess you can but I don't want you to feel obligated or anything."

"I want to be here," Jungkook says simply. "But you know that's not what I meant. I'd like to know why it bothers you when anyone tries to help you...if I may."

"Just habit," you mumble quickly, averting eye-contact. It's not your professor's job to bear the weight of your problems.

Jungkook nods in reply, pretending you gave a satisfactory explanation. He wishes you'd tell him but if you didn't want to share more then that was your choice —he wasn't going to force you. "I understand." He grabs his phone from his pocket and rests his elbows on his knees. "Are you hungry?"

"Huh?" You look back at him, his question going right over your head.

"I asked if you're hungry. It's about dinner time so I can get you something if you want. I also have a bunch of milk in my trunk that needs to get to a fridge. But I can place the order now and pick it up in my way back here."

"Milk in your trunk?" Is the only words you repeat, dumbfounded. "Like chocolate milk or...?"

"Nah, Whole Milk." Jungkook grins at your scrunched up face. You try to hide it but not very well. "Don't look so disgusted. Milk is good for you."

"Yeah when you're ten years old."

"On the contrary!" You flinch when his voice rises, along with his eyebrows. "Milk has a lot of health benefits as adults. It has thirteen essential nutrients and helps maintain muscle and bone strength. I drink at least two full glasses a day, if not more."

"I'm sorry but that's nasty." You shudder at the thought of drinking milk in your twenties let alone your thirties. "You really enjoy it? The taste?"

"Yup, always have since a baby! Loved it so much that my mother-" You raise an eyebrow to which he abruptly switches topics. "Anyway, do you want me to pick you up something or no?"

You giggle, a little uncomfortable with whatever he was about to disclose to you.

"That's okay, no thanks."

"You sure? Otherwise I'm gonna be eating in front of you." Jungkook knows how this sounds — he's trying to force you to eat. But the truth is, he just doesn't want to eat by himself tonight. He also doesn't want to leave you alone this early, especially when you obviously detest being here, for whatever reason.

"I'm sure," you say. "But...if you want to come back you can. Not like I have anything to do anyway."

"Good then." Pleased, Jungkook opens up his phone contacts. "Give me you're number in case you change your mind while I'm out."

Over the next couple of weeks, Jungkook continues to stay by your side. He leaves to teach his classes of course and to go home late at night, but he stops by every day—hours at a time.

You keep insisting that he not come so much but he always makes the same excuses. "I just brought food" or "You're on my way home from the university". Sometimes he brings in class notes too.

Due to your current predicament, you're missing a lot of content so Jungkook thinks it best to go over key principles with you and takeaways from his lectures. He says it's his duty as a professor–never minding the fact that many of his other students are in a predicament of their own yet he’s not bothering to do jack for them.

"Look Dr. Jeon, I appreciate what you're doing but you really don't have to. I'll be perfectly alright to catch myself up from the textbook and study guides. You don't have to keep stopping by." You try again but Jungkook keeps his wall just as strong as yours.

"I know I don't have to __. I know that I could leave right now, take all these lecture notes home with me, and not feel guilty about a thing. But I told you I was going to be here and I'm going to keep to that no matter how many times you urge me to leave. I also want you to call me Jungkook outside class but have you allowed for any of those to happen?" Jungkook tosses the folder of notes in his sachel, a loud thump following. "A simple thank you would suffice."

"I am grateful, I really am. But I never asked to be given so much of your time. I feel bad because maybe you're just one of those overly nice people who feel it's their duty to stick around or what not when someone's in trouble. I don't need to be pitied over! Also, you said I could keep calling you the usual, so Dr. Jeon it will remain!" Why you're raising your voice, you don't know but it's happening either way.

"Yeah I did," Jungkook quips, matching your tone. "But after the last, nearly two weeks I think we ought to be on a first-name basis! And I'm in no way pitying you okay? I'm here because I care dammit! I don't want you to be alone and I don't want you to be behind in getting your Masters. So I' try to be be here every day for at least fifteen minutes if not more!"

You don't fully process what he says so you reply to what you remember most. "Why? Why can't I call you Dr. Jeon? It's been that way from the start, twice every week. So why do I need to call you Jungkook all a sudden?!"

"Because it makes me feel younger, you insulted my milk after I first took you to the hospital, we've been eating dinner almost every night since your injury, you told me about your childhood cat named Mr. Muttonbottom, and you just called me by my first name so there are no take backs! Now, if you're done making a fit, do you want bibimbap or jajangmyeon for dinner tonight?!"

What the actual hell? You cease your arguing at once, hearing your professor, or excuse you, Jungkook, all fluffed up. Obviously, you're not the only one high-strung over being stuck in the same routine day in, day out.

"Jajangmyeon...please," you mutter.

"Thank fuck," he swears. Yeah that's new too.

"Sorry for getting mad earlier." You mumble the words as soon as Jungkook returns with the food. "It just feels odd that you've been here all the time...you're my professor."

Jungkook mauls over your choice of words, stiffening ever so slightly. "Well, I'd like to think we're sorta friends now but alright. Does this actually bother you __? I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, you know that." He places the bag of take-out on the small desk near your bed.

"No, it's doesn't bother me." you just don't know how to react or what to say besides a measly thank you. More so, you don't want to make someone feel responsible for you...you should take care of your own shit without bringing others with you. It's not the best mindset, you're aware, but its the one you have.

"Okay good because to be completely transparent, I'm sorta here for me too. I live my myself, eat by myself, talk to myself....I do most things alone so it's nice having someone else to be around." He's not sure where to set his eyes, so he looks downward, fumbling with the napkins in front of him. "I'm making this awkward, sorry."

Feeling the strange need to offer comfort, you stretch a hand over Jungkook's arm. "I get it. It's nice having someone around too."

You and Jungkook hold each other's gaze for a few seconds more, letting the brief silence do the rest of the talking. Maybe you've been looking at this a little too one-sided.

"How are you feeling today? Any better?" Jungkook cracks open the bowl of Jajangmyeon, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks.

You take the steamy food and gesture to your ankle which has swollen down a good amount. "Still more healing to be done but it's better."

Jungkook hums in approval. "That's comforting to hear. Dr. Kim going to discharge you soon?"

"Yeah, I think so. A few more days and he said I should be able to rest up at home."

"Really?" He chews on his bottom lip. "Well great, uhm , do you have stuff going on when you get back?"

You think a moment, trying to recollect if you made plans with Na-Rae. "Maybe some but not much. I don't have a ton of people around me right now either...down here I mean."

"Well, do you wanna go out to dinner then?" Jungkook pops the question more causal than expected. It's almost like he planned this or at least has been thinking about it for a bit. "We've been eating together for a while now and I think it might be a nice celebratory thing."

"Are you asking me on a date...Jungkook?" Because it defiantly sounds like he is, as indirect as it may be.

His reply is barely audible but you hear it and for the first time, your professor sounds truly timid. "Uh, well...let's go with "hang out", like friends do."

