#like a way it all only serves to give a half assed reason to neat game gimmicks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oftenderweapons · 3 years

Text

Dirty ABCs | Jungkook and Candy

Let’s celebrate birthday boy with early NSFW alphabet!!! LET’S GOOOOO

Pairing: Jungkook x reader/OC (Candy)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Genre: headcanons

Rating: 18+. Minors, do not interact.

Here’s my masterlist, enjoy!

Trigger warnings: switch!jk, switch!candy, swearing. Unprotected sex (penetrative and oral — REMEMBER TO USE PROTECTION AND GET CHECKED REGULARLY), double penetration, quickies, creampie, cockwarming, cum eating. Marking, biting, scratching. Masturbation, boobjobs. Mention of mommy kink. Public foreplay, semi-public sex, exhibitionism. Degradation, praise kink, dirty talking, edging, sensory deprivation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. Predator/Prey dynamics. Choking. Bondage. Toys (vibrators, cockrings, sex swing… 👀). Mild torture (?). Platonic spanks.

Beta read by my better half, @joheunsaram

Aftercare: Jungkook likes cuddles and pillow talk after sex. He’s very traditional about it. He enjoys how vulnerable he feels and how tender Candy is towards him. He really enjoys the softness of it all, and most importantly being babied. He wants tiddies and a nap. Candy is all about spoiling her boyfriend after he’s burnt out and satisfied. She loves how pliant and open he feels afterwards, how easy it is to connect with him and just let him vent about his worries.

Body part: Another tiddie man. He just loves how soft and relaxing it feels to rest his head on Candy’s breasts. He also loves her hair and how good it always smells. He lives to nuzzle into her neck and breathe her in. Candy loves Jungkook’s back. It’s the sexiest thing ever and she likes watching his back muscles flex when he’s fucking her. She also loves his waist, so dainty and feline. And of course his eyes. She could stare into his loving dark irises for hours. They’re so expressive.

Cum: Inside. Jungkook always wants inside. Her mouth is a close second, but if given the chance he wants to sink deep into her and bathe in the scent of her while sheathed in her warmth. It feels natural and romantic and loving. There’s no other place he would want to be other than inside her, all the time. Candy is okay with anything he wants. Watching his peaceful, serene expression after he’s fucked her hard and has found his orgasm inside her is ultimately one of the reasons why she loves having sex with Jungkook.

Dirty secret: Jungkook had been secretly nursing a mommy kink for a while. It did pop up once during one of his and Candy's little encounters, but it's not something he feels ready to face. He is so ashamed of it. Candy is really into Jungkook being her whiny, subby, precious good boy. She only wants to spoil him rotten all the time. However she can't stop thinking about all the girls out there willing to give up a lung to have a one night stand with him. Sometimes she just wishes she could dominate him in public. Tie him up, ride him raw till he's dry.

Experience: Jungkook has had only one partner, with whom the sex felt pretty awful. He didn't really think he was into it or could go that wild before he and Candy started sleeping together. Candy is fairly experienced. She has had three or four short term relationships. Maybe a couple flings.

Favourite position: Jungkook can't pick just one. Well, actually yes: missionary, but with Candy's legs pressed together and thrown over his shoulder but also spread apart, her knees pressed to her shoulders. Candy really likes it when he picks her up and fucks her against the wall, or when he gets really creative. That usually entails lots of laughing and joking and communicating.

Goofy: maybe. It depends. If they're making love, then I do see Jungkook getting emotional and Candy brightening the mood with cute jokes and compliments. They do tend to be goofy when they're together, but usually not during sex. It's either a very emotionally raw moment or vicious fucking.

Hair: Jungkook shaves. He's a neat freak and shaves. He does so religiously. Candy is not that consistent, sometimes she shaves, sometimes she trims. Depends on the mood.

Intimacy: it's very demure but it's there. You wouldn't notice it because the moment Jungkook enters beast mode, it's pretty much degradation and overstimulation all over the place. But it's there too! It's in the mere fact that he trusts her enough to forget how to be civil and decent and just unleashes himself all over her. For the first ten times or so it's shy and attempted, he tiptoes around the very edge of control, but once she tells him she loves him, he goes all out and never stops. He explores and pleases. That's his nature. Candy is the one that grants intimacy the most. He knows he can go wild because she's his anchor, keeping things loving and gentle and tender even through the storm. Now, once Jungkook subs though… intimacy galore. Little touches and small kisses and endless tight hugs. Her first goal is to make him feel safe. And that happens through intimacy.

Jack off: These two? Really? No, you didn't understand. If Jungkook has even a remote chance of cumming inside her, there's no way he's masturbating. He will 300% ignore his instincts until he can have her. And it's pretty difficult for Candy not to be in the mood — or not to get into the mood, if need be. She's also not one for masturbating. She does it only when he's not available, be it because he's abroad or he's too busy. But he's always her first choice. Generally speaking it might happen that he's not in the mood and she decides to take a quick shower and deal with it herself, but usually he's joining her after a couple minutes, his mind changed, a bunny smile on his face as he winks and hops in.

Kink: First and foremost, cockwarming. Creampies shortly after. Candy has a thing for marking him, especially scratches down his muscular upper back. Their kinks depend on who's domming: if it's Jungkook, there's plenty of degradation and high chances of predator/prey dynamics. He gets very horny if Candy plays hard to catch, and he discovers it accidentally, after Candy stole the last serving of his favourite snack. Useless to say, the snack was forgotten and they fucked on the floor. Candy likes choking (receiving) and pretty much anything Jungkook is willing to try. She can't wait to try double penetration with him, she's just waiting for him to open up about the topic. When domming, she's into sensory deprivation, bondage, praise kink and edging, especially when boobjobs are involved, since JK is particularly sensitive about the topic. As long as she has him whining and begging below her, she's ready to try anything.

Location: Well, the bedroom is the place of choice for most occasions. Not always though. The shower is a strong opponent. If they do get naughty outside of their home, it's usually in quite private places too. Hotel rooms. Club or restaurant bathrooms. Foreplay in the lift and on the dance floor — mostly Candy rubbing herself all over Jungkook. Well, they did get nasty in a cave once, but that's another story.

Motivation: as I said, playing catch with Jungkook is always a good way to get him in the mood. He's extremely weak for breasts, so anything regarding those is a hot topic too. Candy often wears loose/low neck shirts and leans over, offering him a glimpse of her lack of bra. Low neckline and no bra usually means "please, fuck me across the living room, thank you" in Candy language. While for Candy, watching Jungkook work out or just get sweaty and flirty is a total panty snatcher. You'll find her bent over, ass up, ready for the take.

No: Jungkook doesn't like receiving degradation. Memories of his ex make him uncomfortable with that. Other than that, he strongly opposes to anything that involves hardcore domination. He can be a dom, but he's extremely sensitive about what he does and some acts are a bit too aggressive for his opinion. Candy hadn't tried anything unconventional before Jungkook, and so far all her past no's have turned into hard yes with Jungkook. She's still exploring her limits.

Oral: Jungkook? Hell yes. He likes receiving but he by far prefers giving, especially when Candy is domming or directing him. He could do that for hours, and his love for the act almost rivals that of our local kitty cat Yoongi. His true joy is being rewarded going for multiples with his head between Candy's thighs. Especially if he's cum inside her. Not too fast though, he needs some cockwarming first. Candy is a true fan of giving head. She especially likes doing so when Jungkook is in a subby and bratty mood. Listening to him getting vocal about his appreciation is always the greatest compliment to her, and also an excellent way to discipline him when he gets cocky.

Pace: Fast. Hard. That's all there is. If he's setting the pace, it's outright demonic, hitting at least 74bpm (it's Kiwi by Harry Styles in halftime). Yes, he can go slower, usually when he's in lover boy mode or even better, when he's trying to show Candy who's the boss. Slow, lazy rolls of his hips reaching unknown depths. If Candy's on top/domming it's all about it being intimate, calm, relaxing even. She wants Jungkook to explore a sensuality he is too rushed and forceful for. Through her slow and steady approach she helps him embrace a more feminine and spiritual sexuality that borders on the psychological and tantric.

Quickie: yes. Hard yes. He is the best with quickies. Just get it over with so they're both relieved and they can chat about their day while he's still inside her. There's not much to say. Just yes.

Risk: they prefer avoiding it, however they're young and experimenting, therefore they do sometimes get a bit past the safety line. The biggest risk for them is doing anything where they could be spotted, therefore they're really subtle and overall not too explicit about anything happening in a semi-public context. Except, that one time while they were on holiday, of course. And that other time in which Candy almost jerked him off in a restaurant before blowing him in his car.

Stamina: Insane. Jungkook's stamina is more about endurance rather than control. He can make Candy cum five or six times while he cums twice and is more than glad. He can go for two consecutive rounds without breaking a sweat. For himself he's usually more than happy with a round of foreplay and one of fucking, but if he's determined enough, he can last one more. He usually doesn't push himself that far though, he does when he's been deprived for long enough.

Toy: Although toys aren't usually a part of their sex life, they do use them every now and then. Vibrators, vibrating cockrings, oh! And their sex swing, of course. That's what they use the most, yes.

Unfair: If Jungkook is in hard dom mode, he is very unfair, plenty of teasing and taunting matched with mockery and degradation. He can keep Candy on her toes for a full hour, giving her small reprieve every here and there. Candy is also equally torturous: if she's domming, she's not done edging him until he's whining, sobbing, begging and possibly crying.

Volume: Normally, Candy is very quiet however, Jungkook always goes the extra mile to make her moan and whine, especially if he's eating her out. Jungkook can be especially eloquent with his sounds: grunting and groaning are typically for his dommier side, while whining and whimpering are usually for his subby one. Moaning is all over the place. Consider also a good amount of murmuring and mumbling some dirty talking. Not too much though.

Wild card: Jungkook likes his hair being combed during aftercare. Candy always relaxes while he speaks loving words to make up for the degradation and mockery. She could fall asleep while combing his hair, she's just that tired and comfortable. Also! When he installed the sex swing in their room, he decided it was a good idea to have permanent hooks on the ceiling, mask them with fake plants. Crackhead.

X-Ray: Jungkook has a nice cock. Not too long, not too thick but it has an upward curve that makes stuff interesting. He's probably around six or seven inches. Candy has objectively nice breasts, full, round, truly well structured. And she has a nice ass too, Jungkook likes squeezing it when she throws her leg on top of him during cuddles. He also spanks it a few tens of times a day — not in the sexual way tho, but more in that encouragement/comradery way he has learnt with the guys.

Yearning: Jungkook can go without sex for a long time. I'm talking about a month and more. It's not a priority for him, except right after he and Candy sleep together for the first time, when he needed to get rid of the high. With him, everything is very inconsistent: one week you're having sex every day, and the following one, he's just all about the cuddles and fluff. Candy is up for anything, however she prefers having sex at least once or twice a week. Both feel safe to initiate without fearing being denied. For them, arousal is very easily built through playing and bantering.

Zzz: both take a while to fall asleep after sex. Plenty of time for pillow talking and cleaning up, though they prefer doing so very pragmatically. Any time spent apart during aftercare is a waste to both of them: they just want to talk things out, relax, bask in each other's warm presence.

#Jungkook x reader #jungkook x candy #jungkook smut #Jungkook fluff #jungkook headcanons #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario

216 notes · View notes

jjkpls · 3 years

Text

the wishlist (m) - 2

“Since when do we buy each other sextoys?”

> genre : light angst, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> words : 5k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity; chaotic oc; clueless koo

previous - next

It all starts with the first box and the vague memory of a warm touch on your face.

When you wake up that morning, groggy from exhaustion and the sensation of having spent the night waking up, again and again, you sense something. You struggle to point out if you’ve dreamt or if it really happened, but there’s the lingering of a warm hand's trace, cupping your cheek, soothing the stress lines on your forehead, and softly brushing your hair back from your face. You can’t tell if it’s happened but it left a lovely sensation both on your skin and heart.

You get up and out of bed, slowly stroll to your living room with a lazy hand raising to your head, meaning to scratch at the snake nest you expect to be sitting on it. Instead, your fingers are met with a rather neat braid you definitely didn’t go to sleep with as you were too fucking done with this day to even try and deal with your tight bun -the very bun that elongated your time to fall asleep by at least a good half an hour. The same fingers that caressed your face took care of your hair and you know exactly to whom they belong.

Of course, giddiness ensues and the mildly serious feeling of mortification -you despise the idea of not knowing in what state he found you, in what state of ugly, of dishevelled, of smelly. There’s no room for embarrassment in this friendship, not this kind anyway, fortunately or not, he’s seen you at your worst (at a time when you didn’t care much if he did or not) so it counters, always a bit, the shame.

He hasn't left your side yet, has he? And he’s exposing himself to this face of yours, so why should you feel bad about it? He sneaks into your apartment at night just to brush your face and bring the covers up to your chin, tuck you nicely in as if he’s your mom or something, so why should you care. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. He’s the best of friends. The best of all the people you know and the best of your friends.

And of course, naturally fitting this role, you’d find the morning of Christmas, a mysterious box you’ve never seen before sitting on your coffee table.

The girls, your friends, have presents for you, you know they do, but yesterday you were working and couldn’t see them, therefore, the little celebration was reported and you didn’t expect, you wouldn’t expect them to come at night or early in the morning to bring you your gifts. It can wait (so they decided).

But Jungkook is sweet like no one else is.

And he came to wish you a merry Christmas even if you were too tired to wish him back and he left a present for you.

There’s not a name attached to it but it’s obvious it comes from him. There’s just a post-it he stole from your desk, with a Merry Christmas written on it, the lines of the letters, round and neat, you’d recognize from any other lettering and a bunny with teeth as big as the eyes smiling at you, drawn next to it.

The box is so pretty, you feel an actual pressure thinking about opening it, as if there is a certain way, a proper way, to go about it.

And apparently, there is. You go wash your face and rinse your mouth, prepare yourself one of your good teas, tear the curtain wide open and slowly, almost ceremoniously, take a seat on the ground, right in front of it.

The box is neat. You don’t know what’s inside, probably a perfume or some kit for the bath you’d assume, but you already know that whatever is inside, even if it’s not of your liking -which is impossible, it comes from Jungkook-, will be balanced out by the appearance of this perfectly elegant, tasteful box that you’ll use again to stock anything, maybe your face masks, maybe nothing -it’ll just sit, looking good on a shelf.

It’s a pastel blue, with a black rose drawn on top of it, the icon to a brand you absolutely don’t recognize. With fingers trembling with excitement you drag the box to yourself, it’s mildly heavy, for some reasons, it gives you a little rush of anxiety. There’s just a tiny black ribbon holding the box firmly closed. A tiny pull on it and it slips open.

Slowly you lift the lid, a grin already plastered on your face, hurting your cheeks. You expect a blinding magical light to come out of it, with the sound of bells ringing near your ears and sense to suddenly knock into you as you’d understand what wondrous present is in front of you.

But none of it comes. There's just a thing hidden inside a black satin bag.

It’s not a perfume nor a bath kit and you’re confused.

A bit scared.

Honestly, maybe a little shameful part of you has guessed it. But the louder yet weaker rest of you can’t see it. It would be too... ludicrous. And wouldn’t make sense, would it? You’ve never actually seen any in real life so how would you know what the packaging would look like and how would you come to this conclusion now? And how, why, how would he, Jeon Jungkook, come about to offer you this?

Doesn’t make any sense.

But somehow, when you pick up the courage to open the little bag and drag the object out of it, you hardly even gasp in surprise when you discover a dildo. You just let it drop to the table, thumping loudly the fake wood.

Why did you guess it to be that and why did he get you this shit?

Scorching red seize your face and your whole being.

You are infuriated.

How dares he? You are mortified. How dares he?

What does this fucking mean?

A joke?

Is it a joke?

If it a joke then what’s the fucking point? It’s not fucking funny. It’s weird as hell and you can’t believe he came in the middle of the night, pretending to be Santa to leave you a fucking kidding present as if your miserable life needed that.

And if it’s not then what the actual fuck? Does he think you’re that desperate? Does he have really no notion of boundaries?

Conveniently your phone lays centimetres away from the offending thing, you don’t even need to get up to grab it and therefore, you start looking furiously for his name in your recent call list. After only two rings as if he was just expecting your call, his bright hello reaches your ear.

“What the actual fuck, Jeon?” He must hear the madness in your voice, both the anger and the hysteria. There’s a pause during which he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a sound and you even check your screen to make sure he hasn’t hung up on you.

“That’s- not- the reaction I expected.” He sounds sheepish. Mumbled words, lisped syllables, long pauses.

“What did you expect?” You yell a bit, you can just picture him, dragging the phone out of earshot and winding, the same way you do when your mom who doesn’t get the concept of telephone screams in it each time she calls you. The realization hits you, that in your quiet little apartment, in this (for once) quiet morning, you are screeching like a banshee. You quiet down instantly, some of the anger soothed down by embarrassment. “Are you insane?” You whisper in his ear and comically, he starts whispering too, with the same alterations to his usually bright and open tone.

“M’not. I just- you said that’s what you wanted so I got it for you.”

Now he’s making stuff up and blaming this insanity on you and that serves to raise a bit more the bar of anger -along with the loudness of your voice, “When have I ever said that I wanted a-“ You choke on your own saliva once your brain realizes that you’re supposed to say the word, out loud, to him. In an angry whisper, as if someone, your mother, for example, could be listening “fucking dildo!” You blush furiously at that and it’s ridiculous. Probably the reason why you didn’t own one in the first place and maybe shouldn’t yet. Because you’re a grown-ass woman of a quarter of a century, living alone and admittedly independent and responsible for your own existence, but you can’t even say the word “dildo” out loud to this asshole of a friend who apparently, and that’s new news, doesn’t have an issue talking about sex and everything related to it with you.

“Y-you said-“ There’s a pregnant pause. You can’t know for sure since you’re not seeing him if he’s faking it or not but he sounds confused as hell. Like he genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong. Moron. “You said you wanted sex but not a boyfriend so I thought- it’s pretty much- it’s exactly what it is. Why are you so mad?”

The question in itself serves to drag you a little further over the edge. So much so, it clogs your brain with anguish and leaves you unable to give him an answer.

When he’s starting to talk again, maybe ask again his question, you just hung up, slamming your phone down on the carpet.

You hear it vibrate to life twice before it shuts down completely. Good. At least he knows you well enough, still, to assume rightfully so that you won’t pick up his calls anymore. Not today.

You just have the time to pack the dildo back in its bag and inside its box, throw away your tea that tastes unbearably bitter and maniacally scrub your face in an attempt to get rid of the red patches that don’t want to fucking leave before the telling high beeps of your front door’s digital lock alert you. Your face is soaking in cold water, another attempt to cool it, your face and your troubled mind.

You mean to ignore him. Dipping your head further in the filled up sink, closing your eyes tight shut hoping somehow it’ll help you push aside the calls of your name better.

For a few seconds, it works. You can’t hear him anymore. You wonder if the furious pleas you were chanting in your head could have been loud enough to make the sound of the door slamming behind him as he would have left, completely quiet.

He’s such a try-hard. You hung up on him because he’s saying batshit crazy things and his first reflex is to barge in your house again. You really need to change your lock and not tell him. You can do that. You’re an adult and you have the right to your own fucking place. It’s not a fucking benevolent stay in, for fuck's sake.

The cold water really seems to work. You feel better, light-headed, coming down after the earlier hysteria. And knowing that he’s left and won’t pursue this mess any further, for now, surely helps a lot.

Except it doesn’t last for, as soon as your face leaves the water, your hands reaching clumsily for a towel that falls magically in them, one wipe at your eyes and your worst nightmare is standing right in front of you.

“Fucking- Jungkook!” Burying your face back in the towel, drying your face as much as possible, maybe even trying for a second to suffocate yourself, you wish vainly that when you’ll take it off he would have disappeared.

He is still here though. Watching with dark eyes and a straight severe line replacing the cute button he owns for a mouth, he looks awfully serious for a guy that’s never really serious. Your towel ends up centimetres away from his face, he catches it right before it touches him. You hoped it would blind and confuse him momentarily, long enough for you to escape but of course, this guy would never miss a shot, even a surprise one.

“Why are you like this?” He asks when you try and push him from the ribs, out of the door frame. You hate that you think about it. About his chest being so hard and warm and his fucking smell of sweat that you’d recognize amongst any others (pretty easily as any other makes you gag and this one, probably because you’re a primary animal guided by hormones, leaves you dizzy and wanting). He doesn’t budge until he decides to, mercilessly stepping aside to let you through. Because you’re an idiot, you don’t think and head for the living room and it’s only once you’re there, very aware of his steps following you, that the devilish object of your discord is right fucking there, obnoxiously sitting on the middle of your coffee table. You groan and squeeze your eyes tight.

What meditation technique, an extra effective one, could you use right now before you definitely lose it and throw yourself out the window?

Before you find one, you end up clinging to the opposite wall, forehead pressed to it, back to him, in a vain attempt to suppress yourself from the situation. You might look a little insane or at best, somehow on edge, but who cares at this point?

“Jungkook, if I don’t pick up your call, do you think I want to see your face?”

“But why though?” His tone is still harsher than usual. You notice it and you notice you don’t hate it either. What a little bitch you are. If you like his usual self, with the bright smile, soft words, boisterous laugh, dainty manners, you can’t deny that this rougher version of him, genuinely pissed off as you’ve never seen him, tickles your fancy. You’re fucked. “Seriously these days you- you’re such-“

“I’m what?” You bark, swirling on your feet, expression distorted by an offence he hasn’t even made yet. You completed the sentence he’s never finished with terrible words that you’ve never heard him use talking about anyone: bitch, hysterical, cunt.

“You’re trying to pick a fight with me all the fucking time, I don’t get it!”

Now you feel terrible. You’re still bothered by the raw edges of his tone, it’s literally sending electric shocks to your lower tummy. But his eyebrows have dropped and his fiery dark eyes have turned shiny and sad, your heart hurts in your bosom.

Ugh.

You’re such a bitch.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m insufferable. I’m on my period. Sorry.” You send a mental apology to womanhood. You're just an idiot lacking imagination.

Jungkook frowns, his eyebrows dancing in all kind of ways, before they settle for an, unfortunately for you, attractive finale, one straight down, one tilt up. He stares at you, dubious.

“For three weeks. You’ve been on your period for three weeks.”

The first thing you take notes of is the fact that he dated it way shorter than you would have. Honestly, you found yourself becoming a weirdo with inappropriate feelings that reindeer you into an asshole for at least a month and a half. Before that, it was extremely tamed, totally under control. You’d just notice his handsome face and cute smiles and nice smell, thinking “oh yeah that’s right. He’s kinda attractive. How funny I never really noticed.” And slowly it progressed to not being able to handle him touching you without having something close to a panic attack.