A/N: so yeah, thats how they got together 👀😅 anyone surprised? Thinking about a drabble for thier first date now haha. Anyway, next chapter we get back to present day stuff where more drama goes down. Also, adding a chapter bc this flashback took the whole chapter lol. 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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fourswordsannotated · 6 months

Text

akira himekawa are unbelievably cool.

soooo here's the thing. i was looking at akira himekawa's website on a whim and found a public blog, with posts that go all the way back to 2009. many hours of google translating later, and i've developed an even stronger admiration of these two women and their exceptional career as manga artists. they share so much in these posts about the creative process, their thoughts on social justice, their connections with nature, and their most major original story, gliding reki, which seems to have always been a passion project in the midst of commercial work.

from what i could gather, reki is unique in that they were determined to do it in full color. and they did it, because after reading about their career, it's clear to me that when these women set their mind to an idea, they make it happen. see also: they just recently produced and distributed their own art book, because no publishers were offering to do it in a way that pleased them.

their stated goals for reki were to make something more adult than their previous children's manga, taking place in a city, involving a lot of mechanical art, and featuring stronger romantic and self-described erotic subtext. good for them. before i get into the four swords-related stuff, i'm sharing what i could find on the internet about reki.

more under the cut, because there's quite a bit to discuss :)

not much that i could find on the blog specifically references four swords, but they have many fascinating insights about nintendo, the zelda fandom, and the franchise as a whole. i can't know for certain because this information was surmised from translated text, but it seems as if their manga with chibi link made them feel a little stifled, which is why they took a long break before returning to do twilight princess. it's not lost on me that even a work like four swords, which they may regard as not their favorite or best, still has inspired and brought together so many passionate, creative, and diverse people. this is especially sweet because it seems as if they met each other, and formed their creative partnership, because of a shared fandom interest of their own.

honda and nagano have shared their thoughts and feelings on this blog for more than a decade, and they have a lot of thoughts and feelings. throughout their entire career they've made commentary on work-life balance, their experiences as women in a male-dominated field, and their desire to create original art while simultaneously enjoying some commercial work as well. they are passionate about social justice, particularly re: women and indigenous people, and offer insights on aspects of culture and history and the state of the world that really could resonate with anyone. and they really seem to appreciate fans of their work, and emphasize repeatedly the care and thought they put into their manga in the hopes it will inspire and bring catharsis to readers. they love animals (especially wolves), being outside in nature, being nerds about art they enjoy, a certain subgenre of romantic manga that appealed to and empowered female readers in the 90's and 2000's, and traveling around the world to partake in activities like horse riding and falconry.

the coolest part is, they're still updating the blog to this day :) in fact they seem to have recently returned to it, reflecting that twitter is not their preferred manner of sharing things online. they seem very familiar with and fond of older-school blogging culture.

there's a lot more i could say here about my findings, some of which do pertain to... certain ships 💜🖤 . but i don't want my genuine appreciation for these authors to be overshadowed by that kind of conversation. in addition to a link to the blog itself, i'm including a few translated posts of interests, which you can interpret and incorporate into your perception of the media however you please. at the end of the day, it's a really cool gift that these artists have chosen to share so much over such a long period of time. by making their personalities, beliefs, and insights more visible to fans of their work, i hope it brings new context to the stories we already love.

a modern-day insight:

re: the zelda mangas. these are from several points throughout their career. please note that they have so many fond things to say about zelda as a franchise and their work on the mangas, especially regarding the way they've affected fans. i encourage you to look for yourself, on their blog and their other socials!

re: gliding reki

re: the creative process (and in the latter two, the fandom that seems to have inspired them!)

re: their two goofyass adorable tiny dogs that they dress up in outfits while also loving wolves like a lot, they love wolves (both domesticated and wild), they really love wolves

re: wolf day (every day is wolf day,)

re: indigenous rights

re: painting serious works on commission vs their manga. i can't know for sure exactly what it means, but it really does kinda hit

re: a fan and manga artist in training bringing them art and a note

and a moment from a twilight princess manga interview i found very sweet :)

okay. you've made it to the end. i know you're wondering. here you go. please remember that this is and always has been a public blog, and these posts are actually from 2009 and 2010. also please remember that the point of this post is not to cause or fuel fandom discourse, but to appreciate these authors and the things that they choose to express.

(also, this is the column they were referring to in image 1. it's FASCINATING. give it a read if you'd like!)

the dots are there. you're welcome to connect them.

thank you for your beautiful work and insights, honda and nagano. please never change.

#akira himekawa #four swords manga #legend of zelda #four swords #loz #twilight princess manga #(yes there is v/dow stuff at the very bottom okay it's there just please read the rest)

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envirae · 6 months

Text

my very first love ! — 24: break my heart?

masterlist

prev // next

wc: 963

written part below the cut!

"How much of that did you hear?" He asked, he stared back at you blankly, almost as if he didn't believe you were real.

"I think a lot more than I was supposed to." You answered honestly, Riki opened his mouth to speak, but both of your phones were buzzing incessantly with texts from your captains.

He sighed, before turning his phone off and looking back at you. "Let's talk after the show. There's so much I want to say to you."

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

You were set to perform right after Enha, which Soobin was very much unhappy with. Thankfully, though, they actually performed their own choreo this time.

This hardly calmed Soobin down, however, because god— were they killing it.

Their power on stage demanded the attention of the audience and their charisma helped to distract from any mistakes they could have made.

Heeseung shot Soobin a smirk on their way off stage, and it took everything in Soobin not to choke him out right then and there.

For any team, they would have been impossible to follow up.

Not for your team, though.

It was the performance of a lifetime. You don't think you had ever put this much of your blood, sweat, and tears into anything before. And now, here you were, ready to see all of it pay off.

After your performance, you and the rest of the novas sat eagerly backstage, waiting for the rest of the teams to finish performing and for scores to be announced.

This was one of the biggest, most important moments of your high school career, but you couldn't get your mind off Riki.

All the things he told Jiwoo backstage, were they true? Would you be an idiot for letting him back into your life after he had already hurt you so bad?

You were far from discreet, and the way you and Riki kept making prolonged eye contact backstage almost killed you.

Your team, along with all of the others, stood at the wings of the stage as they announced the winners. Third place had been given to a team from Daegu, and you waited in anticipation for the top two.

"In second place," The announcer began, "from HYBE academy of the arts, ENHYPEN."

You watched as the boys' faces fell. However, they sucked it up and put on a smile as they walked out.

"And finally, in first place, the Korean Junior National champions, also from HYBE academy of arts, SUPERNOVA."

You couldn't believe it.

You almost thought that you had heard them wrong. But no, you had won. You actually beat ENHYPEN. For the first time ever, they didn't take away your spotlight.

Soobin made sure to walk out with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, staring directly at the boys the entire time. He gracefully accepted the trophy, and it almost looked like he was about to cry.

You were over the moon, all the hard work you and your teammates had been put in for the past year was finally paying off. You showed ENHYPEN- and the entire school, that you were done living in their shadows. And as you looked at Riki, he smiled and sent you a thumbs up.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

When Riki finally found you backstage, you didn't know what to say. You smiled at him, and you wanted to say something, but no words came out.

"Congratulations on your win. You deserved it, really." He said, a soft yet embarrassed smile on his face.

"Thanks, Riks. I really appreciate it. How'd your team take the news?" You asked, out of pure curiosity. You knew that team, and you knew they were most likely throwing nothing short of temper tantrums right now.

"Better than I thought they would, to be honest. Except for Jay, I'm pretty sure he stormed out and drove home." You laughed, and so did he. It was nice hearing his laugh, you hadn't even realized how much you missed it.

It was silent for a while before you finally looked back at him. "About earlier- I didn't mean to eavesdrop, it's just-"

"It's okay, y/n. It's all stuff I wish I would've told you before, anyways, and I hate that I never did." He cut you off, and you were a little shocked. "I never knew why I got so flustered around you before. I have never felt this nervous around someone before, ever. But when it comes to you, I go crazy."

He paused, searching for any hint of emotions in your expression, but kept going.

"I like- No, I love you y/n. And I don't care if our teams hate each other, I don't care if you think we would never work, I don't care if there are a million logical reasons why we shouldn't be together. Because I love you, y/n. And I think that's the only reason we need to tell us that we should."

"Riki, I don't even know what to say." You chuckled, cheeks bright red from the sudden confession. "I agree that there are a million reasons we shouldn't be together."

His face fell slightly as he braced himself for rejection, but you kept going.

"But I love you too, Riki. You make me want to be the best version of myself that I can be. I think we owe it to ourselves to try."

The smile that appeared on his face was so bright, you would've thought he was the one who won a national competition today. He engulfed you in a hug so tight you thought you were going to lose all air in your lungs.

"You gonna break my heart, y/n?"

"Only if you break mine first." You teased, and this time, he placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

a/n: it's finally over! i apologize for the (kinda) hiatus i took during the later parts of this smau, but that is over and i am now back! i have had so much fun writing this smau and i hope you guys had fun reading it, too :). i have an epilogue coming out and a new smau announcement very soon so please stay tuned for that!

p.s. i hope you guys noticed the tatbilb reference 😚

taglist 1 (closed): @haknom @kjrcrz @lalalalawon @123-678h @k25vi @aosbie @yenqa @wondering-out-loud @captivq @enhaz1 @luvistqrzzz @luvchungha @beomgyusonlywife @heart4hees @mrchweeee @mywons @jwnoot @jayujus @jaeyunsimswife @yumilovesloona @pagesofmiracles @eumppattv @fluerz @yjwfav @darly6n

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shubblelive · 1 year

Text

— EMPTY APARTMENTS

summary : wilbur gets to your apartment and finds you and all your belongings gone. you didn’t even say goodbye.

genre : angst -> fluff (“angst” might be a strong word)

warnings : sleep depravation (it’s bed time, wil. you have school in the morning), swearing, wilbur almost has a panic attack

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x reader

pronouns : none (you/yours)

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, lovejoy (mentioned)

word count : 987

note : i'm not the proudest of this, but here you go anyway.

Wilbur hadn’t slept in days.

It had been a lot, all at once, and he was struggling. He had just got back from America and Dave was already discussing another tour after their next single. He loved travelling and performing; it was what he was meant to be doing. Hearing people scream his silly little lyrics back at him while practically high on adrenaline was a feeling Wilbur wouldn’t be able to replicate with a million streams (as much as he loved them).

He’d been overwhelmingly anxious in a way that couldn’t be halted by breathing techniques, but he would try his best. Part of it was flying, which he knew shouldn’t have been an active issue given that the song wasn’t even finished yet. What they had been performing was about 90% complete, and another thing giving him grief was wondering whether people would like it. It was different from his first two EPs, and Wilbur knew even the most loyal of fan bases could hate songs.

That, combined with his hair being everywhere, wasn’t even the cause of the gnawing feeling in his abdomen. That one was simple, and he knew it couldn’t be solved. He missed you.

The tour had been short and he didn’t remember most of it, but he remembered hardly being able to sleep without the feeling of you on top of his left arm. It was worse when he was in the US, and he couldn’t even call you before bed. Of course, he was back now, and he’d been smothering you in affection to the point where you’d had to beg him to let you go and film.

He had been at the studio all day working on the rest of the EP; Wilbur had grown frustrated with just working on that one song when it clearly wasn’t sounding right. It was almost there, but it consumed his every waking moment and he needed a break. Whether it was the song itself, or the music video, or the concept art. The whole thing was just hurting his head, and the feeling was getting worse.

His eyes were heavy in the taxi ride home, and he’d fought the urge to fall asleep. He was heading for your flat; it was closer. He had a certain paranoia since he’d gotten more known about people knowing where he lived, so he always gave them a random address near where he lived but far enough away that it eased his anxieties. Trudging down the street, drops of rainwater in his hair, he pulled up your texts.

I’ll see you tonight, love, he’d sent early that morning. Yours or mine?

Ha, you had replied.

He pulled out his keyring, finding the key to your place that he’d held onto since forever. It stuck in the lock, like it always did and he closed his eyes as he turned the knob, dropping the keys into the bowl with a clatter and turning on the lights.

The flat was empty. There was still furniture, but all your stuff was gone. His keys lay there lamely on the floor, he was so exhausted he hadn’t even realised you’d taken the end table. Your shelves were bare, the counters were empty; hell even your streaming setup was gone.

You’d left, and you hadn’t even told him.

Was it something he had done? How long had you been planning this? It wouldn’t have been hard to orchestrate, you’d spent most of your nights at his place recently. Where had you gone? Maybe he could find you. At the very least get some closure.

He called you. Three times. His phone fell from his hand and he lent back against the door. You were the only thing that wasn’t causing him immense amounts of stress, and you were gone. There had been signs, surely. He hadn’t seen any, but there had to have been some.

Did he forget an anniversary? No, none that he could think of. Fuck. What had he done?

He couldn’t stay there, in your empty flat. It was too small, too full and too empty and he stumbled out, through the hallway, down the stairs and onto the street. It was late, the streets were nearly empty but it was too loud. The street lights flickered and Wilbur kicked a lampost.

It didn’t move. How annoying.

It took him nearly an hour to get home, somewhat because he continued to try and kick inanimate objects (mostly because he realised he forgot his phone and had to go back). This time, when he put his keys on the end table they fell resolutely onto the end table.

He flicked the light switch. They turned off.

Why were they already on? Whatever, he probably left them on accidentally. He shed his coat, throwing it over the back of the couch and face-planting onto it. The cushion groans underneath him.

“You ‘right?” Your hand found its way into his hair and his breath was strong against your neck. “Will? Everything okay?”

“You weren’t there,” His voice broke. “I went to your apartment and all your stuff was gone.” His arms were wrapped around you so hard his knuckles were turning white. “I’m sorry, darling. I’m so sorry.” You could feel tears leaking onto your collarbone and you clutched him back.

“Are you alright? Have you still not been sleeping?” Your eyes, warm with concern, met him. “Will, love?”

“I’m sorry.” He kept repeating.

“We’re okay. I promise. I’m moving in here, remember?” your voice was soft, and he couldn’t stop crying.

“Fuck.” His eyes were clamped shut. “I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“You need a break,” you corrected gently. “You’re overworking yourself, Wilbur.”

It took him a while to calm down, and soon he was nodding in your embrace. “Need you.” That night, Wilbur slept better than he had in months and in the morning you were still there.

#mcyt #wilbur soot #wilbuh ♡#mcyt wilbur #wilbur soot fluff #dsmp wilbur #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot fanfiction #wishing i could write my name on it

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pepsiboyy · 1 month

Text

beyond the contract - part 4

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8

pairing: matt sturniolo x reader summary: where the sturniolo triplets are part of an organization known as the eclipse alliance, matt has constantly failed to pull through with pulling the trigger on a target. fed up, their boss gives matt one last chance, where he is sent to northside high school to get some answers out of a girl. warnings: cursing, mentions of drugs and a lot of mafia shit??, some smooches rahh author's note: HI FRIENDS!!! lots of important context in this chapter, i hope it's a good one <3 back to reader pov next chapter!! some fun sibling banter too yayyy also yes i Did delete this chapter on accident after LITERALLY FINISHING IT. :D WC: 2024 (lol xd) lowercase intentional !!

i couldn't help but allow my gaze to linger across matt's features as he kept his eyes on the road, a hand on the wheel and the other on his own leg.

matt seemed to pick up on this as he turned to face me, his eyebrows furrowed. "what's your deal?" he smiled.

"where are you taking me?" i questioned.

matt and i were having our first date today. it had been about a week since he asked me that night at the pond.

"uhh, well.." matt trailed off. "i don't like crazy stuff, i could only think of more chill stuff, so…" he trailed off.