The second thing you note is that he doesn’t believe you. His stare is insistent, turns a bit dark as he lingers, studying your own eyes with judgment in his. He’s frowning even more, looks down at the floor and sighs so deep, heartbreakingly so. He looks hurt that you’re lying and don’t want to share what's really been up with you. If only you could be a better liar.

“It happens sometimes, all women are diff-“

He just sat down on your sofa, eyes fixed on the blue box. Before you can finish your sentence, he sends you a glare that awfully looks like a threat. You shut up. He doesn’t believe you anyway. He knows you and your periods (sort of) way too well. He knows you’re in pain the first day, you’re a bit tender on the following ones and he takes it upon himself to be gentler and not try to play WWE with you on those but you don’t turn into a mean dragon. This much he knows for sure.

There’s something he’s seeking for within the box. He’s grabbed it, holds it now in between his fingertips, piercing virtual holes into it. It’s probably the answer he didn’t find in your eyes.

It makes you flush furiously. Seeing his pretty hands with his long fingers touching it. Here’s the reason, he would have caught it on your cheeks if he wasn’t so busy looking for it elsewhere.

“I really thought that- you’d like it.” He sounds so saddened. You’re caught off guard. Again. So this present wasn’t meant to be a joke. It is a genuine one. It makes sense that he’s hurt then. You’re shitting all over his gift but how could you not? How could he believe that you could just accept that for a random gift? Slowly he makes the top of the box slide up, pout sucked in in concentration, dimple out. Your heart seems to stop at that. He’s not going to take it out, is he?

He can’t take it in his hands.

You’ll die if he takes it in his hands.

Fortunately, he just opens the box, looks at the satin bag, looks at it with a pained expression as if he feels bad for the thing, then closes it back.

“The woman at the shop said that it’s one of the best ones, for starters.” He sulks like a child. Bottom lip all plumped out, shiny eyes under curved eyebrows.

Jungkook looks up at you, ultimate sad puppy look on.

“She said the size and the texture were perfect if you’ve never used one before. It wouldn’t be too... what was that again?” He asks aloud as if you’d know. And you’re mortified. On behalf of him. The concept that he’s not embarrassed right now and that he went to an actual shop, browsed through the shelves and asked an actual saleswoman for help is absolutely insane. Unbelievable if it were not for the sincerity he’s dipped in. “And I picked blue because I know you like this colour. It matches your planner, doesn’t it?” He adds as if he’s not sure when obviously he knows.

It is surprisingly very close in shade. And so what? He expected you to love it so much, take fucking aesthetic pictures with it and your planner sitting on your fake marble desktop, next to Diego the succulent? What an idiot. And for how fucking long did he talk to that woman?

Silence hangs heavy between you. You watch as he scowls some more, mumbles under his breath while staring with despair at the box.

Slowly, resolute to be the better friend you have not successfully been these past weeks (months), you leave your protecting wall. Taking a seat on the carpet, on the opposite side of the table, you do your best to ignore the blue patch invading the bottom of your vision and try to give him the softest expression you can come up with at this moment.

“Why are you so butthurt?”

His curiously perfect round eyes raise in a swift motion, pouty lips agape in a silent little gasp.

“Sorry.” You apologize before he even gets to respond because, maybe, you could try harder to be good and nice to him.

“Because it’s a present.” He starts at a very slow pace. He pauses between words like he’s addressing a dim, dim brain. And he might be honestly. But he’s one to talk. How can he not see an issue? “That I’ve looked for and bought for you. That’s why I’m butthurt, what do you mean?”

“But- since when are we buying each other-“ You need to grow up. There’s no one else but him hearing you and since your last conversation about it, when he too was embarrassed, he’s able to say it just fine apparently. Still, you whisper the following, “sex toys?”

“Since you turned twenty-five and said you were interested in it.” His right-hand raises from the box to start flapping the air and you know it means bad news. He’s upset. When he needs his hands to further accompany his speech, it means he’s a bit too taken by the conversation. And in this case, you don’t feel like it’s a good idea for him to be. “When you were fourteen and into Legos, I bought you a set of Legos.”

Hardly makes sense.

“You’re just going to pretend it’s a random present?”

“It’s not random. I put thought into it.” His eyes are digging up intensively in your own. It might be desperation that leads you to remain still, allow him to look. Hopefully, he won’t dig deep enough to find stuff he shouldn’t. “Why do you hate it? I thought- I don’t know- you’re a- flourished single woman and-“

Flourished? Really? The words don’t come out of your mouth but he reads them on your face and an adorable smile cracks open the mask of gravity.

“Jungkook.” You owe him an effort. Maybe you should look into why it requires an act of inhuman courage for you to admit your shame. It might be because if he were anyone else, you’d be embarrassed by the present for five seconds because clearly, you’re still half of a fucking child but soon enough, you’d probably be enchanted by the thing. Who doesn’t need a good sex toy? You definitely do. You thought about getting one for a long while but never got to it for some reasons and here’s one offered to you (in a very pretty shade of baby blue).

The thing is you don’t think about anyone sexually except for him (and his friend Jimin, once in a while, just by curiosity because the guy is a very sexual being). If you don’t even consider them in this light, you don’t have to think about them using it, do you? But he’s all you think about, unfortunately. And you’re friends. And it feels like one step closer to your fantasy while simultaneously one step closer to betrayal. And he certainly is not offering you this wishing for you to keep close in mind the fact that this is his. His present. He knows about it. Maybe can think of you using it and liking it without any further implications. Because obviously, it’s not like that for him. “It's awkward. How can you not see that.”

“Is it? What is?”

“First of all, we don’t- we- don’t even talk about... it. And suddenly you’re buying me- this?”

“Yeah, I realized that too!” It’s too much enthusiasm. Eyes too big and hands not leaving the air. You can already guess his next sentence. It’s probably going to be a terrible suggestion. “I talk about sex all the time with the guys,” Your eyebrows jump to your hairline at that. You’re not even that surprised but the formulation could probably be fixed. “and you talk about it with your girls, right? But we’ve known each other the longest and we never talk about it. Isn’t it fucked up?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘fucked up’-”

“Well, I would. I am.”

“Don’t you- don’t you see that you’re a boy and coincidentally you can easily talk about it with the guys who happen to be boys and I am a girl, right? And I-“ Who would have thought? It took you fifteen years to finally be giving him the beginning of the talk about the birds and the bees. You would have given it to him sooner if you’d have known how far behind he’s been.

“But what if I need girl advice-“

“I’m sure Jimin knows a whole lot about girls, Jeon.”

“From a girl point of view. Real girl advice.”

“Jungkook-“

“If I ask what the G spot exactly feels like, what-“

“Jungkook!”

He’s amused, the fucker. He’s not as clueless as he sounds. But the crooked grin on his face is too telling. He might just be messing with you. Usually, when he’s just playing he wouldn’t insist so much, he wouldn’t take the conversation this far so surely, there are some genuine intentions. However, he's still having way too much fun.

With his frowned nose, and squinting shiny orbs and stupid bunny teeth.

“You’re just embarrassed, aren’t you?” You might have terribly loud red streaks painting your cheeks that you try naively to cover with your hands. He can see it all and silently, he nods his head, looking like he’s reached the final touch of his experiment. “How? What happened to the teenage girl who spent her nights writing dirty stories about Harry Styles?”

Horror.

How the fuck-

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“You showed me!” He defends, hands high above in the air like a soccer player claiming innocence. “You did! You don’t remember?” No, you don’t. But you can tell he’s not lying. Apparently, young you was quite the fearless bitch.

What happened indeed?

Years happened. A growing sense of self-preservation along with them. Undesired feelings for an idiot with a bunny smile. An inappropriate sense of shame along with those.

“Anyway. So it’s a bribe for girl advice?” You ask, chin pointing to the box. Jungkook looks down on it, drums his fingertips lightly on the top before he looks up, beaming.

“Sort of.” Shrugging, he adds with a shifty eye that telltales a certain vulnerable sincerity. “I just wish for us to be able to share everything. Be comfortable like before.”

“Before what?” He stares for a long time, mouth shut. He then blinks the moment away and for the first time, you might believe ever, Jungkook looks like he might have a secret too.

“Just before. Back in the days, I mean.” He simply explains. His attention is back on the stupid box. He’s staring at the rose on top of it. Fingers playing with the corner of it.

“Back in your old days.”

“You’re older than me. So you really don’t want it?” Here he comes again with the sad puppy face. Why would it be breaking his dumb little heart to refuse a dildo from him? What kind of insane parallel universe is this? “Is it like a 'men are fine but little Jeon Jungkookie still has cooties so I can’t accept his present, it’s gross'?”

“Something like that.”

“Oh.” Defeated, he sighs. Another one of those soul-harming sighs. “Fine. I’ll get it refunded and you’ll buy yourself something else with the money then.”

Is he really going to make you do that?

As if the question is even to be raised. He can make you do anything.

“No, Guk, sorry. It’s fine. Sorry.” You start, hands clasping over the box you drag your side of the table. The only way you can do it is if you don’t actively think about what’s inside. “I’ll keep it. Sorry.”

“So you kind of want it?” He is grinning from one ear to the other. You can feel him giddy and excited, kind of jumpy on his seat and really, you don’t see any difference with the excitement he portrays each time he gets you any kind of presents and you tell him that you like it.

“I won’t use it.” It’s almost a threat. Eyes squinted in severe slits, index finger millimetres away from poking his eye. “It’s a gift so I won’t make you get a refund, that’s rude but- I won’t use it.” After a second of seemingly deep reflection, he breaks out in his loud, annoying boyish laughter. Eyes watery at the corners and hands clapping like a stupid seal. “I’m serious!”

“Sure.” He’s still cackling, the idiot. “But you should. The lady said it’s a best seller too.”

“Great. I don’t care.”

He has his eyebrows high, a twitch in his wide grin, and the amused black orbs. He doesn’t believe you one bit. “Course, you don’t.”

The idea that he sincerely expects you to use it might drive your delusional brain for a loop. He just wants to be the best gift-giver, the best Santa, and wants you to make good use of whatever he's got you. But how can he not consider that you could not use something like that, to pleasure yourself, when it’s directly related to him, your best friend? It’s weird as hell. It can’t be just weird to you.

Unfortunately, there’s no one you can come up with the question to have them agree with you. You already know what the girls will say. They’re even worse than you when it comes to Jeon Jungkook and your ambiguous (on your side solely) friendship. They’ll say the ship is sailed and start buying themselves bridesmaid matching dresses.

They don’t understand. It’s not like they’ve grown up with someone like him. Someone rather simple, authentic and kind, so much so, so much more than most people, that it turns him complicated because so different from other humans you can meet. There’s nothing to be read in between the lines with him. It’s always lovingly honest, blatant, generous.

He doesn’t mean anything else behind the gift besides a “have a good one!”.

And you didn’t mean anything else but the truth when you said you wouldn’t use it.

At the moment, anyway, you meant it.

A/N: hoping it makes sense and is not too raw, edited it at midnight TT; may i manifest a sugar daddy that would pay me to stay home and write fanfiction for you guys all day :). i really hope you like it, and hope also that you can handle the secondhand embarrassement because even i struggled. let me know what you think of the series so far, sending everyone reading this an infinite amount of virtual kisses and hugs, take care of yourself, love yourself and others a lot, BYEE.

tag list: @moon-asia @btstrasht @jkbangtan7 @taehugger @kaepjjangiya @daggerbeneathmygown @cuteipat @jinsalpaca

PLEASE ASK TO BE TAGGED IN THE COMMENT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! TY <3

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #ggukienet #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #my writing

331 notes · View notes

starkeristheendgame · 3 years

Text

Inspired by 9-1-1 (on Fox), which is my current obsession. I highly recommend checking it out and it’s spin-off series 9-1-1: Lonestar. If you already like 9-1-1 and Buddie (Buck and Eddie) then you should check out my new main account @therogueheart. Liberty has been taken with protocols and practices here, but the land of fiction knows no rules.

Firefighter!Tony x Civilian!Peter.

TW: Age difference | Under-negotiated sexual content | Unrealistic practises

“NYFD! We’re evacuating the block!”

“NYFD, are any residents present?”

Peter jerked awake to loud yelling and incessant pounding on his door, flailing blearily in bed for a moment before he fell off the side of in a heap of limbs and bedding, scrambling to get upright.

He shrugged on a hoodie and tripped into a pair of combat boots, stumbling his way sleepily to the door. He was operating on barely five hours of sleep and felt every hour he was sorely missing - though his midterms were a good enough reason to burn the midnight oil.

He wrenched the door open just as a firefighter on the other side went to swing the breach ram into it, letting out a squeak of panic as it stopped mere inches from his belly. The man wielding it was huge; with short blond hair and shoulders that could fit a person comfortably on either side.

“That was close, I could’ve ruptured your entire torsal cavity and killed you!” the firefighter boomed cheerfully, straightening up with a broad, dazzling smile. Peter let out a faint noise and did his best not to pass out, sagging against the doorframe and gripping it.

He was wide fucking awake now, that was for sure.

“My name is Thor, I’m with the NYPD, Manhattan division. We’re evacuating the block, there’s been a gas leak on the lower and mid levels and there’s risk of combustion,” the man ordered, slinging the ram over his shoulder and gesturing to the hallway. Peter could hear other voices, all similar conversations amidst the yells of NYPD, open up!

“Uh,” was all Peter got out before he was being ushered out of his doorway. Firefighter Thor nudged him several steps forwards before Peter’s brain finally came online and he jerked to a stop.

“Wait! I need my Adderall and my phone! If I don’t call Aunt May she’s gonna kill me and if I don’t take my meds I’m gonna be screwed!”

Thor looked undecided, brows pinching. “You shouldn’t-”

“It’s okay, Thor. Move onto the North quadrant; I’ll stay with this one,” came a voice from behind them and Peter turned, shrinking in on himself a little.

Illuminated in the crappy hallway lighting was a man who looked like he’d stepped straight off a movie billboard. He wasn’t as tall or the same brand of clean-cut Hollywood handsome that Thor was, but he was just as attractive. More so, if Peter was going to acknowledge his tendency to lust after men twice or even thrice his age.

The man had black hair swept into a neat side-leaning quiff, a hint of salt and pepper at his temples. His facial hair had been styled in a way that ought to look ridiculous but only served to give him a unique, sharp look, accentuating the shape of his jaw.

The man winked at him and Peter realised he’d been staring. When he glanced to the side Thor had already moved off out of sight and the firefighter left behind gestured to Peter’s door, which was thankfully still open ajar from where he’d been rushed out.

“Uh, thanks. Thank you...Sir? Officer?” he cringed at his own awkwardness, shuffling past. The man looked amused, quirking a brow and pursing his lips a little, even as something indescribable flashed in his eyes.

“Sir works just fine, if that’s your thing. But for the record - I’m Captain Stark. Pretty boys get to call me Tony, though,” the man winked again, teasing seeping into his voice as Peter flushed and beelined for his bed, grabbing his phone from it’s charger and scooping up his bill box and keys.

He lamented not being able to grab anything else, but he knew better than to put himself (and someone else) at risk by lingering. Tony ushered him out of the door with a hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the stairwell. Peter could hear noises and voices on the lower levels but realised with surprise that they were the only two left on the topmost floor.

“You were dead to the world, kid. Thor was banging on your door like crazy. We almost gave you up for not in,” Tony voiced, seemingly understanding his realisation. Peter flushed again and mumbled something about studying, hurrying down the stairs as quickly as he could, Tony a close and solid presence at his back.

It wasn’t until the cool, outside air hit his legs that he realised he was still only wearing a thin hoodie and the shorts he’d gone to sleep in. He shivered in dismay, wrapping his arms around himself. He wasn’t the only one who’d clearly been dragged out of bed - there were people milling around in robes and pyjama sets.

One poor man was even shivering in a ratty blanket, suds dripping from his hair and into his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked, doing his best to stop his teeth from chattering.

“Residents on the lower levels reported strong smells of sulphur and gas. We think it’s a line rupture or faulty heater somewhere. Full evac is protocol until we know for sure and can get started on a fix,” the fire Captain answered, steering him a little away from the main crowd and to one of the trucks.

“Take a seat, kid,” Tony offered, gesturing to the step-up of the truck. Peter did, flinching as his bare skin met the icy metal. The man left him there, turning away to resume his role as he barked orders and disappeared off into the fray. Peter busied himself with his phone, only looking up when Tony’s voice boomed out over the crowd sometime later.

“Alright, everybody listen up!” the man yelled, clapping his hands. “We’ve located the source of the gas and the good news is that it’s a relatively easy fix. The bad news is that it’ll take a minimum of four hours. In the name of safety, none of you can return to the building until it’s deemed safe to do so. Your landlord and building technicians will get in contact as soon as they’ve been given the okay for you to return home. In the meantime, I suggest you go visit friends, family, or find a nice coffee shop while you wait!”

An immediate chorus of groans, complaints and angry remarks bubbled up, the firefighters all doing their best to marshal the situation and contain the displeasure. Peter shuffled where he sat, chewing his lower lip in frustration.

Aunt May was half a city away and on shift; Ned was visiting his Grandma and MJ’s girlfriend had stayed the night, meaning if Peter valued his eyes he couldn’t show up at her door.

Which meant he was probably going to spend the next four hours shivering at a Starbucks and studying on his phone.

Great.

“You good, kid?” the voice was joined by a pair of turnout clad legs and Peter looked up, tossing his phone between his hands. Out in the natural light Captain Stark was even more handsome, a strange mix between rugged and polished.

“Um, yeah. Just...Trying to decide which coffee shop I’m gonna move into,” he sighed, offering a weak smile. The Captain looked thoughtful.

“Little thing like you, Mom and Dad weren’t just out getting milk?” his tone was teasing but curious. Peter shook his head.

“Uh, no. I don’t...I did live with my Aunt. But I graduated highschool early and got a scholarship for the Manhattan Institute of Advanced Sciences. That shitty little studio is all mine,” he rattled the keys in his pocket and shifted. His butt had warmed the step some, but it still wasn’t exactly comfortable.

As if sensing his discomfort the man shifted, peeling himself out of the huge, heavy turnout jacket. “Here, sit up a little,” the man coaxed, crouching down. Peter found himself enveloped in the jacket as Captain Stark wrapped it around him and tucked it under his ass and thighs, pulling it shut so it cocooned him in the heat.

It smelt of soap and aftershave and maybe a little bit of sweat, and Peter found himself relaxing immediately, giving a hum of pleased satisfaction.

Tony was smiling at him when he opened his eyes again and he flushed, saved from embarrassment by a tall, lithe man approaching.

“Cap, we got ‘em all squared. Company is on the way for the fix. The one-five-nine offered to stay and play babysitter. We’re clear to move out.” The man had a purple band-aid on his right brow and did a double-take when he looked down at Peter. “We get a new recruit, Cap?”

Captain Stark looked thoughtfully between Peter and the man, fingers curling around his waistband.

“Alright. Barton, round up the others, call to move out. Have the one-five-nine use radio line six if they need us. We’re bringing back a station puppy.”

‘Barton’ glanced at Peter again, eyes raking over him before he did something between a smile and a smirk. “Copy that,” he confirmed, spinning on his heel and jogging off.

“Huh?” was all Peter could think to say.

“You’ve got nowhere better to go and you’ll freeze without getting changed. I’ve got some spare clothes at the station and you can hole up on the couch until we get the go-ahead to send you home. Rogers can cook, so let’s see if we can’t put a good breakfast in that belly,” Tony responded, nudging him up and out of the way so he could open the truck door.

And that was how Peter found himself wedged into the truck with Clint Barton, Thor Odinson and Steve Rogers. They crammed a spare headset on him and grilled him on student life as they drove, Captain Stark chiming in from the front of the truck.

The station they pulled into was huge, newly renovated and vast. Firefighter Thor set two hands on his hips, lifting him out of the truck easily and setting him down on the floor, ruffling his hair before dogpiling onto Steve, both of them stumbling and grappling away, arguing in snippets about door breaches.

A little dazed, he startled when a hand fell to his back again and turned, flushing when Captain Stark smirked at him and nudged him towards the locker room. The others were already there, stripping out of their turnouts and talking animatedly.

Peter was divested of the jacket but was given a thicker, warmer hoodie emblazoned with ‘NYPD’ and ‘Stark’, the older man rooting around in a locker for a moment before producing a pair of sweats.

They were baggy but he double-tied them and rolled up the ankles and found them more than comfortable, shyly thanking the man. Tony was watching him, eyes dark again with that hidden thought, before he seemingly shook himself out of it and herded Peter towards a set of steps.

Upstairs was a kitchen space and a small common area with two couches and a TV. Barton immediately handed him a steaming mug of herbal tea and Captain Stark ushered him to the table and after several minutes of sitting in their midst and listening to firefighting stories, Steve placed a plate of toast, beans, bacon and eggs under his nose.

“Eat it before Barton mauls you for it,” Steve advised with a grin, sinking into the seat opposite him and stretching out, one arm slung around the back of Thor’s chair. Peter took the warning and dug in, shamelessly moaning at the taste. The eggs had been seasoned and there was something in the butter on the toast that made it rich and almost a little salty.

“Better than sex, huh kid?” Tony teased from his side and Clint gasped, throwing his hands over Peter’s ears.

“He doesn’t know what that is yet!”

After breakfast he was bundled onto the couch, handed a mug of tea to keep his hands warm and the remote to the TV as the others stomped down the staircase, citing organising their gear.

The alarm blared out as he was watching a nature documentary and he leaned over the balcony rail just in time to watch them leaping into the truck, flushing as the Captain shot him a wink before shutting the truck door, it’s sirens wailing and lights flashing as it pulled out of the bay.

They weren’t gone that long, but when the truck pulled back into the bay it was covered in dust and dirt.

He padded down the staircase, pulling on the sleeves of his hoodie as he watched them all descend from the vehicle. They looked a little dusty and grimy, but otherwise unharmed.

“Winch rescue up on the hiking trails,” Clint informed him as he jogged past, beelining for a room just past the lockers. “I’ve got dust in places it doesn't belong!”

The worst of them all was Steve, who’d apparently tripped over the winch line and gone tumbling down the hillside. He was largely unhurt, but he was also the last one out of the showers thanks to needing some extra scrubbing.

“C’mon, kid. Time to earn your keep,” Tony teased once they were clean and dressed in LAFD shorts and shirts. They were filling buckets and bringing out plastic boxes full of soaps and polish, and he almost whimpered when he realised they were going to clean the truck.