"soo..?" i continued for him and smiled as he shot me a joking death glare.

"we're going to an art museum?" he stated, but it was more of a question as he turned to me for half a second and back at the road.

i gasped and clasped my hands together. "i've never really been to one!" i chuckled as i looked out the window at the trees passing by.

matt just smiled softly to himself as he continued to drive. he really hadn't been to one either, but he knew that wherever you two went, it would be a fun time.

"where's matt?" chris called to nick from the kitchen.

nick was laying against their couch, his eyes glued to his phone. while they had a lot to do, he needed the break more than anything. he scrolled through his phone as he let out a deep sigh. "i don't know, chris, he's probably out getting tutored. or his dick sucked or something."

"ew, nick," chris muttered as he opened the fridge and grabbed a pepsi, moving to take a seat on the couch as well. "gross."

they sat in silence for a few moments before chris cleared his throat and turned to nick. "i talked with the coordinator the other day," he breathed, and nick immediately dropped his phone and gave chris his full attention. he nodded his head at him with wide eyes as if to say, 'go on.' chris let out a deep sigh as he messed with his hair. "it.. didn't really go well. we need to break the news to matt soon. or else.." he trailed off.

"or else what?" nick muttered, before he sat up from his previous laying down position to look at chris. "what, chris?" he repeated, shifting to be directly in front of the younger's face.

chris immediately shoved him out from in front of him. "no need to be so close, god," he muttered before he shrugged. "he said he'd complete the mission himself." he stated.

nick blinked a few times before he let out a deep sigh. he leaned back against the couch as they both stared at the ceiling.

"nick… how did we get into this situation?" he questioned, almost as a whisper as he turned to the oldest triplet. "to be completely honest, i don't really know why we're doing this all. i just want to be with my brothers. but it doesn't make sense to me. why are we killing people, why are we kicking up dirt on people and.. why are we getting each other involved so severely? we both know matt wants nothing to do with it, and i'm not entirely sure i want to be involved either." he trailed off, and nick simply listened to him.

"it's… a long story." he stated softly, but his eyes closed.

"i have time." chris stated firmly, sitting up to listen to nick.

"okay well, are you gonna interrupt me every five seconds? that'll make this five hours longer than it needs to be." nick spat, but chris only cracked a smile.

"no, just get to it kid," he responded as he took a sip of his pepsi.

nick took a deep breath before starting. "well, as you know, the eclipse alliance prioritizes discipline, order within ranks, and most of all, loyalty. the alliance was established decades ago amongst a few teenagers who seeked power, wealth and control. they got this tightly knit group and developed a hierarchy structure. with their goal to expand their influence, the alliance grew rapidly. this caused them to expand to various legal enterprises including smuggling, extortion, drug trafficking, and money laundering-"

"nick, stop with the big words, bro. i understood maybe half of what you just said." chris stated blankly, but he was clearly interested in the topic.

nick rolled his eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. "anyways. we got involved with eclipse alliance because.. well.. we had financial struggles growing up," nick stated bluntly, shrugging as he stared into space in front of him. considering they lived from ten onward without parents, nick took initiative at a young age to try and keep him and his brothers stable. "since around when i had joined eclipse alliance, black veil operations emerged as a challenger to us. their logo is a silhouette of a woman with a veil and a growing flame behind it." nick stopped to take a soft breath before continuing. "they were fueled by the desire to trial their dominance and establish themselves as a rival power." nick took a deep breath as he looked at chris, who was listening closely. "while eclipse alli-"

brrr.

nick cringed at chris, who let out probably the most disgusting burp known to man. "can you fucking listen?" he spat, and chris immediately threw his hands up and pointed at his pepsi. after a few moments, nick continued. "while eclipse alliance prioritizes hierarchy, order and loyalty, black veil operations takes a more decentralized approach to their operations. they're known for their cunning tactics, flexibility, and willingness to exploit weakness within their rivals, which is us." chris nodded along. "they're determined to undermine the eclipse alliance's power and expand their own influence by using any means necessary."

chris stared at nick and slowly nodded before blinking a few times. "i see. i guess." he thought for a few moments before he shrugged. "i don't know, i think people need to let go of grudges."

nick chuckled and stood up. "what i'm saying. but i did what i could to get us to where we are today. even if it means risking my life, or.. ours, now." he shrugged.

chris nodded and smiled. "thanks for explaining to me, nick."

no pov.

the sun had began to set, and matt was now driving home with y/n in his car. when he pulled up in front of your house and noticed the empty driveway, he cocked an eyebrow. "business trip?"

you smiled and nodded to him, shrugging as you began to get out of the car.

matt quickly followed and got out with you.

your first date was great. matt felt like he had an amazing time with you. he loved the way your hand felt in his, like they perfectly molded together. but now it was time for matt's plan to end the night. he smiled at you as he bit his lip, expression clearly nervous.

you seemed to quickly pick up on this and spoke up, "you okay? what's got you so nervous?" she questioned, and matt internally cursed at himself.

"i uhh. got you something? but don't be weird about it." he breathed as he watched you stare blankly at him. fuck, he felt so shy. this was the worst moment to start kicking himself in the ass. "can you uhh.. turn around?" he chuckled nervously when you looked at him confused before you obeyed and turned around, moving your hands over your eyes.

matt bit his lip as he pulled a few things out from his car.

"y- you can turn around now," he stammered.

you did just that, and upon turning around, your jaw dropped.

matt had a small posterboard with "PROM?" written on it, and a bouquet of flowers in one hand that held the sign while his other just held it tightly.

"you're such a dork," you whispered as you smiled and stepped towards him, carefully taking the bouquet of flowers to relieve him of awkwardly holding them with the poster.

"i know you really wanted to go to prom, and… i don't, but. if it'll make you happy," he trailed off, and tried to bite back a smile as he watched you smile in awe at him.

"i'd love to." you responded.

matt smiled warmly at you. his heart was racing. to get answers out of this girl, did he need to ask her to prom? no. but did he really, genuinely care about this girl and what she truly wanted? yes.

they stared at each other for a few moments as matt put his arms down, letting the sign sit at his feet. he hadn't even realized how close together you guys were now, standing between his car and the curb.

you both smiled at each other, you faces both a shade of pink.

how could this girl have any ties with black veil operations, matt thought to himself. she was an innocent girl, a beautiful innocent girl. a sweetheart. his internal dialogue rambled, but it immediately came to a halt when he felt your lips press against his.

his eyes widened for a moment before they fluttered shut and he felt his hands subconsciously move to your waist.

when you pulled away, matt stared at you for a few moments, his eyes wide, and yours were just as wide.

just as you were about to apologize for the action, matt gently squeezed your hand.

"wanna come inside for a bit?" you asked, and matt felt his stomach turn.

chris groaned as he turned to the clock beside him. matt was supposed to be home an hour ago. he sighed as he set his headset down and carefully picked up his phone, pulling up matt's contact and shooting him a text.

chris:

hey wya??

matt allowed a soft groan to leave him upon feeling a hand of yours run up his side and gently along his back.

'wanna come inside for a bit' led to you both against your living room couch with matt on top of you.

matt gently ran a hand down your side and tucked it under the hem of your shirt, his cheeks burning pink as he stopped.

the way you smiled against his lips and parted your own softly gave him enough permission to gently tuck his fingers under the hem.

matt couldn't help but glance down at the now exposed skin under your shirt before an inked spot on your skin caught his eye. he immediately halted and turned to the decorated skin, his entire expression falling.

"what's wrong..?" you questioned, sitting up slightly.

"what is this?" matt was pale. he looked up at you, his entire demeanor changing.

you smiled nervously as you looked away. "ahh, i don't know.. i've had it since i was like twelve." you chuckled, but your smile faltered when you looked up at matt.

matt let in a deep breath as he stood up and checked his phone. 12:37am.

"fuck, i promised chris i'd play fortnite with him." matt chuckled as he shoved his phone in his pocket.

"are you okay?" you questioned, scrambling to your feet and straightening out your disheveled clothes and hair.

matt smiled reassuringly at you and nodded, walking to the door. after walking outside, he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips that lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away and hugged you tightly. "thank you for today, i had an amazing time." he whispered against your ear.

you nodded softly and hugged him back.

as matt began to walk to his car, he smiled brightly at you and waved. he got in his car and started it, driving away once you re-entered your house. he drove down the street before he pulled over and buried his face in his hands. the only thing he could think of what the inked skin just above your pelvis.

a silhouette of a woman with a veil and a growing flame behind it.

taglist;; @star-saturn-xx @sturniolo-girl @p1xieswrld @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @sweetbabydoe @iloveneilperry

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x reader

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littledigits · 5 months

Note

Hi! I absolutely love your work and your art style (and I think Hilda is one of the best animated shows ever made!!) I want to dip my toe into drawing, mainly because I want to be able to do little sketchy character drawings for my D&D campaign lol. Is there any particular book or course you might recommend for getting started? Thank you!

thank you so much ! <3

I would say if you want to start drawing , do whatever makes it accessible and fun for you to start. I cant go hardcore into learning, i need some indulgence to keep it fun.

Its hard for me to recommend anything off the top of my head. there is SO MUCH GOOD STUFF OUT THERE NOW ADAYS. also you may look at a book or a course and the way its explained wont make sense to you, but someone else could put it a different way and it could click better! Everyone has a different workflow and different methods, so what i'd recommend is just poke around in some youtube videos and just watch a few beginner ones, see what methods you vibe with. But at the end of the day do what you feel like is most fun and dont sweat the details

DONT BE AFRAID TO REFRENCE THINGS! When I was in school for animation, one of the first things you did to learn to draw on model was draw overtop of the model sheet and break down the proportions. (how many 'heads' tall is it , how many 'eyes' wide is the face). If you see a style you like, learn from it !

Drawing overtop of a character and breaking it down is a great exercise if there is a style you want to mimic. Understanding the proportions helps because then when you draw, if it looks -off- you can test out your own . Who knows, maybe you accidentally made the body too long or short! People are afraid to trace or draw over, but its a great exercise as long as you dont take credit, especially if you're not just doing it for something to look pretty but you want to *understand* how it was done. This helps a lot in building your own style ! my style is a mish mash of everything i've loved and worked on over the years, and it changes over time. So if you see something and you're like 'ooo thats COOL how did they do it' , save it , break it down , maybe you'll learn a few new things !

also I recommend to start with simple shapes ! I put some screen captures from rough sketches that Scott Lewis did, who is a senior animator on hilda. Even as an experienced animator he knows how important the fundamentals are (which is why hes good at his job haha). I think if you want to do fun sketchy things for DND , keeping it simple is the way to go :) you'd be surprised how much expression you can get out of shapes ! I hope this helps you get started on drawing all the endless DND shenanigans that I'm sure live in your head :D .

#thepaisleyelf #starting to get into art for dnd drawing is best reason #as someone who loves shitposting dnd doodles it is pure bliss

87 notes · View notes

foli-vora · 11 months

Text

run to you: chapter five

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: life is hectic atm but i'm so glad to finally get this out! i swear i'm gonna get around to replying to all of your lovely comments on chapter four. i really appreciate your love and support for this story and i'm forever thanking you, even if i don't get around to replying as quick as i want! so not a lot of marcus and reader in this chapter, like... at all lmao, but the storyline is now picking up and we can fasten our seatbelts for the turbulent ride ahead. enjoy, angels! x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and 'You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: just over 4.5k

Warnings: angst, swearing, the bestest golden retriever himbo bff, talk of crime and undercover operations, mentions of heartache, mentions of jail/being incarcerated, talk of murder/bodies, smutty flashback (18+ only), Patrick Jane, super brief blink-and-you-miss-it Lisbon appearance (poor marcus bb is not doing good rn lmao SUFFER BITCH), and the usual warning: bitter saltiness that only one man brings to life in us

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

He’s hovering.

At first, it’s almost easy to ignore—you think he’s just watching you paint with a small sense of curiosity and would move away once boredom finds him, but you’ve never been one for people looming over your shoulder for an extended period of time, and so the irritation quickly starts to seep in.

The hand holding the paintbrush drops, and you look expectantly at him while knocking your headphones off of one ear, “Can I help you, agent?”

Jacob leans on the table next to you and tears into the homemade sub in his hands, chewing loudly as a small smearing of mayonnaise gathers at the corner of his lips.

He gives a nod, mumbling around the mouthful of food, “Just makin’ sure you eat.”

You blink in surprise, glancing at the window, “It’s lunchtime already?”

“A bit past,” Jacob replies, moving away now that he has your attention and sits himself on a chair at the table, “but I didn’t want to let you go late without eating. Gotta keep up your energy, Monet—don’t want you running yourself into the ground.”

“Thanks,” you murmur softly, organising your little workstation and rolling your aching shoulders.

The break is surprisingly welcome. You didn’t even realise how long you’d been lost in your work until you stopped, and now the throb in your fingers is all you can focus on. You clench and unclench your hand as you walk to your bag and ready some lunch, careful of the hot food you retrieve from the microwave.

Jacob doesn’t look at you as you seat yourself opposite him, too engrossed in studying the painting hanging on the easel.

“You’re good at this,” Jacob notes, eyeing the almost completed piece waiting to be taken wherever by Marcus’ team, “how’d you get into this stuff? Art school?”

Appetite now gone, you shift in your seat, suddenly far too interested in pushing the rice into small mountains in your glass dish.

Breathe.

He doesn’t know.

“I uh… I actually did it for a living.”

“Oh? Nice.”

There’s no malice in his tone, no mistrust, just pure interest.

He doesn’t glare at you, or pull a face of suspicion. It doesn’t even occur to him that it may have all been under the table and illegal. You feel a little guilty, almost as if you’d been leading him to believe you weren’t a previously convicted criminal. It makes you want to own it, to just speak your truth and let him make his own judgement of your actions.

Maybe it would be best to do so, so he would know where he stands and how he should view you. You’re not a good person, and maybe he deserves to know that. He does deserve to know that.

“It was… it wasn’t legal. That’s how I got caught up in Marcus’ radar,” you admit quietly, briefly letting your eyes meet his and watching the flicker of surprise flash across his features before dropping your gaze again, afraid to watch his warmth and friendliness disappear.

“Oh.”

Nothing is said for a few minutes.

You swear you can feel the seconds trickling by, your nerves picking up and heightening with every silent tick. The small bit of the lunch you’d packed last night and eaten starts to churn uncomfortably in your stomach, swirling with your growing anxiety and threatening to bubble up your throat.

You can’t look at him.

“How’d you get caught?”

“It was a whole thing. Apparently the FBI had been after them—us—for a while… I knew it was big, I wasn’t stupid, but I guess I just tried to ignore the other side of it all. The money was good, and it felt nice. Marcus went undercover—guess they wanted someone on the inside, and I just happened to fall in the trap.”

And fall into the trap you did. You fell good. One look into those warm brown eyes and your walls had crumbled. You still don’t understand how it all happened. If only you could go back and scream at your more naive self, tell her to just walk away and never look back.