He was practically living a piece of fanfiction.

Or torture. Either one was applicable.

It took exactly ten minutes for someone to lose their shirt. Peter didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that it was Steve, who flexed his pecs with a wink when he caught Peter staring. As if not to be outdone, Thor immediately tugged his shirt over his head, baring an even bigger, beefier torso that fed the red flames burning up Peter’s cheeks.

“Alright, show offs. Stop preening and get cleaning,” Tony barked at them good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as he handed Peter a sponge and flicked suds at the two taller blonds, who pulled faces but dove into the work with vigor.

In an attempt to cool down his embarrassment he turned his attention to the truck, scrubbing gently in broad circles to match what the others were doing. He’d never realised just how big firetrucks were and he wondered idly how often they had to do this.

“Hey, shortstack, you wanna be on top?”

“Excuse me?” Peter squeaked, rounding on Captain Stark, who smirked at him and gestured to the roof of the truck and the little side ladder.

“On the roof. Tends to get gritty up there,” the man drawled, eyeing him in thinly veiled amusement. It had to be on purpose, Peter realised. Especially when he moved to the side ladder and a set of rough hands wrapped around his hips, boosting him up several rungs.

He settled down to scrub, listening to the soundtrack of the station and the men below, peering over the edge now and then to watch them or to join in the conversation. It was dizzying - having them all grinning up at him, sunny and sparkling and half-naked.

Mercifully, there wasn’t too much more teasing as they scrubbed and buffed and wiped. He wasn’t sure his cheeks could take getting any hotter - but then, where safer to combust but in the middle of a firehouse?

Captain Stark helped him down from the roof again with the same hold around his hips, thumbs rubbing brief circles along the ridges of the bones before the man stepped aside with a quirked smile.

“Hungry, kid?”

“If I don’t get fed soon I might start chewing off my own foot,” he harrumphed with a grin, ducking his head when Clint barked a laugh and ruffled his hair.

“Kid after my own stomach,” the man drawled, taking the steps three at a time in a way that Peter and his short legs watched enviously.

Lunch was buffet bits like potato chips and little sponge-cake fingers and fruit, which Peter didn’t mind at all. He threw grapes into Clint’s mouth and arm-wrestled Steve and deliberately paid no attention at all to where Captain Stark’s leg pressed against his own under the table.

In the grand five hour total that he was there they got called out twice more, once for a tree rescue (a man who’d tried to save money by cutting his own yard tree, not a cat, much to Peter’s disappointment) and a small kitchen fire that left them bitching for a full hour afterwards about how people needed to stop trying to be Gordon Ramsey when they could barely cook packet ramen.

And then, just when the others were beginning to get shift about nearing their time to come off rotation, Peter’s phone rang.

It was his landlord, sounding gruff and disinterested as he informed Peter the apartment had been deemed safe to re-enter, although all aparts were going to be required to keep their gas appliances off for the night and their windows open.

The others had stopped milling around in the locker room and listened in with thinly concealed interest, offering nods and smiles when it was revealed Peter was safe to hit home.

“Just on time, huh?” Steve beamed at him, ruffling his hair.

“Aw, man. Do we have to give him back?” Clint whined in protest, swooping down to wrap himself around Peter like a clingy mink shrug. Peter giggled, tucking himself into the hold and putting on a pretend pout.

Truthfully; he didn’t want to leave. At first he’d been apprehensive about being stuck in a building with a bunch of strange men, but over the course of the day he’d come to cherish their family dynamic and the easy, comfortable companionship.

“You knew he was on loan, you layabouts,” Tony chastised them fondly, rolling his eyes. When his crew had been bullied into resuming their prep to leave, Captain Stark sank onto the bench next to Peter.

“You want a ride back, kid? I live past that area anyway and it’s my fault you’re so far out from home,” he noted with a warm smile, tugging on a boot and stooping to lace it.

Peter bit at his lower lip. Technically; he should say no. He didn’t actually know this man, and being a firefighter meant nothing for how trustworthy he was.

But…

“You don’t mind?” he asked lightly.

“It would be Captain’s honor,” Thor assured him with a wink. And that was that, the others finished dressed and they moved out to the parking lot as a herd, Peter trailing awkwardly along behind Tony towards a sleek, red and gold Audi.

He was hugged and ruffled and treated to a sizable farewell from the others, each of them pointedly telling him not to be a stranger as they piled into their vehicles and drove off in a cloud of muted music and squealing tyres.

When he turned around Tony had slipped over to the car and stood with the passenger door open, stooped into a half bow.

The interior was crisp and clean and smelt like fresh linen when he sank into the seat, tucking his legs in carefully. Tony slid into the driver’s side like he lived to be behind the wheel of a flashy car, slipping on a dark pair of shades and letting his window slide down.

Tony switched radio on to a smooth rock station and Peter let himself relax in the seat, phone still clutched carefully in hand just in case, but thoroughly enjoying the rumble of the car and the way Tony looked behind the wheel.

They didn’t speak much on the way but Peter snuck several glances at the other man, shivering through a bolt of unsteady heat each time Tony caught the motion and tipped his head, smirking at him from behind those shaded lenses.

The apartment building loomed up on them far too soon, signalling the end of a day Peter was confident he’d keep in his memories right up until his last breath.

(And if it tempted him to maybe one day set fire to his kitchen a little bit, well.)

Tony pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot, leaning casually back in his seat.

“Maybe you should, um, check my apartment?”

It took Peter a moment to realise he was the one who’d spoken, mortified as Tony pushed down his shades to peer at him over the rims with an arched brow.

“To, uh, um…” Peter squirmed on his seat, doing his best not to think about how it was the other man’s clothes he was wearing. “Make sure it’s safe. I mean, I’ve built up a little trust. With you. Who knows if the other guys missed something?”

And what he wouldn’t give for a sinkhole to just swallow him up right then.

But to his surprise Captain Stark just peered at him for another moment, then smiled. “Sure thing, kid. The other’s’d never forgive me anyway if I let you die off in the night.”

With cheeks hot enough to sear a steak, Peter slipped out of the car and practically ran for the building, hyper aware of Tony’s presence beside him as they ascended the steps. God, he was so fucking stupid. Tony was probably going to poke around the apartment a little, open the window then skip on back home and tell his wife all about the strange kid he’d had to babysit all day.

His hands were shaking as he unlocked his door but if the man noticed he said nothing, stepping in behind him and pushing the door gently shut. Peter toed off his boots by the door and turned, watching the man roam the apartment, sniffing here and there and opening the window in the kitchenette.

“Hey, come here,” Tony’s voice called when he was plugging his phone in. Jamming the cord into the device, he bounced out of the room and slid to a halt next to Tony, who held a hand out to steady him. “Do you feel that?”

“What?” Peter asked in confusion, head tilting.

“Sexual tension,” Tony grinned at him, winking terribly.

“Wha-- Oh,” Peter rocked back on his heels, cheeks blazing.

“You’re not subtle, kid. I got ribbed the whole day out over it,” Tony teased him, reaching out to ever so gently tuck one of Peter’s mahogany curls behind his ear.

“Sorry?” Peter tried, fingers curling around the cuffs of his - Tony’s - hoodie.

“I know a way you can make it up to me,” the only man purred, leaning in a little closer. And then all at once he softened, head tilting a little. “Only, of course, if you want to.”

“Aren’t you… Married?” Peter asked hesitantly, even as his heart kicked up a notch and heat gave a lazy spark between his lips. Tony’s brows shot towards his hairline.

“Not since I last checked, no,” Tony answered, sounding terribly amused. “Where did you get that thought?”

And oh, no. The last thing Peter was going to do was tell Tony he thought the man was so attractive it was feasibly impossible for him to not be taken. His ego would get so big he’d float off to space and then where would Peter be?

Instead of answering he shifted, bracing his hands on Tony’s chest and rising onto his tiptoes so he could press a chaste kiss to Tony’s mouth, the man’s stubble tickling the corner of his mouth before he pulled away, shrinking in on himself and rubbing at his lower lip.

Tony blinked down at him for a moment. Then he shifted, leaning down to wrap his hands around Peter’s thigh and hip, lifting him up with a flex of work-honed muscles. Peter clutched at his shoulders, legs automatically wrapping around Tony’s waist.

It was a new kind of novelty; to feel thick, corded muscle beneath his palms, to feel the cut of it between his thighs, to feel the scrape of stubble over his jaw and his mouth. All of Peter’s other partners had been close to his own age and relatively close in terms of build and body.

A few strides had Peter’s back pressed against the wall where he let his head fall back with a thump, mouth falling open on a whine.

“Look at you having your five minutes of bravery,” Tony teased him, shifting one leg so his thigh helped to hold Peter’s weight, fingers flexing against his skin. “What happened to the quiet little kid who burnt up anytime he looked my way?”

Peter had nothing to say, shivering through a hiccupped sound when something thick and hard rode the crease of his thigh and hip, hot between the layers of fabric that separated them. Instead of answering he pawed at the man’s shirt, desperately wanting to see the carved flesh beneath it.

“Okay, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you want,” Tony soothed him, adjusting them both before he helped to tug on the fabric, muscles shifting and bunching as he worked it over his head and threw it off somewhere to the side.

“Oh,” Peter choked, setting his palms down on the plane of Tony’s stomach. He was beautiful; tanned skin marred with a smattering of scars that stood out pink and pale. He knew better than to focus on them but he couldn’t help running his thumb over a half-moon scar at the bottom of Tony’s pectoral.

“Emergency field incision,” Tony murmured, nipple peaking at the close touch. “Had to mesh-wall my heart.”

Peter had no words for that, either. In all the fun of the firehouse he’d almost forgotten the reality of such a dangerous job. He ran his thumb gently over it again, as if to kiss it, and tightened his legs to bring Tony into him again.

It made them press together in a delicious, warm friction, Tony’s pupils dilating further when Peter tried to stifle the noise the touch prompted. He was squeezed back into the wall as Tony leaned down, catching his mouth in a slick, gentle kiss.

“Hey, kid,” Tony murmured against his mouth, leaning back just enough to speak, teeth scraping over his swollen lower lip.

“Hm?” Peter whimpered, trying to tilt his head to reach him again.

“You wanna see why they call me Captain Firehose?”

Peter’s lashes fluttered as he looked up, mouth dropping open for a moment of pure, unadulterated suspense.

“That was awful,” he groaned with a giggle, tickled by the cheesy line and rendered pink-cheeked by the soft, fond look at Tony fixed him with.

“Made you smile, though,” Tony purred, adjusting his hold as he ducked down to press a kiss to Peter’s cheek, lips trailing over the warm skin before he pulled back and away, muscles flexing as he held Peter up without the support of the wall.

Blushing harder, Peter wound his arms around the man’s neck. “Okay, Captain. Show me how to handle your hose,” he whispered, yelping and laughing when Tony spun them around towards the bedroom with a grin.

153 notes · View notes

carolmaximoffs · 3 years

Text

in a crowd of strangers and lovers

summary: of course your ex is working the night you get stood up.

pairing: bartender! ex! bucky x reader

warnings: drinking, cursing, smut, a teeny bit of degradation, bartender! bucky, this is entirely self indulgent, use of a condom for the first time in my writing in i think ever oops

a/n: this has been 3/4 of the way done for so long...finally sat down and cranked out the rest of it. short and sweet and maybe not my best but heres nothin.

You swung your legs idly as you glanced once more at your phone. Only the time glared back at you - no missed calls, no explanation texts, not even a Snapchat or a DM. It was 20 minutes past the time you were supposed to meet the man you’d been talking to for the last couple of months, and you sighed. Obviously, he wasn’t coming. You waved a hand to grab a bartender’s attention before closing your eyes and rubbing at your temples in annoyance. An all too familiar voice disrupted your self-pitying thoughts.

“You look like a tequila girl.” The first words Bucky Barnes had ever said to you. Your eyes snapped open, mouth gaping. Of course...how could you have forgotten? This was the very bar, possibly the very stool you’d met Bucky at. Before you could stammer out a reply, he was making himself comfortable against the bar-top and leaning in conspiratorially. “Hot date?”

“Very,” You sniffed, meeting his gaze in spite of your churning gut. In the glow of a neon sign overhead, his blue eyes burned almost violet. Your heart ached when he beamed, those beautiful stupid eyes crinkling at the corners like they always had.

“Well, sweetheart, you’ve been here for a while now. Show up early?” Bucky propped his chin up with his metal hand; his flesh fingers drummed idly as he waited for your reply. He’d always been able to see right through you; you weren’t backing down so easily this time. You’d actually been late, but Bucky didn’t need to know that. It was bad enough he’d clearly spotted you as soon as you walked in...you weren’t really sure what to do with that information. You lifted your chin, shrugging and looking around as if your evasive date might suddenly show himself.

“I’ll take that tequila now, please,” You replied simply. Bucky’s eyes twinkled with mirth before he turned his back to you.

“Margarita or a straight up shot?” He threw over his shoulder. Your answer was a moment too late - you wouldn’t admit it, but you’d gotten a little absorbed in the way his white tee shirt stretched over the broad expanse of his back. “Y/N.”

“Huh? Oh...surprise me.” You fought the urge to bury your face in your hands again as he smiled and turned back around. You chanced looking at your phone as inconspicuously as possible. Still nothing. Moments later, thick fingers slid a tall glass towards you, rim salted, accompanied with two neat slices of lime.

“M’lady,” Bucky drawled, dipping his head dramatically. He looked up at you beneath his lashes, cheeks straining to contain his grin. Your own face burned and your heart pounded as you mumbled your thanks. You took more of a long gulp than a sip. Just your luck, it caught in the back of your throat, and you spluttered a bit. Bucky looked like he’d won the lottery.

“Careful, sugar,” He crooned, passing you a napkin. Idly, you wondered if, next, you'd fall off the stool. “You know I love to see you choke, but only-”

“Barnes!”

Natasha was standing near the door to the back, arms crossed and brow arched dangerously. Your old friend offered you a tight smile before returning to glaring at her employee. Bucky winked before he sidled off, Nat’s eyes narrowing. You wished the floor would swallow you up right then.

It didn’t, and you were swirling the dregs of your margarita by the time Bucky got back. For whatever reason, you couldn’t compel yourself to leave. Not just yet. You were rewarded, however, when he realized you’d hung around; Barnes’ eyes lit up. He bit back another smile, resuming his nonchalant stance against the bar.

“What was that all about?” You blurted, before Bucky could say anything about the near-empty glass in front of you. His smirk didn’t waver.

“Just Nat lookin’ out for you, s’all. She got off a few minutes ago, wanted to make sure I didn’t give you too much trouble.” His simper stretched into a blinding flash of teeth. “I’m not givin’ you trouble, am I, babydoll?”

You shake your head dutifully, and you think Bucky’s face might split if he grins any wider. His smile drops into something a little more seductive as he tilts impossibly closer. “Looks like your boy toy’s a no show...Sam can cover if you need a little cheering up.”

Body and brain exploded into disagreement; lust bubbled like lava in the pit of your stomach at his request, but you knew better. You had to know better by now - you were the one who’d gotten too involved in the first place. You floundered, managing to blubber a painful combination of "we shouldn’t” or “I don't think that's the best idea”. Bucky’s face fell, only just, but he was quick to hide it as he untied a thick, worn flannel from his waist.

“Wilson - headed for a smoke!” He shouted across the bar to where Sam was seemingly tangled up trying to serve a very amorous bachelorette party. His eyes were steely as he looked at you as if trying to pick you apart. “Think on it, yeah? No big deal, sugar. Back in five.”

You nodded, tracing your finger through the circle of condensation from your drink. You snuck a glance at his retreating form, however, and already wanted to kick yourself. His ass in those jeans...he’d bulked up, clearly, even in the short time since you’d stop seeing each other. And there was no way in hell he thought you wouldn’t notice. The angel on your shoulder was practically throwing a tantrum as you quickly shot a text to your closest confidante.

call me in the am. about to do a bad thing

Wanda texted back almost instantly, but Bucky reentered the bar simultaneously. You clicked off your incessantly active cell phone and put on an expression you hoped wasn’t as much of a grimace as you thought. Bucky raised a single, knowing brow.

“What’s that face for?” He murmured innocuously. You lift a single shoulder in response, working extra to keep your face neutral.

“Changed your mind?” You shrugged again, and when he was sure nobody was looking, he jerked his head towards the back of the bar. “C’mon then, pretty baby.”

“This is stupid,” You mumbled under your breath. You don’t realize how close he is behind you, jumping a little as the door swings shut behind you.

“What’s stupid is waiting an hour for some douche when you’ve got me standing right in front of you,” Bucky whispered hotly, already spinning the two of you so your back hit the wall by the doorframe. A case of the imported vodka Nat loved dug into your calves.

“We split up, Bucky,” You moaned as he licked at the shell of your ear. Honestly, you were half expecting something like “i didn’t know we were together”. Instead, he pulled back for a second to give you sad eyes and a slight twist of the corner of his mouth. Regret?

Before you could truly ponder it, he was ducking back towards you, lips pressing into yours with a fire fueled by all things left unsaid. He kissed his way down your neck, and you heard his voice from months ago: ‘it’s just sex, sweetheart. just enjoy it’. You were drawn back to the present as he tugged at your lip with sharp teeth, and you recalled his gruff morning voice - ‘I better get going’. Memory pierced your hazy brain even as he slid a hand down to cup your sex. You arched into him, and he looked positively feral even in his delight. You pushed the past away as hard as you could and let yourself melt into his touch.

As your head lilted backward to likely smack the wall, Bucky tangled a hand into your hair. He tipped your face back up to kiss it incessantly - several to your cheeks, a peck on your nose, a handful of smooches dotted to your forehead. When he finally reached your mouth again you were laughing, breathy and floaty, and he laughed too. He chuckled softly with you even as he slips his hands into your jeans, past the waistband of your cute-but-not-presumptuous panties. He was still chuckling a little, but it was more smug than amused when his fingers parted your folds and you inhaled sharply.

“Yeah,” He murmured, so low you almost missed it. “There you go, that’s my girl.”

You pretended the burst of heat through your gut is from his palm bumping against your clit. You were halfway through a moan when he withdrew his hand, instead placing both dark metal and pale skin on steadfastly on your hips. Swiftly, he placed you on top of those nagging crates you’d been pressed against - despite the marks on your thighs you’d nearly forgotten about them.

“Bucky, what-” You tried, but he cut you off with a swift press of lips to yours, tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease. If you sighed into the kiss, well, you’d call it heat of the moment. The familiar crinkling of foil set your anticipation and adrenaline spiking impossibly higher. Bucky pulled away to line himself up as you caught your breath, which suddenly seemed impossible. He rubbed a comforting thumb over your hip, leaning in again to nip playfully at your jaw.

“You ready, angel?” He murmured; all it took was your assenting nod before he slid home, your body greedily accepting him as if the two of you had never stopped. “Fuuuck...missed you. Missed this.”

Normally, such a suggestion would’ve irritated you - but you couldn’t deny the feelings you had had for him once upon a time, despite the casual nature of your relationship. You knew it was mutual; you knew exactly what he missed. It wasn’t just about the sex - even in the dingy storeroom of the bar, Bucky thrusting as deep as possible with one hand stabilizing the crates and the other on the small of your back, panting into each other’s mouths, it was about the connection. Being this close with another person, especially someone you dared to say you’d been good friends with, had much in common with - the interconnection of body and soul was something else. Or maybe that was your orgasm talking.

It snuck up on you. Your toes curled in your shoes, lip drew between your teeth. “Please.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” Bucky rasped, face buried in your shoulder. The hand on your back snaked between the two of you to rub furiously at your clit - you threw your arms around his neck for balance as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. “Go ahead, let go. Come for me, let me make you feel good, angel.”

That did it. Your hands found purchase in his hair as your back arched; in your desperation to be quiet, you bit your lip so hard the taste of iron crept into your mouth. Bucky never slowed, chasing his own high as well as basking with you in yours. He kissed you, a little sudden, groaning deeply into your mouth as he came.

For a moment, the pair of you were silent, the only sound your heavy breaths and the rustling of clothing. Composing yourself, you made for the door - a hand on your wrist stopped you.

“This was a fluke, I know-” You started. The desperate look in Bucky’s eyes cut you off.

“I don’t...let me try again.” He mumbled, words jumbling together with nerves. He cleared his throat - you’d never seen Bucky Barnes nervous, of all things, and humility wasn’t a bad look for him. “You deserved - deserve better, sweetheart. I want to try again. I want to...I want to do it right.”

“Buck...” Your face softened, but he tensed, fearing rejection. You brought a hand up to cup his cheek softly. “I’d love to try again.”

That nagging voice in the back of your mind was on a roll - you’ll just get hurt again, it warned. He’s not good for you.

But when Bucky’s entire face lit up and he kissed you enthusiastically, making you laugh in equal parts shock and joy, that little voice was silent.

#i don’t like this but i need to get back into writing!#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes smut #bartender!bucky #bucky barnes au #carolmaximoffs

220 notes · View notes

jayeray-hq · 3 years

Text

How He Shows You Affection: Tsukishima Kei

Post Time Skip/Manga Spoilers!

Warnings: None All Fluff!

How He Shows You Affection Master List - Character Masterlist

This was requested by an anon who asked for both Tsukishima and Kita Shinsuke! I hope you like it anon. I have to admit I’m not the biggest fan of Tsukishima, but I hope I did him justice! 😭🥺, also huge thank you to @haikyuu-addict for beta reading for me you’re amazing!

He Teases You

You grimaced slightly as you stared up at the mug on the highest shelf of the cabinet pushed all the way to the back. It was going to be an incredible hassle to reach it, and a part of you wondered briefly if it would even be worth it to try. After all you had plenty of other mugs in your kitchen. It was just, that happened to be your favorite mug, it had actually been a gag gift from your boyfriend, and read ‘you’re my favorite pain in the ass’ written in his neat precise calligraphy.

However, to his shock you actually loved the mug, mostly because it was the absolute perfect size to make your favorite hot beverage in, something he’d later been smugly satisfied about as if that had been the intention all along even if you both knew it wasn’t. You’d been craving your favorite drink all day, and had been set to make yourself a nice hot cup when you’d gotten home from work, only to open up the cabinets and find your mug completely out of reach.

Staring at it you had to wonder if he’d done it on purpose. It was honestly a toss-up with Tsukishima, sometimes he did things like this just because he thought it was funny to watch you struggle, and other times he just genuinely forgot that if he put things on the very top shelves you wouldn’t be able to reach without some form of aid. Usually you’d simply ask him to get it for you, even if he would spend a good deal of time teasing you about it, he never actually said no, and you’d learned to put up with the teasing after years of knowing him and being in a relationship with him.

Unfortunately, Tsukishima wasn’t home yet, still at practice with the Sendai Frogs, which meant you were on your own. You considered going to get the step stool that was tucked away neatly in the hall closet, which was for these exact kinds of situations, but in the end decided you were too lazy to walk over and get it and decided to climb up on to the counter instead.

You were a bit precariously balanced, but you figured it would be fine as you leaned into the cupboard, your fingers scrabbling for the handle of the mug that was just barely out of your reach.

“Oya what’s this?”

You’d been so caught up in your quest that you hadn’t heard the door open or you boyfriend’s arrival into the kitchen. His words startled you enough to make you jolt slightly, making you lose your balance a bit, one of your arms pinwheeling to keep you from slipping backwards off the counter. Luckily Tsukishima had always had incredibly quick reflexes, and he immediately stepped forward, his hands finding your waist and steadying you easily.

“Clumsy,” he scolded, clear disapproval on his face as he gently tugged you backwards and helped you set your feet firmly back on to the floor, “Just what are you trying to do shortcake?”

“I was trying to get my mug,” you told him with a huff, even as some of the annoyance you felt for him startling you faded away with the familiar nickname, one that was part teasing you for being shorter than him, and another part fondness after his favorite food, though it didn’t keep you from pouting at him as you explained, “Someone put it up where I can’t reach it.”

“Oh?” he asked a teasing grin curling his lips, making his golden eyes glint in amusement, as he moved over to where you had been, easily plucking the mug from its resting place without even needing to stand on his toes to reach it before turning to you and asking smugly, “You mean this mug?”

“Yes, that mug,” you told him holding your hand out for it, fully expecting him to hand it over.

“I don’t know if I should give it to you,” he told you with a wicked grin, “After all you nearly broke your neck trying to get it, and didn’t even greet me properly when I got home I don’t think that kind of behavior deserves a reward.”

“Kei,” you whined at him reaching for it, only to have him hold it up out of your reach, high above your head, “I need it.”

He didn’t relent to your whining, only smirked in clear amusement as you stood on your toes trying to reach before eventually giving up.

“Mean,” you informed him with a huff.

“Calling me mean,” he goaded lightly, “And after I saved you from tumbling off the counter too. Maybe you should try asking nicely instead of just trying to take it from me hmm?”

You huffed a sigh, unable to help the slight amusement that curled your lips, well used to his teasing and with a pretty good idea of what he wanted, the same thing he always wanted when he teased you like this.

You stepped forward into his space and wrapped your arms around his neck and tilting your face upwards. He met you partway, his lips warm and soft against your own, even as they curled upwards clearly pleased.

“Please can I have my mug Kei?” you murmured against his lips nuzzling your nose affectionately against his.

He heaved a sigh as if completely put out by your request, but relented, passing the mug over to you, “Alright shortcake, but only this once and only because you asked so nicely.”

You giggled at that, both of you well aware he didn’t mean it in the slightest as you stepped away humming happily about finally being able to get the drink you craved. You made enough for the both of you, feeling warm under the amused, fond gaze of your boyfriend.

He Flicks/Pokes You in the Forehead

You frowned in consternation, your arms crossed across your chest as you tried to make your decision glancing back and forth between the two choices in front of you, running your fingers over the fine material, and eyeing the pretty patterns. You couldn’t make up your mind about which to buy, and couldn’t help fretting about it.

“Ouch!” you yipped in surprise your hands automatically dropping the scarves back on to the table and coming up to press to your forehead as you shot an indignant wounded look at your boyfriend who’d just flicked you right in the center of your forehead.

“Kei,” you whined at him unhappily gently rubbing the abused spot, “What was that for?”

“You’re worrying too much,” he informed you bluntly, a bored drawl to his voice, “Just pick one already.”

“I just want her to like it,” you told him with a slight pout eyeing the scarves again, “Why don’t you choose if you think it’s so easy?”

“My mother already loves you,” he informed you with a sigh, “So she’ll love whatever you get for her, because it’s from you.”

“Even if that’s true, I still want her to like it and be able to wear it,” you informed him obstinately, as you picked up the two pretty scarves you’d been eying again and held them out toward him, “And you could try being a little more helpful Kei, she’s your mom after all, shouldn’t you know her best? Why don’t you pick?”

Your boyfriend heaved a sigh that was half annoyance half exasperated fondness as he looked at you and drawled, “Weren’t you the one who said you could do it without my help earlier?”

You flushed at that. It was the truth after all, your boyfriend had been playfully teasing you earlier about getting his mother’s birthday gift for her, and purposefully wound you up to the point that you’d blurted out that you’d pick out and pay for the gift yourself and it would serve him right if you didn’t even bother to put his name on it.

As per usual he’d been deeply amused by this, and had insisted on accompanying you to go on your expedition to find the perfect gift. Unfortunately, it had been incredibly slow going, as while you did like his mother a lot, the woman was nothing but kind and welcoming whenever you saw her, you didn’t actually know her all that well. It was only pure luck that you’d remembered she had complimented your scarf the last time you were there and had vaguely mentioned wanting something like that for her own.

“Don’t frown so much you’ll get wrinkles,” your boyfriend told you gently poking you in the forehead, in a slightly softer version of the flick he’d used earlier. It was something he’d been doing since the two of you had started dating, gently flicking or poking your forehead whenever he needed to catch your attention or whenever he thought you were frowning too much.

He always teased that you were going to get wrinkles, or that if you continued to try to think so hard your brain would melt out of your ears. It never failed to distract you from whatever was worrying you, or upsetting you and he knew it. It was honestly probably the whole reason he did it in the first place, his own way of showing concern and taking care of you, that was rather cute, not that you’d ever tell him that.

“Go with the blue,” he told you tapping his finger against your forehead and pulling your from your thoughts, heaving a sigh as if incredibly put upon as he explained, “It’s her favorite color.”

“Thanks Kei,” you told him with a grin, unable to help yourself, in the face of his affection.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off with an amused smirk, “Just don’t forget to put my name on it too.”

You huffed a laugh at that but agreed, feeling pleased both with your gift and with your boyfriend, who really was sweet, even if he went out of his way to hide it.

He Seeks Out Your Company

You sighed quietly to yourself as you looked over your project. You weren’t quite finished with it yet, but you felt like you’d made good progress on it in the last hour or so. Feeling rather pleased with yourself, you stretched lazily, letting your eyes flick over the room, taking it in. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged on your lips as you saw your boyfriend sitting in the arm chair next to you.

He was fast asleep, his eyes closed and his head tilted back, his arms folded across his chest as he snoozed away. You could hear the faint, tinny sound of music from the headphones in his ears, clearly still playing something despite the wearer clearly no longer paying attention. It didn’t look at all comfortable, especially since he still had his glasses on, and his neck was at an odd angle resting on the back of the chair.

You couldn’t help the warm feeling that surged through you as you looked at him though. Tsukishima was a bit of an introvert by nature, despite how confident he acted around groups of people and his slightly caustic attitude. The people he was genuinely comfortable with were fairly limited and the people whose company he actually enjoyed could be counted on his hands with fingers left over.

You were among the privileged few whose company he not only enjoyed, but who he actively sought out. He never drew attention to it, and it was incredibly subtle, but whenever you were both home at the same time he was almost always in the same room as you. You didn’t have to be interacting at all, in fact most of the time you’d be preoccupied and would suddenly look up to find him in the vicinity, usually listening to music or reading a book.

It wasn’t just at home either. Whenever you happened to be in the same vicinity as one another Tsukishima almost always gravitated to your side within the first five minutes of your arrival. He tended to use you, both as a shield and a bit of an excuse to not speak with anyone he found distasteful, insisting that he preferred your presence to the rest of the unwashed masses.

It never failed to make you feel soft and utterly loved whenever he did it, though you would never actually point it out or draw attention to it, well aware it would only make him defensive and hissy. Honestly, he was a bit like a cat that way, something Yamaguchi had pointed out to you when the two of you had first started dating and you’d asked the other man for advice. He’d told you to let Tsukishima do things on his own terms, and to treat him a bit like a standoffish feline, and it hadn’t failed you yet.

Carefully you stood up from your spot, and made your way over, well aware he was a bit of a light sleeper. He looked far more innocent in sleep that you would’ve guessed when you first met him, without the flashing golden eyes and the ever-present smirk on his face. It was a vulnerability he only showed to a trusted few and you were honored to be among them.

Gently, you pulled his glasses from his face, folding them neatly and setting them nearby where he could easily spot them once he woke, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He may try to hide it, but he really did have a sweet side to him, even if he could be incredibly salty at times and you couldn’t be happier to call him your boyfriend.

#tsukishima #tsukishima kei #tsukishima hcs #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima x you #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #tsukishima kei x y/n #tsukishima scenarios #tsukishima fluff #haikyū!!#haikyu fluff #haikyuu!!#haikyu imagines #how he shows you affection #JayeRayWrites

330 notes · View notes

vaguely-concerned · 3 years

Text

TF x Graves, 2500 words, complete and utter fluff

Stifling another yawn against the back of my hand I glance over at the window, which shows only the flat dark of a moonless night outside, before turning my eyes back to the line of T.F.’s naked back.

I’m already undressed and perched on the side of the bed, watching as T.F. is still in the middle of his nightly ritual of hanging or folding his fine clothes up all properly and neatly, lest they, I don’t know, unduly crease somewhere they ain’t meant to or somethin’. Listen, I keep my clothes in a pile on the floor by the side of the bed, right next to the shotgun, both within easy reach in the case of a middle-of-the-night emergency skipping of town. Our priorities in these matters don’t really intersect much, but to each his own and so on.

I don’t know why I’m waiting for him to come to bed to lie down myself, exactly — my eyes are already making a spirited attempt at staying shut on me whenever I blink, I’m pretty sure I’d be out and snoring in about three seconds once I got settled — but my skin has that thin restless thrum all through it that I know from experience won’t be satisfied until he’s settled into place against me and besides, the view is nothin’ to sneeze at in the meantime. He stands there shirtless, belt unbuckled and hanging loose around his narrow hips, though the fastenings of his trousers are still done up. In the light of the oil lamp across the room he’s in a rare state of relaxed unselfconscious disarray, his hair grown out long enough again that it spills over his shoulders and down his back while he fastidiously fastens the cufflinks back into place on the empty shirt so they’ll be easy to find in the morning. As he finishes up with the cufflinks he sings to himself under his breath, a good-natured jaunty little tune I vaguely remember the Brick would sometimes break out once you got a couple of drinks in him.

The hum under my skin grows higher and keener.

Stretching an arm out I hook my fingers into one of his belt loops and gently pull him in by it towards the side of the bed, until he’s standing between my legs. It prompts a half-bemused noise from him, but he goes along easily — when I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my forehead against his belly he seems to catch on, though, a sound of amusement vibrating through his chest.

He slides his hand to the back of my neck, twining his fingers into the short hair there, thumb trailing back and forth along the hairline.

T.F.’s too damned scrawny to have much in the way of padding anywhere, but there’s the warm body softness to him here nevertheless, the sweet yield and shift of a living thing whose pliancy belies the supple strength beneath. I rest my cheek against the flat of his stomach and sigh, moving my hand at the small of his back in slow caressing circles.

“Come to bed already,” I murmur, too sleep-softened along the edges to worry overmuch about makin’ sense.

He chuckles, fingers stroking through my hair. “Well, I was on my way, but then I was waylaid by some deplorable fellow in the process. Hell of a thing.”

I grin and turn my face up to him, so that my chin is resting against his belly and my lips brush his skin when I talk. “Huh. Sounds like a real shady character. You want a trustworthy sorta guy to escort you safely the rest of the way?”

“With such dangerous reprobates skulking around in the area, that’s probably for the best,” T.F. nods somberly, fond amusement deepening his voice. He runs his thumb down the bridge of my nose. “Could I afford to hire the services of a strapping upstanding gentleman like yourself, though?”

I make a nonchalant sound in my nose, squeezing him closer against me for a moment. “Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it, this one’s on the house.”

His thumb drifts down to rest at the upturned corner of my mouth as he grins back at me. “Hey, looks like it’s my lucky day.”

I kiss his stomach and lean back enough so I can start in on the fastenings of his trousers — not with any sort of heat behind it, there’s no hint of sex in the air, but in a weird way this is equally satisfying, the everyday-textured contentment of being close without any particular purpose, being the one to slowly render him naked in front of me for no other reason than that he lets me, his hands still smoothing patiently through my hair while I work.

Once I’ve got all the buttons sorted I run my thumb along the sharp edge of his hip bone until I can tuck it into the waist of his trousers and use it to tug them down. We get them about half-way down his thighs like that before we have to pause for him to shimmy out of them the rest of the way on his own, his hand resting on my shoulder for balance as he does the traditional one-legged hop to extricate his foot. Serves him right for only ever wearing pants that might as well have been painted onto him. I mean, not that I’m complainin’, mind.

“Whoa!” he says, laughing as he almost overbalances at the last hurdle, but my hand shoots out to steady him by the hip before too much disaster can be wrought. “Well, not the smoothest strip tease I’ve ever pulled off, sorry about the inconvenience.”

I nose at the newly revealed crease of his hip over the edge of his underwear. “Eh, that’s okay, if I actually wanted a proper show I’d just suggest a round of strip poker again and sit back and watch while you lose.”

“Oh, that’s a strange yet beautiful dream world you’ve made up for yourself there, Malcolm. It’s touching, really, the things the mind will do to protect itself from the truth. Positively — aah!”

T.F. jumps as I draw some of the skin of his hip between my lips and use them to nip sharply at it. His startled yelp turns into a snigger as I let go, possibly ruining the castigating effects somewhat when I brush my lips soothingly over that spot right after.

“Let that be a lesson to ya,” I say sternly.

“A lesson on what, that your mom was apparently half turtle?”

I grunt, still trailing soft kisses over his skin. “That judge in Piltover was right back then, you are an incorrigible menace to all decent and right-thinking people everywhere.”

“First of all, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Malcolm, thank you. Two, including yourself among the ‘decent and right-thinking’ feels like the invention of some fresh new form of fraud by way of imposture unfolding before my eyes, and it’s an honour. And third, that seems to me to be some very selective memory you have there, considering His Honour Judge Highton had some even more colourful words for you after you blew up the entire north wall of the court building breakin’ me out.”

“He might’ve been given to wearing a damn silly mop on his head, but you couldn’t fault him on his vocabulary,” I concede. Before that whole incident I’d honestly thought the wigs were some sort of practical joke the Pilties would play on gullible outsiders, but as it turns out no, if you get sent to jail in the twin cities they add the indignity of makin’ someone wearing a dead badger on their head break the bad news to you. It’s a strange ol’ world out there, alright. In Bilgewater, where people are much more sensible, the justice system basically boils down to the bounty board, or — if you’ve really managed to make a nuisance of yourself — a bunch of captains may call a temporary ceasefire with each other and go get your ass together. I’ve found that the risk of getting on the bad end of an unfair trial is about the same in both places, though of course the Bilgewater one tends to be harder to come back from if carried out to its fullest. I consider myself a bit of an expert in these things.

T.F. makes a thoughtful sound. “To be fair I don’t think anyone had ever given him cause or inspiration for profanity like you did.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He leans down and kisses the top of my head before he straightens for long enough to work his second foot free as well, standing there in just the sleek silky underpants he somehow seems to have an endless fresh supply of wherever we go. (My money’s on some sinister underground ring of lingerie-oriented tailors across south-eastern Valoran, for the record; when it comes to secret societies the Noxians just can’t help themselves.)

“I do my best. Hang on just one moment, I’ll be right back,” he says and ruffles my hair before he turns around, which I would complain about except that the view is, as previously mentioned, impeccable, and I’m sleepy enough to be magnanimous.

After meticulously folding his trousers and leaving them with the rest of his clothes, T.F. moves over to the table across the room and extinguishes the oil lamp, then whistles under his breath as he produces a card from somewhere — he does this, seemingly from thin air and no matter how little he’s wearing; I prefer not to speculate too much about how, exactly — and lets a little magic into it so it gives off a low glow, only enough to light his way the short walk back across the room, ‘cause in T.F.’s world the stubbing of toes and smacking of shins against unexpected furniture in the dark is somethin’ that happens to other people. That probably says some things about him I’m not ready to go puzzlin’ out at this time of night, and that he wouldn’t want to have anyone go puzzlin’ about too hard in the first place anyway.

When I hold out my hand for him in the dark he smiles and takes it, twining our fingers together, and I use the hold to tug him in and deposit him, in a neat controlled wrestler’s roll held close against me as I lay down, to his side of the bed. He laughs again at that, a surprised delighted sound that edges dangerously close to a giggle but hey, I ain’t no snitch, so who’s gonna testify against him, huh?

The card ends up on the far side of his pillow after the tumble, still giving off a glow, enough to illuminate the bed and lend the shadows around it some warmth. It makes the bed seem a small cozy island, the rest of the world rendered a not-unfriendly ocean of darkness around it.

T.F. looks at me like the world’s most contented castaway, bourgeoning crow’s feet punctuating his smile on either side and fingers still linked with mine. His hair is mussed from the meandering fall onto the bed. If I were only fractionally less about five seconds away from fallin’ asleep, my body might start to get ideas about it. Well, tomorrow is always another day.

With the back of my free hand I brush some of his hair away from his brow, and he cranes into it like a well-pleased cat. Even with the blankets tangled around our feet and the not-quite-right positions we’ve ended up in, having tumbled into place rather than settled ourselves with purpose, everything feels warm and loose and comfortable, like I could fall asleep like this even with the decidedly odd angle my arm is at.

As if sensing that the drowsiness is about to claim me for real, T.F. brings our linked hands up to his face so he can press his lips to my scarred knuckles before he lets go, then reaches to pull the covers over us, taking a moment to tuck the blanket around my shoulder properly before snuggling under it himself, hooking his leg over my thigh as he settles into place. I shift until we fit together, the familiarity of how to rest against each other just right comfortable like an old and well-loved piece of clothing. On a sigh he rests our foreheads together, craning forward the tiny amount needed to brush our mouths together and humming contentedly when I meet him there. It’s a slow kiss, but it lingers, a dry sweet press of lips like one last spark sending the day off down into the gently drifting murk of sleep that’s about to claim me for a few hours.

When it ends — I don’t think either of us was really the first to pull back, at some point the kiss simply, in the way of snowflakes on tongues, melted into something different and less defined with the warmth — there’s a moment when my eyes can still fight against slipping shut. It’s weird, the way you can look at someone every day for years and still not feel like you’ve had your fill. T.F.’s sharp narrow face, his high pointy little cheekbones and mouth still curved with a smile as he watches me back — there’s something to knowing I’m gonna see all that again tomorrow morning that all the damn money on Runeterra couldn’t get you. And take it from me, from what I’ve seen of the world there ain’t a lot of things in this life enough money won’t buy. Stumbling across one of them long before we even knew what we had, by a stroke of little more’n dumb fucking luck… sometimes it feels like the biggest heist we ever pulled.

“Hey, Tobias?” I say, brushing the tip of my nose against his as my eyelids finally give up both the battle and the war and slide closed.

“Hmmm?” he says, cheerfully drowsy as well.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I murmur, because I can’t think of any damn happier thing in the world to say to him.

He wraps his arms around me, his hand stroking meanderingly up and down the scar-crossed span of my back, fingers trailing over my skin with the perfect amount of firmness because he’s taken the time to learn exactly how much pressure it takes to make it comforting. As sleep starts pulling me under to calmer depths I tuck my head under his chin, so my face is pressed to the line of his throat and to his chest. He smells so nice, all warmly real and well-known like my own breathing.

“Tomorrow,” he agrees on a yawn, nuzzling at the top of my head and tightening his arms around me, just for a moment.

I've been trying to write stuff -- literally just anything, no matter how meandering and nonsensical -- to try to break out of a writer's block; it's not really working so far but at least I've got SOMETHING tangible to show for it at the end of the day, so, you know, uh... partial success I guess?? haha

The idea of T.F. having a judge somewhere out there who considers him the One True Nemesis of his career, J. Jonah Jameson style, even though T.F. barely even remembers his name, came from a wonderful conversation with @inversway, and the idea makes me laugh so hard every time I think about it.

ETA: Also put this on AO3, so I have somewhere to put these ficlets that isn't just tumblr! I'm grimly clinging on to this blue hellsite like a obstinate barnacle to the hull of the Titanic, but I do realize it's not the best place to archive uh anything lol

#tf x graves #twistedgraves #league of legends #my writing #been trying to live the philosophy 'it doesn't have to be good; it just has to be SOMETHING'#and from that I have at least learned that I don't necessarily think perfectionism was the main problem anyway lol #every little insight helps I suppose

26 notes · View notes

ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

in the stars tonight | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x reader

[other members - seokjin, taehyung, namjoon]

⇢ genre: series, ANGST, enemies to lovers au, actor!jimin, actor!oc, (eventual) fluff if you squint

⇢ word count: 8.4

⇢ genre: Landing a role that might launch your entire career as an actor had come with the most unpredictable and daunting circumstances: grappling with the tragic loss of your boyfriend, Namjoon, and co-starring in a film with the vexing yet enchanting (and famous), Park Jimin.

⇢ warnings: explicit language, themes of grief/loss, themes of depression, (many) mentions of death, mentions of driving under the influence (please stay safe!!), themes of alcoholism, themes of escapism, mentions of alcohol, mentions of marijuana, unhealthy coping mechanisms, lots of internal dialogue with one deceased boyfriend, arguing/bickering, seokjin being seokjin, eventual love triangle (ish) feud

♪ playlist: dynamite - bts, move! - niki, saint nobody - jessie reyez, through the night - iu, ilomilo - billie eilish, the truth untold - bts, slow dancing in the dark - joji ♪

╰ series index: 01 | 02 (coming soon)

a/n: i, and i cannot emphasize this enough, can't believe this came out of me.... it was just a lil idea in my head, but then it expanded into this entire story that was way too long to fit into a one shot. so, here's me serving up a hot plate of enemies to lovers with a generous side of angst and longing!!! i hope y'all enjoy (and hate) arrogant jimin as much as i did hehe <3 ps i have no idea how long i want this series to be i'm lowkey winging it

The world does not slow down for anything. Not for catastrophes or miracles or even something as devastatingly common as death.

When your boyfriend of three years, Namjoon, lost his life due to another's drunken mistake, you realized this. The world revolves on a scheduled orbit, and not even your tragedy wedged a wrench big enough to halt life just a moment. Just to let you breathe and grieve without feeling left behind. However, you were left behind, both by the world and him.