God, had you truly been that lonely? To open up so quickly, so easily, with a complete stranger? Would things have played out differently if you had just been stronger and ignored the obvious attraction and turned a cheek to his advances? Would he have just moved on to somebody else for the sake of the case?

It makes you angry, and you don’t have a clue as to why. Maybe it’s because somewhere deep within you, beneath the bitterness and the hurt, you wanted to believe he actually did want you, and not just use you as a means to finish the investigation. You wanted to believe that a part of it, even just a slither of it, was real.

Stupid.

Of course it wasn’t real. None of it was.

Jacob nods in understanding, “So that’s why you hate Pike?”

Hate?

Is that what you feel for him?

The angry side of you says yes. Yes, you hate him and everything he fucking stands for, and that you’d feel this way forever… but it doesn’t sit right, feel right. Maybe you don’t. Maybe hate isn’t what it is. Resentment? Disappointment, perhaps?

“I don’t hate him,” you sigh quietly, giving up on lunch and pushing it away from you, “not… not really. I mean, I did. For months I wished all sorts of horrible shit to happen to him, but I… I don’t know. I guess I just accepted it for what it was after a while. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t like him—at all—but I just want to forget it all happened and move on. I want my fresh start, you know? It’s hard seeing him, being around him again, after all the heartbreak.”

“Wait,” Jacob frowns, holding a hand out to stop you from speaking any more, “when you say you ‘fell into the trap’, does that… were you guys a thing? While he was undercover? Was it serious?”

“It was to me,” you admit with a murmur, “even had me picking out a damn wedding dress.”

The laugh that you force from your lips is strained and void of any true humour.

If anything, it’s an attempt to steer the direction of the conversation from diving any deeper into the overwhelming feelings you had for a man that had never existed. It’s humiliating to even think about. Maybe if you laugh about it, the sting of it all won’t hurt as much.

“Oh well,” you breathe, straightening in your seat and twisting your lips to resemble a faint smile, “it’s all in the past. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Jacob watches you play with your food with a look you can’t quite identify. You don’t want to risk looking at him too much, afraid that he’ll see the clear pain swirling in your eyes. The damage has probably already been done. He’s seen it all, and probably more. He’s a Federal Agent—their job relies on reading people on a daily basis.

“Hey,” he mutters, giving you a small comforting smile when you eventually pull your gaze away from the table to look at him, “for what it's worth, I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must’ve felt. It must’ve been really tough, and I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”

Your features twist into a frown, “Who said I was alone through it?”

He watches you knowingly for a moment, his brows raising ever so slightly as his small smile turns a little sadder, sympathetic. He’s right, and he knows it. You had been alone. It’d been the most alone you’d ever felt, and you’ll spend the rest of your life hoping to never feel that way again.

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you give a small shrug and drop your fork with a quiet clatter, “I deserved it.”

“No, you didn’t. Yeah, you’ve made some pretty shit decisions in the past—I’m not debating that, but I like to think of myself as a good judge of character. You’re not a bad person, not like the ones we’re used to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There’s nothing but sincerity in his tone. You watch him for a few minutes, eyes darting between his bright green ones and searching for anything that gives you a small feeling of doubt that his words are nothing but a lie.

You find nothing.

A true smile starts to grow along your lips and you dip your head, unable to keep meeting his genuine gaze without feeling the sting of tears in your eyes.

“Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome, Kahlo.”

It’s quiet, and you feel like you can bear the sight of food again.

Your shoulders feel lighter, the ache in your chest has dissipated. It’s freeing. You hadn’t yet been able to speak on what had happened without someone focusing on the crime part.

The inmates you had bunked with, the counsellors in jail, the people hiring you once you got out… they all had that pre-judgement of you. The title of criminal followed you throughout every interaction, but not here, not with him.

You pick up your fork and start picking at your food, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. The slice of Jacob’s sudden huff cuts through the air, and he throws his almost eaten sub onto the table before crossing his arms in obvious irritation.

“God, what a fuckin’ dick.”

—

Heat—it’s everywhere.

It sticks to your skin, it swells in the pit of your stomach, it builds and builds over your flesh with every deep roll of his body over yours. It should be too much, too overwhelming, but your nails still dig into the soft skin of his back in a silent cry for more.

Just when you think he can’t possibly get any closer, he does. He pushes—crushes—you into the mattress, hands cradling the back of your head in an effort to keep you as close as possible. So close, so fucking close, you’re practically breathing in the other, with no room left for oxygen between you and it’s absolute bliss.

He’s breathless against the skin of your throat, nothing but soft whimpers and the hush of sharp exhales filling your ears. Lips press wherever they can reach, trailing paths of fire along your cheeks and the length of your neck until you squirm from the sensation, fighting both the urge to hide from his tender touch and stretch out for more.

“A-Alex,” you breathe, face turning enough to trace the tip of your nose along the shell of his ear.

He exhales sharply, hips faltering ever so slightly. His face briefly falls away from breathing in your skin, dipping his head and hiding his features. Despite the unexpected jolt in his rhythm, he still moves, still rolls his hips in that way he’s fucking mastered, ensuring every upwards roll of his hips has that delicious bit of friction along your clit.

It’s maddening.

It’s perfection.

The ecstasy rolling through your body hits an all time high, and your thighs tighten around his hips, coaxing him to brush harder, push deeper into the wet heat of your pussy until you start to feel that sweet, sweet edge start to creep along the edge of your nerves.

More, more, more—

“Ale–”

He suddenly rears forward, moulding his lips to yours and stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s always the same. The kiss is urgent, all teeth and tongue and it’s impossible to speak another word. You struggle to keep up with his intensity, too busy focusing on that overwhelming high and the tightening that threatens to give at any second now.

It’s good—it’s so fucking good, you swear you’re going crazy. He does that to you. Though you can’t say it, breathe it, his name is all you hear in your mind, its own soft echo a consistent companion to the sheer pleasure he drowns you in.

Alex, Alex, Alex.

—

It’s been a month.

A month in your new little workspace, a month of painting, a month of successfully avoiding him. Despite it being his investigation, he now keeps his distance from the makeshift art space he had given you. Maybe he finally got the message that you didn’t want to be around him, that the mere thought of even uttering a single word to him made you feel almost nauseous.

You haven’t seen him in weeks.

When you finish a piece, he sends his agents. You know a few by name now, but don’t bother with small talk. They come, give you a friendly hello, take the finished, wrapped painting and leave—that’s it.

That’s all it is.

You don’t have to do anything else, and it’s wonderful. You spend your days painting, relishing in the familiar feel of a brush between your fingers and enjoying the legal money deposited into your account every week.

You get ahead with bills. You buy some new clothes. You feel refreshed, finding a certain needed peace from the sudden financial stability. You know it’s not going to last—Jacob doesn’t talk about the case a whole lot, but you know that the team has made some progress with it, so you put a little money aside for the day the FBI no longer needs you.

He becomes a fast friend, and if you were ever to find it within you to thank Marcus for anything in this world, it would be him. You surely would’ve gone batshit insane if you’d been holed up in that room by yourself day in and day out, probably worse if you had been locked up with Marcus every day.

But not Jacob.

Jacob keeps the air light.

He’s kind, funny, and a bit of an idiot, and you find yourself fondly laughing nearly every day at the little things he would do or say. You thoroughly enjoy his company, and love hearing about his time in school, training to be an agent and the few cases he’s worked on so far.

He asks you questions and seems genuinely interested in getting to know you and of you past, never once making you feel lesser than or lowly for your less than ideal life before this.

“You made a decision, Matisse. Good or bad—own it.”

He keeps to himself whenever you find yourself focused on your work, and only steps in to remind you to take care of yourself. On the odd occasion, he’d join you, content to watch you work with a shine of interest.