Every sun and moon, every skipped meal, every unfulfilled rain-check, every isolated Saturday night, and every cancelled audition that came as quickly as they left paid tribute to this merciless phenomenon. It seemed you now existed just to watch the days pass, just to balefully relive the moments before Namjoon's passing. And that seemed to have been the only way you could have survived. To make a recluse of yourself because if the world was careless enough to let someone as amazing as him go, then what held it back from spilling even more wreckage into your life? For the past six months, you stuck to the cold, dead past. It was all you had to hold onto; letting go meant plummeting into a depth far too unknown and inescapable.

You and Namjoon were steadfast. You were still steadfast, or more appropriately, stuck now that you had no one to be loyal to anymore.

You and him were one of those couples other people saw and wished they could replicate into their own lives, but when it came down to it, rooted for your happy ending with him. The type similar to that of highschool sweethearts who beat the odds, or the type whose encounter fell along the silver lines of fate. Something beautiful that automatically made all the love poems authenticated by you and him. And when he held you, the idea of worry or evil seemed like concepts that did not exist past fictional tales. So warm, so loving, now gone.

The way in which you and Namjoon grew over the three years you were able to love him was in a convergent manner.

Your branches and vines were woven into his, and his into yours. Even your roots, the elements of your past, began to entangle beneath the soil. To root between each other meant there had been a foundation from which you grew, a stability that was once neat. There was no boundary of which would discern your life from his. And at one, more favorable, point in time, your life did belong to him. Namjoon was someone you only knew for a mere fraction of your life, however the moment he wandered into it, you had unlearned how to continue without him.

You didn't think you would have to relearn.

But then one decision forced you to do so. One person, who decided paying fifteen bucks for an Uber was not a wise enough investment, ripped out the plant of his body from your shared soil by means of inebriated judgment and a missed red light. You had no choice but to absorb the cruel sustenance of the sun completely alone. Most of your branches of life were left barren, with torn twigs where your body once borne fruit and leaves and beauty. But the roots were where most of the pain inhabited. A stubborn, sharp ache resided in your chest, deep enough that you might have had to be cut open and searched through to find the source.

It had been six months of 'Sorry for your loss' and 'Gone too soon' and your personal least favorite 'He's in a better place now'. It made you angry, because was there a place better for him that didn't have you in it? How could anyone know what was better for him when they didn't experience something as tender and gentle and loving as your relationship?

But none of the sympathetic smiles or half-hearted condolences made you quite as angry as the monster who was too selfish to call someone to drive them and consequently punctuating the eternity you were meant to spend with Namjoon. You always followed the virtue that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Forgiveness was a sweeter release than anything else, but if you could, you would take that drunk driver's life in a heartbeat. You would have gauged out your own eyes if the chance fell into your reach.

Though, no matter how hard you screamed at the universe for hurting you, despite the countless pleas to somehow retrospectively tell Namjoon not to go out for something as trivial as toothpaste so he might be alive today, holding your hand in this waiting room, telling you that you're going to do great, you knew the world wouldn't stop for you or your sorrow.

It revolves, waits for no one, and you had to pace yourself to jump back into the turning carousel of life.

"___. We're ready for you!" His voice was ten notches above a volume that wouldn't irritate you. The only hint you let slip that his tone made you want to throw this script at his crotch was the muted sigh.

You knew this audition was going to play out like the rest. They would ask you to read, stop you in the middle of your monologue, then say something like 'Thank you for your time, we'll get back to you soon' which was show business code for 'We are not giving you the role'. The only reason you were here was because you had been out of work for too long, the piles of overdue bills on your kitchen table a cruel reminder of that. Plus, you knew Namjoon would have told you to go.

He would have said something like, 'Get your lazy ass out of bed and go to that audition! You don't want Hollywood to miss out on a star just because you want to sleep in fifteen more minutes'. And it would have worked. It always had. Now, the only motivation that came to your aid was the echo of his voice, and even that had begun its slow descent into forget. Other than that, guidance of your own volition was as fleeting and disarrayed as a violent wind.

"Hi, my name is ___, and I will be auditioning for the lead. Jordan." Your hand must have been fielding its way through a nervous tick. The person you assumed was the director was eyeing the way it had been contorting at your side, and you hated showing that you were nervous.

"Perfect! We've already casted the other lead role. This audition will mostly be based on whether we think you'll have good chemistry with him." Him. So your possible running mate was a man. Before a list of names engraved on rows of stars cemented into the Hollywood walk of fame ran through your head, you lifted the script and collected all the air your lungs would allow.

Maybe, you thought, my courage and passion might come with it.

And when you opened your mouth, something magical that you credited to talent claimed sovereignty over your body. Now, you were Jordan. Jordan didn't have a dead boyfriend, now ex boyfriend, or luggage enough grief to sink a depression into the crust of the Earth. Jordan was a kind, low-energy, and sentimental artist coming into an age of overwhelming success and fortune —and love.

That's what alluded you in acting. For a moment, you could escape your life, leave your pain on the back burner while you emerged into someone who was unacquainted with the pain of losing the love of your life. It was akin to a drug, administering an intoxicating fill of temporary serotonin. Instant relief, and if you got this job you would have your fix of this twisted sort of high that tempered the Namjoon-sized void in your life. And Jordan's life definitely seemed to have, quite literally, all the things yours lacked.

"Wow, ___, was it? That was absolutely incredible!" The hand-covered whisper that followed this appraisal gave you time to begrudgingly peel of the Jordan mask. Within a half second, all the pain seemed to compound into your body. If you hadn't already shaped your entire life around that weight, you would have fallen over. Though you had done this, and even worse, you had been shouldering it for so long, you would have felt naked without such a burden. "Okay, well, we have a few more auditions but I think we have our Jordan! We'll send your manager the full script along with the schedule for the first week of shooting in about two weeks."

"Uh-" If you had not said something quick, the opportunity might have slipped away all too fast, the way Namjoon had. You vowed to grab hold of anything remotely good that arose into your life, giving you more than late nights of choked sobs and transfixed gazes out of half-curtained windows. This offer was clutched tightly in your fist. "Oh... Th- thank you! Thank you! Fuck, thank you so much. This means so much to me, thank you!"

Before you proliferated the meaning of the words thank you and the director's smile turned into rolled eyes, you stumbled your way out of the door. Waiting on the other side was a world that might strike against you with partially docile cruelty. The wind pressed against your skin, almost blowing away all your grief with the help of this successful audition.

That feeling, as always, was as comforting as it was fleeting. Because the scars of your past would not have budged for any brash current. Because your next thought disrupted the scant flourish of joy. It was the thing that came easier and sooner to you than eating and blinking; telling Namjoon any news of both good and bad ranks, sharing your life to celebrate or stress over. One of the many things that remained by an undissolvable adhesive along your mind. You tried to soak it away with liquor or smoke it out with weed, but there was no breaking of habits you loved almost as much as Namjoon.

I did it, Joon. I landed my first role. You thought, because that was the closest you could have gotten to relaying the news.

Your heart began to physically hurt. Heartaches were literal in your case. Literal and grim. You felt the grip of loss pierce its sharp thorns into your flesh. It had nearly been as painful as all the times your words were met to deceased ears, speaking to someone that had not belonged to you anymore. Six months had passed and pain cannot tell time in the way people can. So, you knew the marathon of your grief was one that followed its own metaphorical clock. You just had to keep running in hopes you could make it out alive.

Though, being Jordan for the next six months would help momentarily satiate your grief. If there were a remote for your emotions, this role would be the mute button. Your pain would still move as it usually would, but now it would be silent. You wouldn't have to listen to its unforgiving taunts and crippling obscenities. It was only just that you were paid reparations for six months of utter misery with six more months of narcotic, soundless distractions.

Two Weeks Later

If the universe had given you one good thing, it was skill and dedication to your craft. The script was memorized in just short of four days, and even a sizable amount of lines of the other characters had been stacked atop your memory. Doing an acceptable job at this role wasn't something that was worried you. In fact, the idea of wearing another's life on your body and on your heart was something you looked forward to.

It was a bit difficult to convince yourself how good this natural born gift was when the universe took something that felt a thousand times more crucial to your existence. Acting, or anything else that planted joy in you, was a consolation prize for merely participating in life. Namjoon was the reward you were meant to win in the end.

And you had no idea what the hell to do when the prize becomes in all of the sense of the word unattainable.

You hadn't driven in six months, despite the run-down Honda parked in front of your street, desperate to be given some sort of purpose. It was too much. Ever since the accident, the idea of manning a wheel that could take away more than it could ever offer was a responsibility you felt entirely too daunted to assume. Even though seat hogs, missed busses, and overcrowded walkways had been inconveniences of an indescribable level, it wasn't enough to put your body into the same vehicle that derailed your life.

Luckily, the bus stop was only three blocks away from the studio. It gave you plenty of time to get into character, however it also nestled in a span of time for Namjoon's voice to filter in and out through running your lines.

He talked to you a lot. As much as it made you want to cry, you held onto it, feeling as though it might be the last of his voice you'd be able to recall. If Namjoon's internal commentary were to suddenly disperse, you might forget his voice entirely. And you wouldn't admit this to anyone else, but you would always answer back. Sometimes out loud, and sometimes, when company forced you into sanity, you responded mentally. It kept you separate from life and any form of interaction with actual people, but it felt better than living in a world without him. Additionally, it helped keep his voice alive, which when you thought about it, was such sick irony. His voice, alive, his heart and mine and soul, dead.

And that was the only downside to acting. When there was another mind you had to engage in, Namjoon couldn't have broken the barrier and his voice wouldn't even register as an echo. Perhaps that was why you waited so long to dive back into your job. It felt synonymous with betrayal to do anything that would sever your connection already hanging by a single, fragile thread.

"___? Hello?" You were immune to every condescending gesture or vernacular weaponized in Hollywood by now. Your makeup artist's snaps fell into the base of annoyance you had grown used to. "Did you hear me? You're all ready."

Her voice wasn't too abrasive. If anything, you should be the one apologizing for dazing in and out of consciousness. Though, Namjoon's sweet compliments about how beautiful you looked with your stage makeup should have been the one to acquire this remorse.

"Sorry. I'm, uh, tired. Not used to waking up at six in the morning quite yet."

"Well, get used to it, or you'll have a rough few months ahead of you." Her laugh had shed whatever shell of pretentiousness once veiled her previous impression. "I'm Nayeon, by the way. I've heard many great things about you, ___. Let's hope you live up to the hype."

Nayeon's nudge was friendly, and it comforted you that within the first day you hadn't pissed off the person who could easily turn your face clown-like with a few heavy strokes of her brush. She was beautiful, too. If she hadn't been dressed in a black T-shirt strewn with foundation and powder stains, then you would have mistaken her for an actress.

"Let's hope so... I guess the director was selling me better than myself." Your eyes scanned the area, though no one seemed a fitting candidate to be your lead. "So, who's the other lead?"

"Park Jimin. I'm surprised they didn't tell you yet. I guess it's some obscure, artistic director decision to keep you in the dark. I’m lowkey fangirling right now… But, don't tell anyone that." Before you could respond, let alone react, Nayeon had collected all the products she needed for her next subject and was about a yard away from you. "Good luck, rookie!"

Park Jimin. You've definitely heard of him, but it surprised you that someone like him accepted a role in a romantic, indie, coming of age film that had not the budget to pay half of what he usually made in his repertoire of previous movies. He was certainly what one would consider an 'A-list' celebrity. The type paparazzi actually cared to stalk, and fans recognized in public, but were too shy to approach due to his sheer intimidation. It hadn't eased your nerves that he was notoriously withdrawn when it came to the behind the scenes portion of shooting a movie.

And, like any decent person, you did your very best to refrain from placing judgments without the opportunity for them to fill in their own narrative. Most of what you ‘knew’ of Jimin had been hearsay. However, you had some hunch Jimin wouldn't qualify as one who labored tirelessly for the roles he had landed or authenticated any sort of compassion with his rising fame.

See, acting and snagging a big role in a movie was characterized as a tall building for you. If one reached the top floor, then they would assume a wealth of opportunities and Oscar nominations and acclimation. Of course, this film industrial structure had various modes of climbing to the top. Some had stairs which called for more excretion and effort but still, all you needed were persistent legs, then each step would eventually get you where you wanted to be.

You had more of a ladder. Each wrung was slanted at an angle of which only deepened your brawl with success and had not been sanded down enough to save you from a generous supply of splinters. After a while, your hands began to ache and the fear that some high-society type would kick the base of your ladder always stalked the forefront of your worries. It certainly had not been a choice means of arrival to whatever awaited you on that top floor, however it was the only one available.

And while you had a ladder to overcome, Jimin had an elevator. The most he'd ever expend to reach that coveted floor was a few presses of a button. And perhaps his only sacrifice would be sharing the elevator with one or two others. Things just worked out for people like him. And an elevator’s delivery was always in a manner that was quicker than the likes of a staircase or a ladder.

When he arrived on set, dragging himself like his own body was a weight he shouldn't have to carry himself, you fought that instinct of yours to assume everything you needed to know from him.

Just because he's wearing sunglasses inside doesn't mean he's some arrogant asshole, even if that is the most cliché character trait of one. This internal lecture was certainly of Namjoon's doing, since he was always one to never run out of allotting the benefit of the doubt.

Yeah, I guess. But, come on, he looks like a fucking idiot. You replied as if he were really there before walking up to the callous man with your gauntlet thrown down by default. No need getting on Jimin's bad side, because you were sure it's complement was being blacklisted from the film industry. Instead of sharp edges you offered him a non-threatening smile and handshake.

Play nice. Namjoon reminded you before you had the chance to decide what you wanted to say.

"Hi! It's such an honor to be working with you. I'm ___." Jimin looked at your hand like you had filled it with mud and were intending on smearing his Gucci jacket, which you assumed was worth more than your monthly apartment rent. "Um, wanna touch base before we start shooting or..."

If his admonished glare at your hand wasn't encouragement enough to retract it back into yourself, then what he said, or more fittingly, what he didn't say next was.

The way his sigh infused a scoff within it made you feel small. It felt like fire, how thoroughly it burned you into a pile of ash, but then it felt like a gust of prickled wind that would scatter your remains completely. If it had not been for the way his head shifted from your head to your toe, you wouldn't have known that his shielded eyes were trailing the length of your body. Such a glare seemed like a calculation of your worth; it must have totaled out to that of a fly he had to swat away because the second you stood on the outside of his peripheries you stopped existing in his world altogether.

His back made a longer impression on you than his eyes, and that was your que to huddle yourself in the corner and stick to the two things you were best at.

Imaginary conversations with Namjoon and rerunning through your already memorized lines.

Before you say anything, I already think he's a prick. It might be pathetic to have instigated theoretical conversations with your dead boyfriend, but the world wouldn't know he would have scolded you first for already constructing an agenda to avoid Park Jimin whenever you could. You just felt an itch to lay down the first word.

You never know, maybe he had a bad day.

Yeah, well people like him don't need to be professional unlike the rest of us. I mean, I'm on the verge of openly conversing with you and I'm the one that has to turn the other cheek? Your script was decorated with a number of wrinkles. Proof that your anger was sleeping from your insides in the form of tightly gripped hands that were pretending to pinch Jimin's skin instead of the script. For once, you felt some grain-sized semblance of luck for having a grasp of acting to pull off pretending to love Jimin.

"Hey." You weren't quite thrilled to meet the person you had imagined pushing down a staircase standing over you. Without his glasses, it was difficult to remember why you had been so angry with him and you hated that. His eyes consisted of more than just irises and pupils, though you would not have been able to place what exactly accompanied these features. They were just eyes, after all, parts of a body. Functional. Mechanical facets of being. And yet, his seemed more than that. More than just sense mechanics. Perhaps beauty.

But for him to have been beautiful, it would have tainted the very idea of beauty.

"We're about to start shooting. Don't make this difficult, I'm trying to leave on time."

"Okay... Sure." Those were the two words you substituted for the 'fuck you' itching to crawl from your throat.

"I'm Jimin, but you know that already." The way he spoke was punctuated as though it was a waste of his time to spend any attention on you. If you weren't already drained of your strength from that tube of toothpaste that was some sort of paraphernalia of the night Namjoon became an article of your past, then you would have rolled your eyes or retorted with something that would knock him down a peg.

"I do." Your own weak will bothered you more than Jimin. "Um, I-"

"Let's not." Though he had no idea what you were about to say, a part of you agreed to not even indulge in small talk with him. It would be too forced and uncomfortable and that might leak into your performance on camera. Still, he had an abrasive way of going about it that made you want to disagree with him just to be able to lie contrary to him.

"Fine." It rolled off your tongue easily, like silk. His lingering eyes had you wondering if you somehow impressed him with your passive agreement or insulted him for not groveling for his approval. Either one would have satisfied you.

"Alright! Looks like you two got acquainted. We're jumping right in." The director, Kim Seokjin, was chirpy. Even if this project wasn't necessarily mainstream or highly anticipated, he was the type to salvage all his passion and pour it into anything he created. It comforted you knowing someone other than you found this to be somewhat life changing. "Please, Jimin, ___, on your marks. This is the scene where you two meet, so we're hoping you two can infuse that feeling of being slightly awkward but nevertheless enthralled in each other's presence. Got it?"

"Yessir." You said, and Jimin only produced a nod which seemed generous for him. Fighting the urge to snarl or squeeze your brows together came as a difficulty you had to practice at.

"Slate! Quiet on set..." Seokjin’s voice filled the empty space of the entire studio.

"Scene one, take one." Just as the snap of the slate reverberated through the room, your eyes changed just as abruptly. Your gaze upon the set transformed it into your reality. You looked at Jimin and now saw Laurie, a young soul filled with enough dreams and kindness one could have mistaken him for a cloud; the kind that spoke in loving whispers and gentle caresses. He reminded you a lot of someone else you knew.

You tucked Namjoon's voice away with the rest of your grief and became Jordan.

Amazing things seemed to happen when you least expected them too. You guessed that was the nature of amazing things, for if you expected them then they probably wouldn’t feel so amazing. About halfway through the scene, after a number of cuts, re-shoots, directorial notes, you noticed something. Or more so, this something willed you to notice.

Once you fell into stride with your character, it became easier to pick up on the person acting opposite of you. Maybe you hadn't given Jimin enough credit before. You knew maybe was an understatement, though you felt a sting admitting talent had fallen into his hands just as all his accomplishments had.

Jimin's acting rested on the side most polar to your own. You replicated, he revolutionized. You became your character, shrinking yourself enough so that one wouldn't have been able to tell who you were beyond who you were playing. Jimin, however, made the character his own. There was no minimizing his own body to fit into the mold of the character. Jimin was the mold, and he sculpted the character to fit along himself. He forged his movements, voice, and confidence into whichever role he played and brought life to someone strewn with a signature of his own soul polishing said character. All the while, he was inventive with each intention and emotion that were strung into his lines.

It was difficult to pull this off, being that you could easily begin to just play yourself in a movie and neglect any character mannerisms that you were supposed to portray, however Jimin seems to slip in and out of his role with ease. And with each take, he peppered in more dimensions to a character. He gave meaning and depth to a person constructed onto a paper script until you couldn't believe this person didn't exist in real life.

That was the amazing thing that kept your well-rehearsed lines behind an impermeable wall of reluctant admiration.

What hadn't helped, though seemed to have been timed to a tee to unwind your sensibility, and timing had always worked against you like you had done wrong to it, was the part when Laurie was written to sneak his hand along your waist after Jordan stepped backwards into his body.

His palm felt so warm. So warm that the entire world felt too cold for you to be anywhere but apart from his touch. Then, all your lines spilled from your recollection. He was standing close behind you, the plush of his cheek tickling your ear and sending the entire world away so you and he could reserve this moment just for yourselves.

"Your line." His whisper wouldn't be picked up by the mic, though it had no trouble debilitating the rest of your senses. Did he intend for it to blur any sort of attraction his character felt for you into the life beyond the camera?

The director called cut to the scene, and it felt like a lifetime before you were released from the entrapping heat of Jimin's body. When you spun around, hoping you could at least dig through your throat to pull out a deflated apology, the smirk laced along his lips illustrated every bit of his arrogance and once again shut you up.

From the way his eyebrow was arched, you assumed he must have read your mind. He knew what he did to you, and it reminded you of everything you disliked about Jimin. Presumptuous, prideful in his taunts. It also reminded you that he stood many floors above you in this architectural competition of acting. You were grabbing hold of each wrung as you went, unprepared for something as disarming as Jimin. All he had to do was peer down at the sight of you to make you feel a hundred times lower than him.

“___? What’s wrong?” You looked over to find Seokjin’s half worried, half irritated expression.

“No, nothing. Sorry, I just blanked for a second.” Jimin’s snide chuckle at your confession to a faulty performance didn’t help simmer the burn of embarrassment.

"It’s okay, I get it.” The director offered a smile as a peace offering, and since he looked not seven years older than you, it had you assuming he was the laid-back type. “Let's take five. We'll block a few of the scenes and finish the rest of this and we'll call it a day."

You made your nest over at the snack bar. Shoving half of a donut into your mouth had almost resurged your energy. Nayeon made a swift return to pat your face with more powder.

"Hey, you're pretty damn good." You were stuck with a mouthful of donut to null any chance of responding. "Except for when you kinda just shut down at that last scene."

You would have felt embarrassed, or rather more embarrassed than you currently did, if it weren't for the light laugh that followed. All you had to reply with was a shrug.

"I mean, I don't blame you. Jimin's pretty hot and if I were cozying up to him during a scene I'm sure I would also fuck up my lines." Nayeon finished applying whatever touch ups she felt necessary, not without a suggestive eye arch. This either meant she was going to shuffle over to another actor in need of visual repair or she would stay and talk. Her continued monologue advocating for Jimin's talents and good looks proved the latter was what you had in store. "I mean, damn. Also, I'm pretty sure he's got abs under that shirt. So, are you into him? Is that it?”

"It's not like that." The harsh delivery gave an impression contrary to what you said. "I mean, I just... He's just really good at this. I guess I got kinda intimidated."

Normally, you would have sought Namjoon's voice ringing in your head about how you could do this, reminding you how he believed in you. It would have gotten you through the scene however, Jordan didn't know Joon.

"Well, he won an Oscar for a reason, babe." You finished the rest of your donut and begun a prowl for another savory comfort food. "I mean, damn, twenty-five and already winning Oscars and getting nominations. It ain't for nothing."

"Yes, this is helping so much, thank you." You twisted in sarcasm as if that would make you seem any less intimidated. Again, Nayeon laughed off any shroud of roughness coating your words.

"What, do you want me to lie? Is that how you want to start this friendship, with lies?" Her elbow nudged you, and that alone communicated more than the brief exchanges you two shared. Now, you had a friend. Someone else to talk with that wasn't a figment of your own imagination.

Look at you, already making friends. Your smile was not as hidden as you attempted for it to be. Namjoon's little encouragements had that effect on you.

"What's that smile for?"

"Oh, nothing." You scarfed down the mini muffin, turning towards Nayeon. "Just happy my makeup artist goes easy on the blush."

She winked, and you felt ready to be sent back into the throes of this film. You weren't keen on Jimin feeling closer to a competitor than a partner in this project, however if that is how he wanted it to be, you were never one to submit so easily. You were determined to level this playing field, and your communion with victory felt like a well-deserved birthright.

"Thought I told you I wanted to go home on time, rookie." You watched his lips shape such venomous words, since his eyes, the unnamed, nearly beautiful presence, might have sunk you back into that state of speechlessness.

"I take it you're not a method actor, since Laurie is so sweet and you're a fucking ass." It felt good for all of one second before a series of reprimands fueled by none other than Namjoon now had you on the brink of apologizing.

"Feisty, huh?" Again, his lips eased out sharp words as if they would not nick the plump skin as it went.

You hoped Joon had nothing to say about how you were now tracing the lush of Jimin's lips. And yes, it had been six months, though you knew your love-ridden heart had yet to free its hands from grabbing hold of Namjoon, still, the feeling of attraction, no matter how brisk it might have been, felt like you were committing adultery. Adultery, over someone who was dead. You weren't the one who left him behind, and at the same time, you never got that shiny patent of closure. There was no break-up, so perhaps that was an explanation as to why your heart was foolishly stuck in love, never realizing its oath to loyalty was graced upon the deceased.

You thought of love now, while you were supposed to be getting into character. You thought of the one thing you once had held worn so easily, and now you had been chasing it knowing your legs weren’t enough to catch up.

There was a well in your eyes, supplied by the same source which fossilized a ragged lump in your throat. And you must have blinked twice as many times as you normally would since Jimin's eyebrows met halfway between his forehead as he watched you. Or, more disappointingly, he might have noticed your tendency to grow red in more places than just the whites of your eyes when you were about to cry. Holding those tears in hadn't helped with keeping your skin less flushed.

It frustrated you that he might have noticed, which only twisted you tighter into the verge of crying. You knew it was unlikely that his watchfulness of your pre-breakdown expression was due to a lapse of genuine concern. For all you knew, he was subtracting even more value from your worth, plummeting you into negative integers.

And if you weren't so dedicated to your craft, then you wouldn't have the ardor nor the ability to pull off acting like you loved him.

Nayeon is a good makeup artist, I think you have a thick enough cover of foundation and powder to hide it. That of course, along with any sliver of light in this dark tunnel, had always been attributed to Namjoon. He was the reason you kept going, the reason you had been able to get out of bed to drink a glass of water once in a while, the reason you did not completely break down every time a tube of toothpaste fell into your line of vision. Him and the memorialized voice was what chipped the lump free from your throat and dried your tears before they had the chance to spill.

"What-" Whatever motivated Jimin to ask you something had been gone almost immediately after it sprouted.

"Quiet on set!" There was no way you'd figure out what he was going to say if the director had mandated pre-shooting silence.

The rest of your day went accordingly. Nothing too devastating happened that cleared away the momentum of excitement of this being your first big role. Though, not that you weren't beyond grateful for this chance, you made a chore of reminding yourself to be aware of your good fortune.

And, with the help of a few well-placed improvisations that made you seem somewhat of a visionary in your craft, your previous mistake had been washed with water under the bridge in the director's eyes. It escalated your ego and confidence to watch Jimin scavenge for an unpracticed reaction to go along with the slight details or lines you infused into the scene. At a certain point, you could almost describe him as impressed with your acting. Maybe enough to bump your worth up a few decimals, not that that should be occupying your worries.

"Wow, ___! Look's like we hired the right thespian. Great work! By the looks of it, things will flow easier from here." The director, who you finally felt on a first name basis with, approached with a hug. Though, usually this would have sent red alerts, you could tell Seokjin had no ill intentions of the predatory type. "Also, you two have chemistry, but it's not quite there yet. I want this to be believable. There has to be some real life element of camaraderie if this story is going to be genuine."

"So, what exactly are you asking of us?" Jimin, of course, sounded all but thrilled with whatever Seokjin was suggesting even when it hadn't been specified yet. And though you hadn't expressed it outwardly, this aversion for what Seokjin has been suggesting was shared.

"I don't know, get to know each other? Method acting works usually. I mean, Jared Leto did it for that movie and he seemed pretty crazy." The attention was never yours to claim once Jimin had already pressed his phone to his ear and Seokjin was off reevaluating the shots taken today.

You were alone again. Surrounded by an entire crew and cast, but alone nonetheless. Your version of escapism was never as consistent as you needed it to be. All it took was a moment of stillness for you to drift into some place much darker than your current reality. Jordan was sealed away for now, and you were trapped in your own body. It felt horrible. Being you without the man who loved and cared for such a kindred soul felt no different than writhing in pain. Being you without him was empty. Before long, you might have fallen faint in front of your coworkers.

The only target you could acquire as of now was Jimin, taken away from the world for reasons much less burdensome than your own. Where you had a plight of grief to sift through, Jimin had a phone and most likely a supply of friends to text and busy himself with. Seokjin wanted you to get to know him, try your hand at method acting so to speak, and that was the excuse which allowed you to walk over and try to kindle some sort of conversation.

"Hey, so, uh..." The pause came to no avail, since it seemed as though you could have said nothing at all judging from his reaction. "Hey."

It took a fictitious clearing of your throat and three more seconds of unwavering silence to lure his eyes from his phone.

"What?"

As it had been for this entire day, everything involving Jimin was made to be some sort of challenge. A feat you had to overcome without an ounce of reprieve, just to remain standing.

"Seokjin said we should, like, get to know each other. Or, at least get along. I think that's a good idea." His eyes gave absolutely no clues to anything below the exterior of an expressionless face.

"Why are you trying so hard?" You waited for him to laugh, or even for a laugh of your own to slip and loosen the tension. A laugh to make what he just said a joke, victimless banter, because it would have been wildly insulting if that were the most genuine thing he had said to you all day.

"What the hell does that mean?" Your arms were crossed as if that would keep your heart safe from his cruel tactlessness.

"I'm not taking this shit seriously." He laughed, but it wasn't the one that you wanted previously. It sunk wounds deeper, with such a dull edge too. "It's just a side job so people think I'm humble, or whatever my manager said."

The puzzle began to piece together, it took this admittance from Jimin for the picture to emerge from ambiguity. This movie was some form of damage control for his reputation, and that might be because your accurately placed criticisms of his lackluster humbleness did not stand solitarily. Your big break had been reduced to a convenient plot of image reconstruction. You were familiar with anger, it was one of your trickier stages of grief to surmount, but it still affected you to the same degree as before.

He didn't expect a response. You could gather that much from the way he instantly turned back to his phone, rendering you nonexistent once again. Namjoon would have told you to remain civil. But Namjoon was gone. It hurt to think that way, but if his voice hadn't emerged to mitigate this situation now, then Jimin was yours for the taking.

"You're a fucking ass." It seems brash was the only approach to seize immediate attention from Jimin. His eyes widened as if you had grown twice as large and the vision of you wouldn't fit in his narrowed, judgmental glare. "This may be a joke or a throw away gig for you, but this means a lot to me."

"Wanna back off, Jesus. I only-"

"No, I don't wanna back off. I haven't had the best year, and having a co-star that treats me like shit isn't really helping either. And, I get it, you're some sort of elitist who thinks they earned their success." You scoffed, tethering his eyes with yours as though there were a string tying them together. And with each step closer you took, the knot only secured tighter. "But people like you, men like you, don't do shit to earn where they are. But it's so cute the way you think you did! Truly, it's embarrassing watching you flaunt your ego around like you actually have something to be proud of."

"So it's like that, huh? You know, I was almost starting to respect you." The fact that his delivery suggested this was some sort of badge of honor made him all the more pathetic. You should not have put it past Jimin to boast over paying a fundamental level of respect where it's due.

"Wow," You doused a generous layer of sarcasm over your throat so the words came out so. "Basic human decency? From you? How can I ever repay you for such kindness?”

"I said almost."

"You're pathetic."

"Like you're one to talk."

"Yeah, well at least I don't pretend I'm hot shit." The tip of your shoes finally closed the gap between his. Again, you were snared in his warmth, however it didn't feel as tranquil as before. Now, it was closer to a pot of boiling water, evaporating flesh and bone until you were steam floating along the air, bendable and displayed out thinly.

"You don't pretend because you're just that bad of an actor, huh?"

It suffocated you, being this close with him; the blurry details of his face became sharp this way. His eyes were hypnotically watchful of your lips, preparing for your next gambit. You surrendered only a smirk, hoping it would antagonize him. And you could have sworn standing at the furthest point of the Earth from Jimin wouldn't appease this invasive thronging. The universe had yet to expand wide enough to provide an acceptable distance away from him. Until then, you were left with shallow bouts of breath tasting of metallic hatred, hoping those would alchemize into words that would make you seem more intimidating that you really were.

"Please, I could act circles around you. Your performance is transparent. Anyone with a scope of the basics of acting could see through you."

"Is that so?" You hated how quick you had been to notice his tongue slip along his lower lip. He must have found this delicious, patronizing someone who only had 'friend number five' or 'cashier' as proof of their employment. Jimin was greedy, devouring all the blood spilled from his wounding retorts.

In some perverse way, being the focus of his attention had you feeling fulfilled. Jimin, the man commonly sought after among the demographic of teenagers and middle-aged women. Not only were you proving your merits of qualification to act alongside him, but you had something to prove to yourself. You weren't going to let Jimin push you around without pushing him right back. You were strong enough to fight. It seemed to have come natural to you to enjoy provoking anger in him. It felt as if you were finally accomplishing something that was unattainable to anyone else.

And even if you wanted to retreat, his gaze guaranteed your obedience. It was a battle, along with every other exchange you have had with him. Even when silence was the only parcel between you two, when the only semblance of noise was heavy, jaded inhales, it felt as though you and he were at wits to gather more air than the other. To see who would fall breathless first.

"You're pathetic." His words hit like physical blows, and you might have had to check for bruises along your ribs and torso from the churning sensation in your stomach.

"If I'm pathetic, I don't know what that makes you." You wanted your rebuttal to feel like fire. You wanted to scorch and sear blisters along his flawless skin for proof of any successful hit. “A privileged boy with enough of daddy’s money to get him any job he wants. But, I’m the pathetic one?”

He appeared unscathed, with one end of his lips rugged upwards, mocking you without needing any of the words to do so. Perhaps he'd gotten the best of you, as you were searching through your arsenal of refutes only to find it overspent. It would not have surprised you to discover his supply of acidic insults piling without a visible dent.

His eyes looked fully employed in studying you, and you felt disrobed to be under such scrutiny from a stranger. Jimin seemed to have been reading you like words on a page, armed with a twisted smile that was unnervingly addictive, but you tried your hardest to keep your book closed. You didn’t want him to know how weak you really were.

"God, you're so-"

"Oh, great! Both of you are still here." Seokjin's voice reminded you that there was a world of events beyond you and Jimin. For a moment, you had felt secluded into a universe constructed especially for any collateral destruction that might have come of whatever war was about to be waged. "I have some notes for you two. Go home, read, digest, and come prepared tomorrow! I have full confidence in the two of you."

"Thanks." Succinct yet not lacking any tonal sentiment, Jimin got the first word in with the director, leaving you scrambling to find yours.

"Thank you." You were frustrated in how recycled your responses felt after Jimin handled them. Actors like you always fed on scraps of the higher-ups, and they were never as appetizing or filling as you would hope.

"See ya, ___." Your name sounded awful on his tongue, like his voice had filtered out the good parts of it and the waste remained spilling from his lips. Like dirt or decayed flesh, or both, and saying your name was akin to saying a slur.

"Fuck you." Those words couldn't sift through your screwed jaw or muffled throat, but it gave you satisfaction that it had been said in the slightest.

It wasn't until you were halfway to the bus stop that the realization pummeled you down a hole you hadn’t recollected being dredged. That whole time, what might have been the product of a mere ten minutes, was the longest segment you had gone without thinking of him.

It was the most intimately you had ever engaged in a conversation with someone other than the late, imagined voice in your head. And it was the most you've gone without consulting with said voice before speaking. You simply spoke, and listened, and responded; like you were normal. You couldn't tell whether that was good, because maybe you would finally be able to move forward with the world, perhaps catch up with the life you were supposed to be living. But, at the same time, the guilt festering something acrid in the pit of your stomach had you convinced this wasn't entirely sunny skies and bright futures.

"I'm sorry." What frightened you, besides your mental slip to keep the words meant for Namjoon in your head, was the unreturned sound of his ringing through. It took the longest ten seconds of your life for the mental silence to be furtively trimmed by your own train of thoughts.

Jimin had done this to you, that you were entirely sure of. Jimin and his carnivorous tongue and greedy glare had drained your head of its second conscious. The one it had adopted when Namjoon's body could no longer harbor it. And that's how he lived on, through you.

Jimin took that away, somehow. You could almost kill him for it, but you had not favored a life in prison nor tabloids that headlined the Park Jimin being murdered or 'Crazy, Jealous Co-star On Murderous Rampage Targets Jimin'. So, for the time being, all that was accessible was quiet hatred.

And you took that over nothing. You hated Park Jimin.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts writing #bts angst #bts x reader #bts series #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #jimin enemiestolovers!au #actor!jimin #jimin x reader #jimin series #bts enemies to lovers #in the stars tonight #rubycoast

67 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 4 years

Text

Ducktales Reviews: The Phantom and the Sorceress

Ducktales returns! The Phantom Blot returns to animation after too damn long with a neat backstory, an infnity guantlet and a hate boner for anything magic related. And since Lena is magic related she’s forced to go to her worst enemy and local close up magician Magica De Spell for help. Also Gladstone is here because we missed him and for no other reason. But we missed him so it’s okay. Friendship Is Magic, under the cut.

Woo-ooo! We’re back! Months later and in a new room, with new things to be depressed about because this year is groundhog day and everyone is bill murray, which isn’t as fun as it should be, Ducktales is finally back on screens and in my heart. And my galbladder.. he really likes ducktales. But yeah with the recent cancelation of the venture bros, it’s nice to get it’s spirtual littlte brother back just a few weeks later to help fill the void, and while a comparison to it now I know frank’s a fan and noticed the simlarties between rusty and gyro thanks to a tumblr post, the same post for both things inf act, I might just do that one day. But tha’ts not what your here, for , iv’e had to rewrite this intro enough times, Pitter Patter, let’s get at er.

This episodes opens with Scrooge sitting down for his morning tea when the kids pop out of the tv and hte bored way he figures it out is really hilarious. David Tennat is really good at selling just how Scrooge has both seen it all and has the deductive skills of Barbra Gordon. What eveyrone syaing “Of batman” gets old after a while and she’s just as smart as he is, especially as oracle. Point is it’s a good bit. As he correclty guesses the kids were playing Legends of Nerverquest or whatever that game Huey and Della played last season is called, one of them wished it was real, presumibly Dewey, and Lena’s magic accidently made it happen. And since it’s her first spotlight episode of the season, and possibly only one since this season is kind of packed, it’s time to talk about Lena! Admitely I PLANNED to do at least her first episode and her two season 2 episodes before this, but life got in the way so here we are. Lena.. is easily one of my faviortes, the number of weblena chats have made that clear. She’sd got a compelling arc, the show tackles abuse well in her narrative, and she and webby have really sweet chemstiry. Plus she brought us Violet and i’ll always be greatful for that and she’s voiced by Kimiko Glenn in her first major voice acting role so that helps too. SHe’s a great addition to the cast and the canon. Same, as the previous comment made obvious, goes for Violet, and the three togther have a great dynamic and i’ts nice to finally see an episode with JUST the three of them post “Friendship Hates Magic.”.

But yeah Lena’s magic’s been going haywire and I do feel the setups abit rushed.. hilarious but rushed. While Night on Kilmotor hill did establish her magic can run wild, it was also vauge if it was because of her, or it was because magica was messing with her head. IT’s still a plausable setup since we haven’t really SEEN her use her magic or have any intrest and doing so and she’s only done so either while working for magica, to undo something magica did, or to give her sister a mace so she could literally go midevil on some alien ass, it just feels a bit abrubt. And while Night on Kilmotor hill also set up a problem we hadn’t seen on screen, it felt like it gave us more time to ease into it and Lena’s issues, and made it clear SOMETHING was up instead of just telling us that. The rest of hte episode is still good i’ve just seen the show be way better at setup than this.

But yeah Lena’s magic keeps runing their fun and she feels bad about it, while Scrooge ends up putting his foot and spats in his mouth by voicing his hatred of magic, with all his nephews giving him a “Grandpa no look” and Webby glaring at him.. and whiel I didn’t realize it while watching it.. whiel sh’es given him a disaporving look, the equilvent of shooting bambi in the face emtoinally, she’s only been THIS angry with him one other time.. and it was the time he said “Your not family”. Thankfully this time he’s not in defnstive arrogant bastard mode, so he meekly walks it back to exclude her and she shrugs it off: She hates magic too. And really.. it’s not hard to see WHY given that most times it’s enterted her life, it’s nearly got everyone she loves killed, and that the only spellcaster she knows personally is the absuive aunt whose gaslighted her on multiple occasions, most recently to try and renslave her. Thankfully before Webby can make an old man bleed for his insesntivity, Della reveals some magical creature is there and Scrooge, while annoyed it’s more magic, is happy for another adventure and invites everyone along. And I jsut love that he dosen’t even show the slightest hesitation bringing Violet and Lena along. As far as he’s concerned probably their family too, maybe not as much as Webby but their still welcome. I mean granted i’m sure della and donald had an awkard conversation with Ty and Indy over all this to make sure it was cool, but still, it’s a nice gesture on his part and show’s his personality: He really dosen’t care who comes along as long as they can pull their weight and share his love for adventure, their welcome. It’s also nice ot see him and Lena interact since the two really haven’t since the shadow war: Sure he’s been in the same room with her twice, btu they haven’t really spoken. Though my honest guess is they could’ve genuinely meant for Scrooge to adopt her into the family.. but when coming up with Violet found her family adopting her and them becoming sisters to be a better idea and went with that. And to be fair it is, and not just for shipping purposes, I just wish we got some closure on that line, but i’m also aware the show has a LOT of ground to cover each season, so I understand it probably got squeezed out by all the other stuff going on and don’t really sweat it since we got something better anyway, her getting two gay dads and a sister, it just felt worth talking about. And in universe.. I feel he didn’t simply because he didn’t either know she was back or have a chance to, though i’m also damn certain, at least in my own headcanon, he helped those men formally adopt her. I mean he owns most of the city, and they probably also had to make Lena legally exist in the first place since I doubt Magica bothered to put her on any offical records that weren’t signed in blood and written on paper made of avian flesh, which given SCrooge’s experince is probably not the first time he had to get a person into official records who came into being by way of magic or some other weirdness.

Anyways, Lena opts out of the adventure because she’s worried about it going haywire and Webby opts out out of sympathy and while Violet is clearly keen to go, she gladly does so for her sister.. though this just makes Lena feel worse since now her girlfriend and her sister are missing out on stuff because of her, and suggests just going to sleep before she whoopsie daisy magics them to death. The girls end up woken from their sleep however by a bang at the door. It’s Gladstone!

Yup it’s time to talk about another character I haven’t talked about yet. Gladstone is easily one of the show’s best overhauls. See in the comics while Gladstone is just as lucky and lazy.. he’s also just..

Okay i’m amazed it’s taken this long for me to refrence jean ralphio in one of these reviews but i’m glad it was for this. Back on topic, while I know Gladstone in the comics has his fans, and is softend a bit in european comics, but in most stories i’ve read with him he’s an insufferably arrogant dick. Even BEFORE getting his luck, his first apperance, which I own in trade and read earlier this year, has him trying to take Donald’s house and kick him and the nephews out on the street over a drunken wager to take a polar dive, which Donald fials because life hates him and he’s a coward. Thankfully Daisy rushed in and saved the day because she’s great sometimes ,and turned things on him wiht his own drunken crap, but still, it says something when your first apperance is trying to force three ten year olds and your own cousin out into the cold.

He .. did not get any better once his super luck came into play. Instead he just flautned it all the time and tried to constnatly win Daisy over from donald.. which had varying sucess based on how much of a shallow dick she was being that story, and in general was just unplesant. He really only works for me in comic in those aformetioned softer times: when a writer makes his luck ruin his love life or add actual depth instead of him just being the raincloud on donal’ds parade. The original ducktales and the going quackers game are the only places I can think of he showed up otherwise, prototype in the old disney shorts nonwithstanding, and Ducktales Classic made him a nice guy from what i’ve heard. Thankfully frank and crew knew exactly what to do to adapt him perfectly: He still retains some aspects from the comics: Donald and Scrooge still hate him, Donald for Gladstone always winning and always having it easy while Donald.. is donald and thus utterly miserable half the time and on fire the other half, and Scrooge because he’s a lazy asshole who gets whatever he wants with the least effort, which didn’t change. What did change was his attitude. While he still is proud of getting whatever he wants in life with no effort and being “the best at getting something for nothing” he dosen’t lord it over everyone else. Sure he’s proud of it but he dosen’t rub Donald’s nose in how much better off he is on purpose, and genuinely loves his family, something I really coudln’t say about most versions of comic Gladstone. While he’s self serving he’s perfectly happy to share his luck with whoever else: He can always get more money whenever he needs it because of course he will. The other factor helping is , as with this entire reboot, the voice acting, in this case the marvelous Paul F Thompkins of Bojack and so much other stuff fame, who really sells the “Sleazy vegas layabout” vibe this series gives him, updating his old aristocratic asshole vibe to something more fun to watch and really being a treat anytime gladstone comes up. Gladstone singing in season 2 was entirely something Paul Improvised during his first apperance they made sure to use eventually. He’s a delight any time he shows up and a total 180 from his utterly agrviating original version.