You don’t like it, so you shove canvas paper and oil pastels at him to keep him from hovering any longer and it works. It becomes a little activity of sorts, a release for him whenever paperwork starts to push at his patience a little too much.

“They should’ve hired you for this case,” you mumble teasingly around your lunch, grinning at the pride filling his features as he finishes his latest project—his own creation inspired by the Van Gogh you’re currently working on.

It’s pretty, full of bright colours and soft swirling patterns. The Future, he had called it, and apparently—it was all for you.

You need something colourful, Da Vinci, something happy. You’re too sad.

The FBI doesn’t deserve him.

“Hey, I’m proud of this,” he retorts sharply, pointing a finger smudged with colour at you but his tone doesn’t match the bright amusement in his eyes, “belongs in a damn museum. It’s an original Wilson—people will flock to see it. You just wait, Michaelangelo, this will bring a lot of money down the track, mark my words.”

Your chuckle is cut off by the insistent buzz in his pocket, and he stands immediately, answering the call with a swift Wilson and stepping away from the table with his phone pressed to his ear.

It’s Marcus... you know just by the way he positions himself, ensuring to keep a bit of distance and turning away so you don't have to potentially hear his voice from the other end. You quickly lose interest in the conversation, focusing back on the open book you’ve been trying—and failing—to get into the last few days.

The interest in the conversation was lost, until you hear it.

“Understood, sir. We’ll leave now.”

Immediately looking up in question, your brows start to furrow as Jacob wraps up the phone call and strides back to the table quietly. Anxiety begins to build in the pit of your stomach at the sudden serious set of his features, unused to seeing the usually bright and bubbly face now so stoic. It’s Agent Wilson, not Jacob.

“We’re leaving?” you ask in confusion, “but I haven’t even done—”

The frown between his thick brows deepens, and he barely looks at you while he shrugs his navy blue suit jacket on, leaving faint smudges of orange and pink on the lapels.

“Leave it, we need to get to the office.”

The anxiety immediately gives way to dread.

The office? Where Marcus and his team are? Why?

You want to ask if you can stay behind—straight up refuse to go anywhere near that damn building—but the firm set of Jacob’s lips lets you know it’s non-negotiable.

He helps you with your bag, a certain urgency to his movements, and then you’re descending the stairs with him hot on your tail. He ushers you into the car, throwing a wary glance each way down the street before moving around the vehicle and sliding into his seat.

You swear you can feel your heart beating in your throat. He’s clearly in a rush, but you’re at a loss as to why. Has something happened? Is there danger? Are you in danger?

With your mind beginning to hurl possibilities at you, you start to feel more and more nauseous with every swift swerve through traffic Jacob makes.

“Is everything okay?” You ask carefully, fingers fiddling with the straps of your bag as you try to calm the rage of your heart.

He briefly looks away from the traffic and gives you a small reassuring smile, “Of course. There’s just been a big development and I’m needed back at the office for a debriefing, sorry for the rushing.”

“Oh,” you breathe in relief, “okay, I understand. Well, you can drop me home if that’s easier for you.”

“It’s an urgent thing and uh… Pike would like you at the office.”

Your lips press shut and an immediate frown overcomes your expression.

Of course.

If there had been developments in the case, why did you need to be there? It’s not like you're an agent with unlimited access to the available information. Your own folder Marcus had given you was severely lacking any true details of the case beyond what you needed to know, and it’s not like you were involved in anything anymore, so you had very little to contribute further than your creative talents.

You keep quiet for the rest of the quick trip, taking the hint that now is not the time for small talk. The need to chat is nonexistent to you right now anyway, even if Jacob happened to be in a perkier mood. The mere thought of seeing, and talking to, Marcus again does nothing to ease the dread churning in the pit of your gut.

The building is not a welcome sight, yet you hurry to follow Jacob from the brightly lit parking lot and into the home of the FBI. He stays beside you the whole way, through the wide crowded corridors and during the silence of the elevator, giving you one final reassuring smile before he pushes open the door to the Art Crime Department.

It’s busy.

Marcus doesn’t suddenly appear from nowhere and bombard you both at the entrance. You can take a deep breath. The shrill ringing of phones fill the space, and the shuffle of agents near running about with various files and pieces of paper takes you a little off guard.

There’s an uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. You can’t quite put your finger on why it unsettles you so.

You follow Jacob further into the chaos, ensuring to keep out of the way and keeping an eye out for the one man you seem to now be bracing for, steeling your nerves into something harder, something unbreakable. You don’t need to wait long—there he is.

He looks tired.

Marcus appears from a room, presumably his own personal office, raking a hand through his mussed hair and saying a few brief words to a coworker before his eyes zero in on Jacob. He points to the conference room where you’d once sat at the beginning of this, already heading that way with another agent, and Jacob gives a short nod in response.

You try to blend into the background behind Jacob so Marcus doesn’t take much notice of you, but it’s not even a moment later and his eyes are suddenly meeting yours. The feeling of his attention is instant, and the increase of your heart is familiar by now.

Despite the distance between you, you feel how they roam over your face, seemingly searching your expression, but it’s not long until they fall away and you’re left to exhale quietly, now free from his gaze.

He disappears into the conference room, and you swallow down the thick feeling of anxiety building in the back of your throat. He doesn’t seem eager, or interested, in talking to you straight away, and you’re relieved by that—you could mentally and emotionally prepare yourself a little more.

“My desk is over there if you want to sit down,” Jacob offers, turning and walking backwards in order to point you in the right direction, “and I’ve got snacks in the bottom drawer.”

Rolling your eyes, you give a strained huff of amusement and start walking towards it, “Of course you do.”

Your shoulder catches the frame of someone else and you quickly take a step back, wide eyes locking with a pair of vaguely amused blue ones.

He’s dressed sharply, much different to the basic suits the agents around him wear, in a well kept grey toned three piece suit with the simple white collar of his shirt popped open at the base of his throat. His soft blond curls are styled neatly back, and the gentle scent of tea wafts from the cup in his hold.

He’s pretty, by society’s standards, but his eyes are sharp, as if they can see right into the very centre of you.

You don’t like it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you mumble, “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

You don’t linger to hear what the agent has to say. You hurry into Jacob’s desk space and throw your bag under it before taking a seat in the simple desk chair, the backrest squeaking as you rest into it.

His desk is as you expected it to look—messy, but organised in his own little chaotic way. The edges of his computer screen are littered with sticky notes of reminders, his ballpoint pens are all missing their lids, he has a bobble head character of a sports player next to his keyboard and a crumpled paper plane lies hidden beneath a thick notebook.

It’s undoubtedly Jacob, end to end.

The wide variety of sweets and chips resting on old files doesn’t surprise you at all when you tug at the stiff drawer, and you immediately zero in on the ones he’s been sharing with you over the past few weeks.

“Jane, stay out of trouble,” a brunette orders sharply as she passes, briefly catching your attention and the man you had previously bumped into comes to a stop just beside you.

“Aye aye, Captain,” he replies dryly with the growings of a smirk, sipping quietly at the tea in his hands and watching the last few agents file into the conference room before the door closes.

Do people still use saucers? He does. He half turns towards you and eyes you curiously as you sway absent-mindedly in Jacob’s desk chair, breaking into the packet of sour candies.

“You’re not an agent.”

You blink up at him and give a small, polite smile, “No, I’m not.”

He makes a low noise of thought to himself and sits on the edge of the desk opposite to Jacob’s, watching you over the rim of the plain white cup he lifts to his lips.

You shift a little under his study, busying yourself with picking a lemon flavoured candy out from the packet and looking over the various little notes decorating the dated computer screen.

Meeting @ 10 Tues. Picasso retrieval daily @ 8. Get bread. Call ma before she has a damn heart attack—

“How long have you been an artist?”

Eyes rolling back to the stranger, you give a slightly confused, “What? How do you know I’m an artist?”

“You have paint on your fingers,” he replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the room.

Rubbing your fingers together, you feel the tell tale crack of dried paint over your skin and glance down at it in vague interest. He’s got a really good set of eyes. You shift a little in the seat and pinch the ends of your sleeves before pulling them down further over your hands to hide them from him.

“A few years,” you reply vaguely, “you’re rather observant, Agent Jane.”

It comes across more as an accusation rather than a general statement, and it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He grins, flashing a nice set of pearly white teeth.

“Patrick,” he supplies, “and I’m a consultant.”

“Didn’t even know that was a thing,” you mutter plainly, not liking the way you feel like a fucking open book with this stranger, “well, shouldn’t you be in there, then?”

You nod towards the closed door of the conference room and Patrick makes a low noise of dismissal, a slight scrunch curling his nose.

“I already know everything about the murders—Lisbon can handle it.”

The word cuts through the air and chills you right to the bone.

“Murders? What murders?”

Patrick looks at you, shrugging lightly.

“That’s why we’re here. The fancy little tracker led this bunch down to the meeting point in California, but we found the bodies first. Deal gone wrong, I’m guessing. The buyer probably found the painting to be a fake, and got rid of the delivery men because of it. Very messy.”

Your stomach turns.

The painting? Your painting?

“What was wrong with the piece?” You ask quietly, voice suddenly strained.

“Not sure,” Patrick murmurs, taking an apparent interest in the way you’re reacting to his information and studying you from over his tea, “guess we’ll know soon enough.”

You swallow, a sting of sweat building along the back of your neck. They knew it was a replica? How? You must’ve done something different, there must’ve been something wrong with it. Otherwise how else would they know? They wouldn’t.

Have you made a mistake?

Is that why Marcus wanted you here? Are you in trouble? What would be the ramifications of your mistake? After all, it’s your fault. People had died because you didn’t focus hard enough on your work. The FBI have probably realised how useless you are if you can’t even convince some shady black market dealers that your pieces are real.

You must’ve been distracted. You never made mistakes, and now you’ve made one that cost lives. How many? It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that it happened, and now you have to live with that knowledge.

People have died. People have died because of you.

You fucked up.

tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #pedro pascal x reader #the mentalist fic #run to you

289 notes · View notes

itsmebytch001 · 9 months

Text

Dad! Aaron Davis X Daughter! Reader.

(Headconnons)

Is super chill about most things, including you smoking weed, under the conditions of it only ever being in the house, never more than twice a week and always from his guy, so he knew it was clean.

Would even support you dropping school for your creative indevours, as long as you had a plan that is, he would even help you with building your portfolio, taking you to secretive spots of the underground where he knew there where blank walls.

The only thing he's not chill about boys, Can't have then over, Can't be dating round, can't go on dates, and if your gay, he would be so supportive, not only beascuse he's a decent person, but beacuse he dosen't have to worry about men anymore, infact he would brag about it to Jeff as a 'I don't have to worry about teen pregnancy, or dating bad men beacuse my daughters gay and your son inst HAHA'

Jeff: "And You're letting her drop out of colluge!?"

Aaron: "Listen man, school was never her thing and she's got real potentail in fashion...I think I don't know know shit about clothes"

Jeff: "Your her father, not her friend and your treating her like a friend! She need's someone to hold her down in education"

Aaron: "It Isn't working for her!"

Jeff: "You aren't pushing her enough!"

Aaron: "Listen Jeff, I'm going to support her fashion, and art or whatever she wants. baecuse she's a good kid, and she's good at what she dose, and besides she's pulling her weight, She's got a job"

Jeff: "...Listen I'm just worried she's gonna fuck it up"

Aaron: "So am I, but I think she could do great if I let her"

3. Pulls you out of burnout before it becomes all consuming. He comes home to find you embryoidng something at 1am, on your 6th coffee of the night, shaking a bit due to the energy, sourounded by the fabric and sparkles.

Aaron: "Ay, you okay?"

Y/n: "Yeah Yeah, I'm fine"

He looks round your room, consumed in mess and materials. He places a hand on your shoulder pulling you back a bit.

Aaron: "Okay, I think It's time you took a break yeah?"

Y/n: "No, I really need to finish this, if I don't now I never will"

Aaron: "How many coffee's have you had?"

Y/n: "I don't know, like 4 or 5"

He looked around and saw some cans aswell.

Aaron: "You have some energy drinks too?"

Y/n: "Maybe"

Aaron:"M'kay" He said as he removed your needle from your hand, pulling you up from your shoulder.

Aaron: "Lets get some food, yeah?"

Y/n: "...yeah"

4. Whenever Jeff and Aaron where having problems, you and Miles became the line of communication between the two sides of the family, and though you really didn't like it, becasue Jeff and Aaron were two grown men you would tolerate it, for your Dad, And for Miles who also agreed this whole thing was Mad, who grown men so petty they communicated through their children.

Now of course you two never liked this, and tried to express this to your Dad's, they never understood how straining it was for you and Miles to be messenger pigeons.

But Aaron loved you, and though he found it strange to express that to you verbally, he did, but he mainly showed you through buying you stuff, sometimes when he was gone for days at a time, he would just buy you loads of stuff, or taking you on shopping sprees in order to make it up to you, buying you makeup, clothing, fabric or art supplies, and though you liked the stuff, you needed a Father, and eventually he got the idea that him being present was more important the just lots of stuff.

And honestly, you were the only reason he left the Prolwer life behind, he was terrified if someone found out who he was, they would then come after you, so he abanonded the life, and actually stared a enginnering career, and it also only beacuse of you that Jeff and Aaron mildy reconnected, When Jeff found out your Mom was pregnant, only a few months behind Rio, he thought it would be good for the family to come back together for you two, thought that never really happened, it certianley helped, Jeff and Aaron would occesianlly chat, use thier children as messganger birds to insult each other, and would buy each other insulting gifts on christmas, for exsample last year, your Dad brought your Uncle Jeff a scale.

You and Miles where always close though, you were kinda like estranged siblings, and even when your Dad's where agruing, you wto would still text, call sometimes to give small upates on life, and would occesiannly see each other when ever Miles came round the house, were you'd find him just casullay sitting in your room waiting for you.

Actually, you and Miles didn't meet until you were 6, Rio had enough on waiting for Aaron to reach out, so one day she just turnded up at his door with Miles, she was furious he wasn't teaching you Spanish and you didn't even know who they were, you refused to let Miles play with your dolls beacuse he was a stranger, who was this kid? Just coming in your house, touching your stuff?

It took awhile for you to accept and understand the idea of cousin and Auntie, you thought she was just your Dad's friend with her son, but eventually when you stared going to Middle school together, you two actaully bonded.

And though you and Rio were close, you and Jeff never really clikced though you got on, You didn't like being in thier house, you flet like a ghost, and Uncle Jeff was always pestering you about school, and how you were doing even though he knew you had left to persue other things, he was trying to scare you back in, and you knew it was for good reason, he was worried you end up like Aaron, pre you and mess up your life, but you two were so distant, it felt like an intrusion.

Pt 2?

#yandere spiderverse #platonic yandere #miles morales x reader #dad aaron davis #aaron davis x reader #uncle aaron #rio morales x reader #jefferson morales #yandere morales family #morales family #jeff morales #yandere jeff morales

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