As for why he’s here.. said luck. is gone. After being hit by some weird energy, Gladstone suddenly, since he didn’t see it hit him, finds himself living normally: going to a restraunt offers no free meal for being 100th custmoer or anything, his wallet dosen’t magically have 20 dollars in it, and the atm gives him 20 dollars.. which would seem normal except it’s actually usually a sack of rubys. Naturally Gladstone having coasted his entire life on his magical luck, has no idea how to function as a normal human being and is utterly hilarious as he breaks down. Admitely he’s not the biggest part of the plot, he’s mostly here for comic relief and COULD have been eaisly cut.. but he’s so hilarious and seeing him utterly fail at being a normal person and whine about things as simple as walking or going up stairs is just groovy. As for what weird magical bolt took it, Violet being violet figures it out quick: The Phantom Blot! For those unfamiliar, he’s a charcter from the mickey mouse comics, though I know him from one episode of house and mouse that adapted those comics that I need to read more of, a master schemer and old school villian par excellence and Mickey’s greatest foe. I was ecastic to see him come here and in the capable hands of Giancarlo Espisto. While I haven’t watched brekaing bad i’ve heard nothing but good thigns and he does his best with what little he’s given. But here instead of a master schemer he’s an infamous magic theif and is obviously the one who drained gladstone.. and unforutntely for scrooge the boys and presumibly everyone else... we see him in action using his fancy infnity guantlet esque magic draining gauntlet to drain the portal they took. Ruh Roh. It gets worse when he mistakes Lena for magica, and charges after her, though Webby is able to hold him off with the axe she grabbed on the way to the door earlier, and damages his gauntlet. he retreats.. but it’s obvious he’ll be back and both Webby and Violet come to the conclusion Lena needs to grasp her magic in order to survive.. and both have the same unfortunate relization: They only know one person who can do it and Lena, once she realizes what hteir thinking, wnats nothing to do with her, and neither do they. But they have no options: they have to go to magica. So they journey to her house on Dagobah, with Gladstone tagging along because they need a wacky comedic sidekick to help lighten the mood what with the serious, grim hunter wanting to murder a teenage girl inf nront of her tweenage girlfriend and kid sister, and their only resort being going back to her abuser for help. Magica however isn’t all that helpful at first. Being Magica her first move is to make a grab for the Amulet to get her power back, which her running crew thwart quickly but naturally Lena still wants nothing to do with her and Magica just insults her for not using magic and because she’s a terrible person. SHe does however end up changing her tune when she hears the blot’s involved. She whisks them inside while we get a cutaway to FOWL headquarters where blot is working on his guantlet more on him in a minute. We soon get the Blot’s backstory which is actually really inttresting and invovled even if it’s not a lot like who he is in the comcis or house of mouse: A long ass time ago before meddling kids got in her way, Magica took over a small vililage with the threat of destroying it and eveyrone in it outright unless they gave her tributes.. and when those got boring she just did it anyway. Problem was, as happens a lot when evil sorecerers calously destroy hometowns, one of them survivied. It’s even lampshaded by Magica as she points out Blot wasn’t the first. The problem was.. he was persitant. The blot never gave up, coming up with better tech to fight her magic each time and coming back stronger and likely more determined. I like this verson: While he’s not the bwahahah mastermindk, he’s still an utter threat, a force with an unyielding hatred and a burning mission to take out the target of his hate and anything like her. He reminds me a lot of toffee from star vs but if htey actually gave his backstory on screen. A meancing, somehwat quite, or mostly silent in the blot’s case, immortal menace who’s deterimiend to wipe out those who wronged him and anything related to them and has warped from what was once probably a decen tperson into a human engine of destruction with one goal and one goal only. He’s a good enoguh villian for the episode, I just hope if he comes back they give him better lines. his dialouge is really what dosen’t work for me as whiel his backstory and aura of meance work, Giancarlo is given nothing to work with line wise. He dosen’t need to be a chatty cathy or anything, just give him one or too really cool lines. Sometimes tha’ts all you need. Watch how the pros do it.

youtube

I do like this verison, I jsut think they could do more, but given the show has a good track record for only getting better with their villians with every use, I have no worries about that and he’s still a cool enough threat. I also wish we got more of fowl or why he’s working with them. just a small scene with one of them was all I asked, because we’ve barely gotten fowl this season. It’s really one of the season’s only real problems so far: 8 episodes in and while FOWL agents have shown up twice, adn one of the episodes did advance that plot by showing off heron and steelbeak, we really haven’t seen any progress on their plans to both take the missing mysteries or kill the Clan McDuck. HOpefully this changes as we go and again, it dosen’t ditract from the episode itself, jsut the season as a whole. Anyways, Lena is still relucntant because Magica is terrible and keeps slipping in how much she wants to take the amulet every five minutes. I love the show and catherine tate’s take on magica: just as hammy and nuts as before but when she does have magic, she’s the utter threat she was before too times ten. But yeah while Lena’s relunctant.. neither of htem really has a choice> Magica needs her amulet secure to get her magic back, and Lena needs to not die. So they relucntantly agree to work together among more hilarous sniping. Cue a training montage set to a hell of an 80′s tune. The show really has a good habit of making good incdental music to use in bits like this. Lena trains, uses gladstone as the training dummy, and it’s funny as it is creative and we even get some karate kids bit and the obvious star wars refrences. Meanwhile the blot approaches ever closer.. We also find out something important from Magica as she chastises Lena for having fun with her friends while training after Lena uses blue magic instead of purple: Turns out much like spellcasters in say owl house or my little pony each caster has a specific color to their magic, a Colur of magic if you will. Magica’s, and lena using hers is purple while the blue magic we’ve seen from her is her own powered by friendship and love. It’s a nice advancement of what we’ve seen so far: We’ve seen her magic powered by webby is stronger than her other stuff, and we’ve seen it come out during times their bond, or in the case of kilmotor hill her bond with everyone, is strongest. We knew something was diffrent with the magics and it’s now given a though and clearly well thought out explination why: Magica’s magic is hers and Lena was just borrowing it.. the blue stuff is hers and hers alone. Magica does try to get her to master it by having one of her friends shoot her.. Webby of course strongly objects so Violet takes it up since it is for study after all and her sister can take a hit. Lena also wonders how she can even do magic without the amulet, but as Magica makes clear, and as I outlined above, the amulet is just help. The blue magic is her. Lena fails to use it though to deflect in time.. and to make matters worse the blot shows up after plopping gladstone down and wants to kill them both. We then get easily the best laugh of the episode.. as Magica tries stage magic and the blot wonders what the hell he’s looknig at. I mean this is his mortal enemy, the monster who killed everyone he’d ever known or loved... pulling out a bunch of colored rags and asking him to pick a card. It’s amazing. Lena attacks from the side and Webby and Violet quickly asist, with Magica joining in to use the rope to bind him and Lena’s magic kicking in, turning the rope into chain and summoning a snake.. but in a show of badassery the blot easily shrugs it off: he absorbs the magic, escapes and knocks them around while Webby asks the snake for help.. can she speak snake? She hopes so.

Then things get dire as The Blot starts absorbing the magic.. and killing lena as she starts to fade away. Magica of course can’t even feign dispaointment in anything but loosing her magic. And that’s also something I really love here: The show makes no attempt to make magica better or turn around because it just isn’t who she is and even if she did after all the abuse she did, Lena would have zero reason to forgive her. It’s nice that they DON’T try redemeing her or shoing a brighter side: she’s a bad person, a worse caregiver and they only came to her because they had no choice.

But as the magic’s absorbed magica does tell her to find the source of the power and we get a great scene: She first thinks of all the abuse magica’s done to her and it’s a harrowing montage to watch. But webby, breaks through that, since that obviouslyf ails and reminds her of where HER magic comes from: Her and webby. and we get an adorable,a nd shiptastic montage as we see more clips from past episodes.. but this time we see their adorable fistbump from “Beagle BOy Birthday Massacre”, their hug from “Jaw$!” and Lena’s return to the world and hug with her lady and future sister from “Friendship hates magic”. IT’s her friends, her sister and the love of her life who are her real source of power, and her magic connects to htem as lena ccccchanges. And I mean entirely, her outfit changes and she gets these.. weird bright blue eyes. Like I like the rest of her outfits, a white and blue attire to show her change with a badass cape, looks like a superhero so naturally I love it.. her eyes just look really off. Like when Milo Muprhy’s law tried to give characters colored irses. Because no one else in ducktales has them it just loosk.. weird.. Otherwise though I like it. We then get a beam struggle, but with adde dhelp from her friends and her new power, Lena eventually beats the blot, as her sheer power overloads the guantlet and sends him running. However in the confusion the amulet was lost.. and Magica gets it back. Lena whollops her easily, pointing out her magic’s purpose is to protect the world from people like her. It’s a nice development too: Lena realizes MAGIC isn’t inherently evil... it’s how it’s used. Star Vs could’ve maybe taken this lesson, but regardless, it’s a nice bit of character development realizing that magic is a part of her IS Her, and she shoudln’t have to give up something in her nature because of her abuser. Magica, while repowered, is force dto lookf or her staff while Lena gladly floats team magic home. Also with the guantlet broken gladstone is back, as a rain of 20 dolalr bills he uses as tissues confims, and the portal returns, and with Lena you know, havin ga whole superhero outfit, glowing blue eyes and her hair streak now blue, they know something clearly happend and the episode just kind of ends. Still a good one. Final Thoughts: This was a good one as I just said. While I had my nitpicks here and there as I also said, Lena’s strong character, and the game performances of Espisito, Thompkins, and Tate really add to our usual trlo, and as I mentioned before it’s nice ot see team magic get their own episode now their a full team. IT’s just a good romp and a good way back. I”ve made my complaints clear but their drowned out by good jokes, good character stuff, and good worldbuilding that makes this an utter thrill and a great one to come back to and i’tll also be intresting to see where Lena goes from here. But wherever she goes she’ll have webby. They can be whot hey are, independent together, if theyt ry. And yes that’s my shiping song for htem and yes I have one.

Quick bit before I go I dind’t get to, Gladstone flirts with magica when she lands in his arms, a little something for the shippers and a nice gesture on frakn’s part. Whle she rejects him and he dumps her in the sludge with a shrug. I mean.. their probably going to bang at some point. Gladstone’s powers mean he’ll likely find her when sh’es super horny and more than willing, and he’ll be like “eh why not boobs”. I mean I thought about this: I figure his powers allow him to find a willing partner, any gender or none at all I see him as pansexual, who happens to probablyb e loaded and diseased free, whenever he happens to be into it who naturallyw orks out perfectly because if he gets money whenever he wants it, why not sex? It’s not even a concious thing as we’ve seen things just work out for him so of course he probably gets laid, and as we see here it’s only if the other person consets. Good for him. Hope to see him again sooner. I want to see more of him and della interacting and see what she thinks of him. Freshe eys andall that.

But yeah this was great to come back to. If you liked this i’ve reviewed the rest of the season up to this point and will be reviewing each episdoe every monday till they stop again, so keep an eye out for that. You can check the tabs on my blogs for more reviews, come back this weekend for regular loud house coverag,e follow for more reviews or shoot me a pm if you’d like to comission me to do an episode. For just 5 bucks i’ll review any episode of any animated show of your choosing, and as i’ve only covered one season 2 episode of ducktales, there’s over 40 left ot choose from if you have any you want to hear my thoughts on. Until then stay safe, quack hard, and Go Team Venture! Play us out Steg .. and Co.

youtube

#ducktales #the phantom and the sorceress #weblena #lena saberwing #webby vanderquack #violet sabrewing #scrooge mcduck #gladstone gander #magica despell #the phantom blot #giancarlo esposito #reviews #animation #disney #disney channel

55 notes · View notes

katsukikitten · 4 years

Note

Hi, could you do a scenario or headcanons of a reader who feels like a burden towards everyone? And they can’t really speak up about it so the become more withdrawn x bakugo? Fluff pls

Useless

A/N anon hopefully this is what you wanted and needed. I know it's hard but be kind to yourself my lovely bbs

If you had one word to describe yourself what would it be?

A few come to mind as you reread the question on the board.

Troublesome.

Burdensome

Useless.

You flick your mechanical pencil as you debate writing them. If you write them down won't that be a red flag to someone?

This is an assignment after all. Aizawa Sensei is sure to read it and either, one, give you an F in red ink, or two, give you an F in red ink AND a lecture.

Neither will help your mood.

The bell rings but you don't notice, too absorbed in the question truly trying to find a positive word that might have a sliver of truth to it. Several minutes pass and still you do not notice the rest of the class shoving papers into backpacks shuffling out. Now long gone already half way to the dorm.

Nor do you notice the looming body in front of your desk with a deadly gaze.

"Oi." You jump out of your skin from the sudden harsh tone. The hot head narrows his gaze.

"Its been almost twenty minutes moron. They're gonna eat all the fucking food at the dorm if you don't get your ass in gear." He snarls, red eyes staring down his nose.

"Ah sorry B..Bakugou-senpai." Your hands shake as you gather your stuff, damning yourself for not noticing the cues.

You had told All Might and Aizawa that you didnt belong in the hero course, let alone UA.

Anyone would have jumped in front of that semi truck to save the little girl and her cat.

Anyone would have turned their body just right to take the brunt of the force to keep the girl and cat safe.

It's not like you even did that well, sure they were left with out a scratch but you still wrecked that truck. You weren't *fast* enough to move out of the way, so the front of the truck wrapped around your sturdy frame as if it were an old jacket.

You were lucky the driver wasn't quirkless, that he could harden his skin much like Kirishima.

Bakugou sucks his teeth as he begins to leave you behind.

"W...wait please." You say but trip over the chair in front of you that juts out of the normal neat line.

"Pay attention." He growls and you shrink away, walking slowly behind him.

You add oblivious to the ever growing list.

You watch Bakugou with steady eyes. You had seen him at the sports festival, confident, cocky and passionate to a fault. He had a deft, sharp gaze, strategic and an extremely powerful quirk that he almost mastered. His only downfall would be his temper but it was hard to enrage him enough to act without thinking in a battle.

You admired all of class 1A. You knew their weaknesses, what they liked and who they liked but it was Bakugou your eyes gravitated to the most.

Though you did not consciously realize it yourself.

You reach the dorms as a cold gust of wind whips through you, biting down harshly on your bones. You made it easy what with your jacket lying on your bed, your grit your teeth but they still chatter.

Bakugou sucks his teeth and you shrink further.

"Where's your jacket?" He asks harshly although he is sure it's in your dorm room since it wasn't on the couch like it normally was. Since winter started it had become a daily ritual for him to grab your coat and yell.

"It uh..." You swallow knowing you cannot lie to him, "Its on my bed I think."

"Moron." He mutters baring his teeth, he opens the door to the dorm for you, "Good thing we are home then."

"Y..yea. Thank you Bakugou-senpai." You rush inside, hand resting on the handle to the stairwell. Anything to get from under his gaze.

"Y/N!" Kirishima pops out of the kitchen with a smile, "Dinner is in five okay?"

"Thank you, Kirishima-san but I am not feeling well." You feel needles prickle your back and swear you hear a soft popping sound.

"Oh okay. Is there anything I can do?" He asks softly, "Like some hot tea?"

"Um no thank you Kirishima-san." You pull open the door but he speaks a final time.

"Please call me Ejirou! Tomorrow is yours and Katsuki's turn to make breakfast. Let me know if you aren't feeling well enough to do it."

Fuck how could you forget. Was there even breakfast food in the house? You'd have to check later. Right now you wanted to be alone.

"I should be fine." You say ripping open the door just before Bakugou shakes his head in displeasure.

You flop on your bed as you think and think hard about your life and how you ended up here.

Saving one kid and her cat didn't make you a hero.

In fact every adjective you could think of today for that assignment proved that you weren't.

You were timid, selfish, sometimes ungrateful, irritable, childish, and reclusive.

Does that describe a hero?

No, no it does not.

You do not bother to change out of your school uniform as sleep begins to weigh heavy on your body, you are apathetic for your future self as you know your bra and your thigh highs will be leaving angirly marks on your sturdy frame.

Still you sleep, longing for it after not being able to catch a wink last night.

A knock comes at your door and you jump to your feet, fists ready before another impatient knock comes your way.

"Oi, Y/N. Open up." His voice is like razor blades across your skin as you've been caught for the thousandth time.

"Just...just a minute senpai." You stammer noting the tsk from the other side of the door. You attempt to straighten your hair as best you can, knowing full well he will fuss at you for sleeping in your uniform as it will wrinkle the skirt to seem shorter. You open the door to a surprise as disapproving eyes rove over your body.

"What did I tell you about napping in your uniform?" He bites, "Its always my week for laundry when you do and ironing the skirts are a bitch."

He pushes past you with tray in hand, a small bowl of soup and steaming tea slosh gently as he places it onto your desk. His eyes linger over your open journal you've left out and fear curdles in your stomach. Your face flushes as you swipe at the notebooks like a cat, knocking them from your desks, praying he did not read yesterday's depressing entry. You give an awkward smile as red eyes watch the tumbling pages.

"I..I don't want soup to get on them. Um thank you." You bow slightly.

"Kirishima made me bring it to you." He puts his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants as he makes he way to exit, "Be sure to eat it while it's hot baka."

"Yes!" Is your only response as your door slams shut and you groan. Unzipping your skirt and tossing it to the floor before practically ripping the buttons off of your blouse to add it to the pile. You look over the warm soup and wonder how Kirishima knew Zenzai was your favorite.

Your eyes flutter from the taste, you consume it in haste, even drinking the broth striaght from the bowl. You send him a text thanking him for the delicious meal and all you get back is a question mark. You ignore it thinking maybe that was intended for someone else.

Somehow in the middle of doing your homework at your desk and daydreaming in the late hours of the night you had fallen asleep.

The sun filters in gently telling you that it is still early morning and Saturday at that. You let your eyes flutter closed before jolting upright, notebook pages cling to your cheek as you hit your phone to check the time.

No response but a black screen comes from your phone. You dont understand it the charger is clearly plugged into the port, you brought the cord over here for this very reason! You rip the paper from your cheek and follow the white cord just to groan angirly.

Phone did a lot of good to be charged when you SHOVED THE PRONGS INTO THE DRYWALL INSTEAD OF THE FUCKING OUTLET TWO CENTIMETERS AWAY.

Bullish makes it's way onto your mental list adding along side it foolish as your scramble for clothes hoping that it's still early enough to beat Bakugou to the kitchen.

You were supposed to get the ingredients for breakfast but you never even checked last night.

"FUCK!" You scream whisper as all that is clean in a bralette, crop top hoodie and leggings.

Items you would not normally wear when the boys were home thanks to the oogling eyes of Mineta.

You rush down the stairs two at a time as you stumble into the kitchen. Ripping a cabinet door off of its hinges in your haste causing you to stand perfectly still as you collected yourself. There was no bullshitting yourself out of this one by putting it back gently and letting the next person think it was broken.

Not with the screws with brackets attached hanging from the door. You place it behind the trash can and root through more cabinets only for your heart rate to increase.

"The fucking fridge!" You remind yourself as you fling open the door only for dinner meats to be available.

"Fuck." You hiss but there was still time, you had beaten Bakugou, that was enough time to go to the convenience store and pretend you were planning to go the morning of the whole time.

You rush to the door, slipping on your converse, you reach out to the hooks by the door for your hand to come up empty. Your hook is vacant, no jacket in sight when normally your jacket was there in the morning like magic. You damn yourself for having left it upstairs. There was no time to go back upstairs, every second was precious. You fling open the door only to be met with a red cheeked Bakugou, the wind whipping into the house with the threatening smell of snow.

Nothing more threatening than the look Bakugou was serving you.

"I know God damn well you were not stupid enough to think you could go out like that?" Pops ring out even beneath his gloves as he pushes past you with an armful of plastic bags.

Bags filled with ingredients for breakfast.

Your eyes burn with welling tears as the logo for the corner store etches itself into your retinas. Bakugou notices as he kicks off his shoes.

"Oi, you can cook. It will be fucking fine." He says passing the bags to you so he can shed his coat. You nod furiously biting your lip.

"See you wouldn't have lasted long with out a jacket." He tilts your face to his, it is harsh like his tone yet his eyes seem...soft as he speaks again, "The wind is bad enough it has you tearing up from just a few seconds of exposure."

"Ah..." You swipe at your reddening cheeks as he let's your chin drop, "Th..thank you Bakugou-sama."

"Yea yea just start cooking damn it. I'm starving." He hisses as he makes his way into the living room.

Shameful loops itself onto your long list.

You ready the griddle with bacon and mix the ingredients for homemade pancake mix quickly. You crank up the heat when you hear your other classmates stir in the living room.

"Bakugou please my favorite anime is on!" Denki whines loudly enough to be heard before a small explosion erupts. You peek into the living room to watch the exchange.

"I got here first dunce face fuck off and die." He growls, "Plus you only like that show for the big fake tits."

You giggle before a burning smell begins to tickle your nose, frantically you rush back into the kitchen. You've successfully burned half of the ration of bacon. You hide your mistake by sliding the slices of bacon into the trash. Maybe Bakugou wouldn't mind too much to cook the rest of the ingredients. You think you'll do better with the pancakes.

They sat like the internet said for them too. You even added some chocolate chips. You place a few on the hot griddle and flip them when the center begins to bubble. When a perfectly tan pancake winks back at you six times you bounce on the balls of your feet.

You could at least do something right. You place them on a plate and begin to do more adding different things here and there.

Bakugou walks in, a grimace on his face when he spies the cabinet door. Your cheeks burn but he spares you by not mentioning it.

He spies the half a pack of bacon uncooked and the rest discarded in the trash.

"Oi..." He watches your face sour and changed his mind on his comment, "Did you get the butter and syrup out?"

"No not yet." You flip another six perfect pancakes as he rummages through the fridge and the doorless cabinet.

"Pancakes look good." He says as he sets the stuff down, grabbing on and settling by the uncooked bacon, "Since they look so good I'll cook the bacon."

"Th..thank you Senpai."

"Don't fucking mention it." He says before taking a bite of the pancake. You watch and your stomach sours as a shudder goes through him with grimace painted lips.

"Oh no." You murmur and he keeps his eyes shut. He cannot bring himself to tell you it is awful. You grab onto a cake biting into it only to have a soapy after taste, your eyes water from both the unpleasant after taste immediately identifying your mistake as you think back to what went wrong. You put double the amount of flour called for into the batter and only the normal amount of everything else.

Stupid makes it's way right beneath useless on the list.

"It smells so good in here." Kirishima's eyes become delighted when he sees the stacked up cakes of various additions. Your eyes widen as you watch him in slow motion bringing the awful pancake to his lips. Irrationality forces your hand as you slap the pancake from his hand, surprising the three of you in the room. It hits the tile with a light slap before time speeds up again. You grab onto the plate and throw it all away pancakes and all.

"Suddenly I'm not feeling so well again, I think I may be sick and I don't want anyone else to catch it. Sorry for the inconvenience, Kirishima-senpai." You bow slightly before rushing to the stairwell fighting burning tears.

The door shuts with a loud pang and the slap of your footsteps fight with the thoughts in your head. You burst into your dorm room slamming the door and sliding down it.

Fat drops fall from your cheeks as you angrily wipe them away, sobbing harshly as you relive your failure over and over as if on repeat.

Watching Bakugou fight back a comment or possibly a gag as he tasted your food.

Melodramatic is scrawled into your brain.

Time ticks by and you avoid people at all costs, claiming to be ill. Even to go as far as avoiding training all through winter and well into spring.

You left class faster than anyone could stop you, running to the dorms to hole yourself up in your room. You did your share of the chores in the middle of the night or while the group was out and about. You were always invited depsite all of the ignored texts you had. Each person in your class trying their luck on asking you out of your room. All save one ash blonde.

Whenever an impatient knock came at your door you would become completely still, even going as far as holding your breath. As if you were prey who spotted a large predator that may not have noticed you just yet.

Eventually they would leave, setting some sort of item by the door. More often than not it was your favorite meal and a fresh set of clothes.

But today is a little different, today your door is blasted from its hinges with a sharp look staring you down. Deadly hands smoking, threatening to pop some more.

"Cut the bullshit Y/N. What's really going the fuck on?" You stare wide eyed at Bakugou in your crop top and leggings in your desk chair.

"I...I just haven't been feeling up to much." You stammer and he closes the distance. Clearly unsatisfied by your answer. He towers over you as you strain to stare up at him.

"I said cut the bullshit. I hate liars." He snarls and it cuts deep.

"Ahh I'm...I'm..." You struggle to come up with something but whatever you said wouldn't have mattered as the man before you blew up anyway. He leans close, gripping onto the arms of the chair causing you to press against the back of it.

But there was no escape from Bakugou Katsuki.

"You're what? Y/N? You're useless? Burdensome? Troublesome? Bullish? Foolish? Shameful? Pitiful? Melodramatic?" He yells and you shrink as if struck, "Shall I fucking go on?"

Your heart shatters with every beat as you stare up at the blonde through thick lashes. Did he think those things about you too?

"That is what you wrote isn't it in your class notebook? Before you crossed them all out?" He asks with a snarl. You gulp down the lie but it lodges in your throat. struggling to get past the quickly forming lump, choking you.

"I..."

"And then you settled for content? Are you content? Is someone who is content always hidden in their room like a damn hermit?" His eyes flicker to your open notebook and you follow, "Does someone who is content write about how sad they are in their journal every fucking day? Avoid theirs friends? Their family? Your mom called the dorm phone CRYING!"

He headbutts you then and your vision blurs.

"What..."

"Yea Y/N. In hysterics. I told her we just had some tough exams to study for. That you were fine and staying off your phone. I knew you were avoiding us but your mom? What the fuck?" You're stunned into silence and it kills him.

It's been killing him, he's hated to see the crestfallen look make a permanent residence on your face. Hated seeing you sneak away like a slinking cat who hates people.

Hated still that you would not come to one of your friends even if it wasn't him. It's why he left you so many care packages, why he demand to see if the other class mates got a reply from you.

Why he lingered in the classroom waiting to walk you.

He could accept you being distant from him and hell even your friends while you were working shit out but your own family? Especially your mother that he knows worries easily.

"There were other words you could have used to describe yourself. Strong. Resilient. Careful. Kind. Thoughtful. But you lingered on useless. Do you know how people get into the hero course?!"

When you don't answer he goes on.

"They are hand picked after the entrance exams. That's it. One look and they knew. Hardly anyone in the history of UA has been transferred to this class. And what happened to you?" His tone and body language are harsh but when you look into those crimson eyes you see something else.

That damn misguided passion. All his feelings masked beneath anger and aggression.

"I...I was transfered Bakugou-sama. From general studies." You finally speak.

"All might saw something he didn't initially see. You got a second look that most do not get. A hard enough second look for you to transfer into class 1A. So dont piss it away with your negative attitude."

"It's just that..." You don't go on. Cant go on. How can you expect your hot headed crush to ever like you back if you don't even like yourself.

He sighs and the anger leaves his body with the steam leaving his skin.

"I'm worried about you." He admits but cannot look you in the eye. Your cheeks burn and you twist your shirt in your shaking hands.

"Senpai..."

"No more senpai." He bites out tilting your face to his, beginning his tirade, "Its Katsuki from here on out. And you're gonna change how you speak to yourself. Instead of saying useless say I need more practice. More focus on this area of my quirk. And if you need help then ask for help God damn it. That's what the teachers are here for. What your classmates are here for. What I'm fucking here for. You got it?" His tone is stern and yet soft as he speaks.

"Yes, K..Katsuki." You whisper, thick eye lashes letting tears slip past. Heated thumbs swipe them away before he leans ever closer. Lips suddenly pressed to yours as you sit shocked in your desk chair. He breaks the kiss and drinks in your red cheeks with a smirk on his face. He lifts you, sits himself in your pink chair before setting you on his lap. All of the seriousness is back on his face before he speaks in a deadly husky tone.

"Now you're gonna be a good little friend and tell me everything."

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugo #bnha bakugou #bnha katsuki #bnha kacchan #bnha au #bnha imagine #bnha answer #kitten answers #ask kitten

504 notes · View notes

sassystarkinator · 4 years

Text

The Stark & Storm Encounter -Part 2

@flaming-shield

Tony couldn’t help but let his eyes linger all over his gorgeous back and ass, and even pouted a little as the jeans, although perfectly covered the fine ass, it still covered it from his sight. He broke away from his ass and looked him in the face and smirked “Pfft, you’re sorry for being topless when you crash landed fully naked in front of me, yeah okay Mister ‘I'm naked ninety percent of the time” he flashed him a grin, he knew that with that heat, his clothes wouldn’t withstand much, that’s when his genius mind thought maybe he could come up with a set of clothes that would combust for him, shaking his head, he had only just met the man, he wasn’t going to take over his life or appear like it.

Walking over to his top thrown over the sofa, he grabbed it and threw it in his lab then turned back and faked a gasp at the man, grabbing his reactor “Hire someone who knows what they’re doing??? Oh honey, Im too expensive “ he smirked, making his way over to the rubble as well and began picking up and placing pieces into the same nice and neat pile. “I think you banged your head, I’ll have to do a full body check later to find out” there he went again, flirting with the man, my God he hadn’t flirted with someone like this in……forever. He had the odd flirt but people were far too easy and Tony grew far too bored, but with Johnny it bounced between them so naturally, something he really wasn’t used too. The had gone from awkwardness to this natural and lighthearted flirting, he was enjoying every second around this man and he hadn’t even noticed he hadn’t had a single drop of scotch today, nor had he felt miserable. Okay, Mr Stark you are definitely dreaming all this.

He paused lifting up a piece of rubble, only to have to put it down when he realised how heavy it was being held and blinked at Johnny “You know my weakness?” he smirked a little, of course he did, although Tony couldn’t remember actually making it public knowledge, it didn’t really surprise him that Johnny knew and he wasn’t angry at all, he was impressed, no one had really wanted to treat him before, especially with something he liked and not just them.

A furrow of a frown creased his brow as heard him say he would call someone, sometime. He didn’t mention a name, he didn’t even seem like anyone would miss him. He half expected him to at least mention his sister and call her or call her later, but ‘someone, sometime’ sounded so……lonely. Was he really as lonely as Tony Stark was? He felt sad that Johnny didn’t have anyone he wanted to rush off and call, letting them know he was okay. He sighed slowly and placed his hand on his shoulder “Make sure you do though…” his tone was soft yet serious “I know damn well if I didn’t know where you were, I’d worry you’re in ditch hurt somewhere and no, I don’t think you’re a screw up either. My mind goes to worst case scenario though and I….care.” He felt almost like he was sounding like a stalker and just shyly smile, a smile that was rarely seen on the lips of Tony Stark and yet here it was in front of Johnny. Grinning a little “Hey you are always welcomed here but if you come with your brother in law, F.R.I.D.A.Y may not let you in, she can be a brat when he's around for some reason. I guess she doesn’t like him” he shrugged a little, he ha given her enough freedom to make determinations about individuals and she definitely made her presence known with someone she didn’t like and Dr Reed was for sure one of them.

As he watched him stand up and place his hands on those sexy hips, asking how the ‘magic’ worked he grinned and stood fully up himself “Well it probably is ‘magic’ compared to Reed’s borin…..” he stopped “Long methods” Chewing on his lower lip, he didn’t want to say anything bad about his brother in law and grabbed his arm, tapping the side of the device on Johnny’s wrist and lifting it up to the ceiling as a holographic grid began to cover the hole, holding his arm a little more, as he felt him slightly flinch. “I'm more of a visual man, I take in more by seeing something rather than reading it. Besides, I get easily bored so don’t like faffing about with a ladder and tape measure time consuming way only to end up with either not enough or too much material left at the end. If I’m going to do something, I want it done properly, but that’s me. This device allows me to see it all almost instantly, its connected to F.R.I.D.A.Y as well and she can connect to any system to assist me. Everything here, she has access to and she keeps up and running. I really would be lost without her” his last sentence drifted off, he knew to the rest of the world she was just an A.I but to Tony she was the only friend he really had and he knew how sad that sounded as well. He licked his lips and focused back on the holographic grid the wrist device was showing them both, grabbing Johnny’s other hand , he waved it to the left slightly and another holographic display came across, showing exactly what they needed, the tools and how much of materials. Tony smiled, the device smoothly taking to Johnny’s movements as if it was his own. He glanced towards the ceiling, or what was left at it, even though F.R.I.D.A.Y was everywhere, he always looked ‘up’ to look at her and smiled, as if he was telling her a silent thank you for accepting Johnny.

It was his time to flinch a little because before he knew it, the entire floor was covered in the blue holographic layout of the city herself which made him smile. Before Johnny could apologise or think he screwed it up, which he hadn’t, he grinned and walked along the holographic city with a smile “Good imagery work there, Johnny. I'm impressed, it’s normally only been me that can operate it so smoothly. You're a quick learner” he found the stark tower and walked along the two blocks past the fantastic four tower and then crouched down to a small shop near the corner of one the streets “Now THIS right here serves the best cheeseburgers in the world. We simply cant be friends if you disagree” he smirked playfully then rose back to his feet, waving his own hand with his own device over the holographic scene making it disappear. Using his small ‘thrusters’, thankful he didn’t need his whole suit, he flew to the outside part of the roof, walking around the edge of the opening.

Tony looked down at Johnny, a smirk plastered upon his lips. “I would give you a hand up, but really it’ll just be another excuse to see that ass of yours and I don’t really want any onlookers seeing” it was a playful smirk he gave him, before using his stabilizers to jump and land in front of Johnny, trying not to get distracted by the thoughts of wanting to kiss him again, he wanted to take him to bed as well, but at the same time he wanted to wait, he didn’t want to rush things and it just be another one night stand, he knew already Johnny could never be that to him, that no matter what, Johnny would always be more than anything he had ever had or known before and that itself scared and excited the billionaire.

“Its mainly inside damage, the outside has sharper edges, it’s the inside that looks more like a shattered entry , but then again the outside is made more of a stronger material than the inside” he looked over at Johnny and smiled “I like it” he walked into his lab then dragged huge pieces of material in, not saying where they had come from and looked over to Johnny “ So, you just going to fuck me with those pretty eyes or help me out?” he winked and chuckled “Im wanting that cheeseburger so let get a move on”.

#johnny storm tony stark marvel roleplay au

49 notes · View notes

yuthoe · 4 years

Text

Practice Makes Permanent (PENTAGON: Yeo One)

Hello, friends! This fic is entirely inspired by this post made by Changgu SO LONG AGO, and it looked so cute that I couldn’t get it out of my head. I’m a big theatre geek--I love acting and I was even in an org for it in college, and was cast last minute for a film, too. it’s one of my biggest passions, and hearing news of changgu being in something rotten! made me extremely happy. i needed an excuse anyway to get into the show, and this is the perfect opportunity!

this one took sooooo long to finish. it’s been in my unfinished folder for the longest time, and i’m so glad i’m finally finished with it. changgu’s last performance as Nigel Bottom is today, so i really tried to wrap it up before then. nothing like a deadline to get your ass in gear, am i right lol. but i do apologize if this one seems messy.

btw, the title is something my director would tell us to keep in mind: practice doesn’t make you perfect, it makes you and your body remember what you’re doing, whether it’s correct or not. so you have to practice things in the correct way before it becomes a habit and you keep repeating things the wrong way.

PAIRING: Yeo One x reader. GENRE: fic, general. WARNINGS: N/A. WORD COUNT: 1,635.

---

You knock twice on the door of a dance studio in the company building, before opening it a smidge and peeking your head through, immediately spotting your boyfriend sitting cross-legged against the floor length mirror, his script for the upcoming show he’s in on his lap. Changgu turns to the door at the knocks and smiles wide when he sees you.

The door clicks closed behind you as you skip to where he’s sitting to give him a peck on the cheek. “Hello, handsome,” you greet as you put your messenger bag down on the floor near you; he murmurs a quiet hi as you settle down beside him. “So what did you ask me to come here for?”

He lifts one of your hands to his mouth and presses a soft kiss there. “Okay, so you know I was cast as Nigel Bottom in Something Rotten!, right?”

“Of course, and I’m exceedingly proud of you for landing the role,” you gush, leaning forward and smacking him on the lips. “I know you’ll do great in it.” You’ve seen the musical before, and it’s hilarious, so when Changgu told you the news, you couldn’t help but feel that playing Nigel would suit him to a T.

Changgu chuckles, grinning widely as he kisses you back. “Thank you, love. But yeah, I have a love interest in the play. And much of Nigel’s character development is helped forward by her, so… you know… if you’re okay with it… could you--,”

“Help you memorize your lines with Portia?” you ask with a smile. It’s been a while since you’d done any acting, apart from what’s necessary for your group’s comebacks. The last gig you could remember was for a short film two years ago that was screened during a film festival, and you’ve been itching to get in front of a camera again.

Your boyfriend shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s no big deal. “Only if you want to, though. I know you’ve been busy lately.” He levels you with a disarming smile and soft caramel eyes. “But I’d really appreciate it if you could help me.”

You had been ready to say yes to the request even before he gave you that look, so you gently cup his face, press a light kiss on his nose, and say, “I’m never too busy for you, love.”

***

“Okay,” Changgu says, sitting on the “bench” (three chairs you’d put in a neat row), sheaves of papers in his hands. “Act 1 Scene 8… action!” He taps his rolled-up script against his palm, quickly unfurls it again, and starts scribbling on the cover with an invisible pen.

You stand a little ways away, clutching a piece of fabric you found in the corner around your head and shoulders like a cloak. Your feet want to move, want to pace around a bit from nerves of seeing and possibly talking to Nigel.

Nigel groans in frustration. “Uggggh, no you can’t.” He sighs, makes to stand up, and you spur into action, walking straight into him as he begins to walk away. “Oh, apologies. Good day, mistress.” He avoids your eyes, defeated.

He begins to side-step to excuse himself when you say, “‘Good days were those when lit with love, till dusk of death did herald th’eternal night’.”

It puts him to a stop, and he finally looks at you properly. He recognizes the line and confusion is written plain on his face, obvious in the way his brows furrow. “Hey… I wrote that.”

“Yes, I know,” you say, trying to fight the smile growing on your face as you lower the “hood” of the cloak. The cloth precariously hangs on your shoulders as you pat your pockets for the paper you stuffed in one of them earlier. “I accidentally took this after our first encounter,” you fumble with the blank page and show it to him. “Your sonnet. It’s--it’s perfection.” You’d never read something so deeply sorrowful and yet yet incredibly hopeful.

“Really?” Nigel’s eyes had lit up when you took off your hood, and now he’s fiddling with his hands, embarrassed but flattered. “You thought it was… good?”

You clutch the paper to your chest. “It touched me in places I did not know could be touched.” Instantly, your eyes widen and you inwardly curse yourself for making it sound like something sexual. You try to backpedal. “Forgive me. Poetry is forbidden in my house, especially poems of earthly love.”

You take a step forward, lifting a hand in front of you like you’re reading a marquee. “OH, IS THERE NO PITY SITTING IN THE CLOUDS THAT SEES INTO THE BOTTOM OF MY GRIEF?!” you yell, and press a hand to your heart with an impassioned sigh.

Nigel points a finger at you, the play coming to him easily. “Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 6!”

You whip your head towards him, more excited now. “You’ve seen it?”

He nods, just as elated as you. “Six times! And you?”

“Eight! If my father knew, he would disown me,” you reply.

“My brother, too.”

“I adore Shakespeare.”

“Me too! I’ve got Comedy of Errors, first edition,” he says proudly.

You smile. “I’ve got ‘Sonnet No. 1’.” You hold up a finger. “Signed.”

Nigel’s jaw drops. “Wow.”

“I know,” you say, giggling. Talking about literature always makes you so excited that it’s taking all of your willpower to not jump around right now. Nigel chuckles with you, overjoyed to find someone just as in love with poetry as he is.

The laughter dies down after a while, replaced by embarrassed smiles from both of you. As you move to tuck a hair behind your ear, you remember the paper you’re still holding and the reason you sought him out in the first place.

So you take a breath and look at him, completely serious now. “I think you’re his equal--if not better.”

Nigel is already shaking his head. “No, no way.”

“Oh yes,” you insist. “Your sonnet has Shakespearean sophistication mixed with the complexity of Daniel Webster and the sensitivity of Samuel Daniel.” The analysis has been eating at you since you first read the poem, that the words just tumbled out of your mouth. You needed someone to talk to about it, and who better than the author himself?

Nigel looks at you fondly, mouth upturned in an amused smile that shows his teeth. “You really love poetry.”

You sigh, grinning so wide it feels like your face is going to split in two. “Oh, I do. I really, really do.”

“And cut!” Changgu says. “This is where the song comes in, so we’ll skip that.”

“That was a good run!” you say, pulling off the fabric and folding it into a loose square. “I mean, I’m a little rusty so I could use some more practice, but you were good!”

Changgu does a tiny fist pump and gestures to his script. “Can we do another scene?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, eager to try again. You didn’t think you’d miss acting this much, but Changgu just ignited that fire in you that absolutely loves being on stage. “What did you have in mind?”

***

Hours later finds you both in a cafe, you sitting across Changgu and exchanging notes from your mini-rehearsal earlier that afternoon. He nods in understanding as he highlights his lines on the open script, occasionally scribbling notes and tips in the margins. The serving of iced coffee sits half-empty beside him and you carefully sip your warm latte.

You like this, you think. You like practicing lines with Changgu, acting out scenes together, and delivering a whole new dynamic to your characters’ relationship. It makes you want to actually act with him on a legitimate project and, not for the first time, wish you auditioned for Something Rotten!, even as an ensemble character.

You hear the clack of Changgu capping his highlighter; it takes you out of the spiral of envy you were slowly tumbling into. He looks up at you, eyes soft and gazing at your face.

“Thank you for practicing with me earlier, Y/N,” he says, smiling.

His smile is literal sunlight and has you grinning back. “Anytime for you, Changgu,” you say with a giggle.

He chuckles and sits back on his chair with a sigh. You study him as he studies the highlighted pages.

“I wonder what it would be like if we worked on a project together,” he muses. “I bet it’d be so much fun. We could practice lines together, have loads of inside jokes…”

His eyes focus on you again. “And it would be an excuse to spend more time with you.”

It still amazes you sometimes, how much you two are on the same wavelength. Because of your packed schedules--comeback preparation for you, and musical rehearsals for Changgu--you hardly have time for each other lately. Truth be told, you miss him, and you know he misses you. Today is just an excuse to see each other after such a long time, and you’re just making the day count until you have free time again. And who knows when that’ll be?

You shake off the solemn vibe and say, “Okay. Next time, we audition for a musical together, yeah? Something… darker, maybe? More drama?”

Changgu grins at you conspiratorially. “Are you thinking romance? Or possibly a tragedy?”

You hum, tapping a finger on your chin in mock thought. “Why not both?”

“Oohh, Sweeney Todd? Chicago?” He starts humming the hook to “Cell Block Tango” while doing vogue-like moves, and it’s taking everything in you to not kiss him right now. You’re in a public place right now, and though there aren’t many people in the shop, public decency is still a thing.

No matter--you’ll make sure to shower his face in kisses later.

#pentagon #kdiarynet #uninet #pentagon yeo one #pentagon changgu #yeo one #yeo changgu #pentagon scenarios #pentagon imagine #pentagon yeo one scenario #pentagon changgu scenario #universe net #fic: yeo one #fic: not spicy #fic: mine #yeo changgu scenario #yeo one scenario #changgu scenario

8 notes · View notes

somniferouseyes · 3 years

Text

Home Sweet Prison - Thoughts on Silent Hill 4: The Room

Recently I had the pleasure of finally playing the fourth Silent Hill game after years of planning to get around to it. I just finished it last night after three lengthy play sessions over the past week. It definitely had its flaws but I couldn’t help but love the game and wanted to share some of my thoughts. Obvious spoilers below.

This is going to be a long one, so buckle up. First, a little background. If you really don’t care and just want my thoughts on the game, skip down to below the line of ‘=‘s.

It must have been around 7 years ago I played my first Silent Hill game. I had heard bits and pieces about the series for a long time and finally I managed to get my hands on a Playstation 2 along with a copy of Silent Hill 2. The TV at my mom’s place didn’t make much sense to play games on, as I had to share it with a family that didn’t care much for watching games, and so only allowed me to play for short bursts. Definitely not suitable for playing through a game where atmosphere is one of the key elements to the experience. So instead I absconded with my PS2 and the game to the ancient CRT TV in my bedroom at my dad’s place, where I spent the night at most a few times a week. The solitude and old television at night made for a near-perfect playing environment for a game like SH2. The sound effects of the menus and the vibrant red of the save screen casting a bloody shade over the walls of that room are memories permanently imprinted in the inside of my head.

I had a great time with the game and eventually picked up Silent Hill 3 as well, excited for another journey to that destitute, foggy town. Unfortunately, after playing through around a third of the game, I discovered my disc was scratched and couldn’t continue, despite my best attempts to clean and buff it out. At that point I didn’t have any sort of disposable income so buying another copy just didn’t seem worth the expense. So unfortunately, my journey with that game ended there.

I was aware that the fourth game, like the first three, was fairly highly regarded, so I kept a tab on it in the back of my mind for opportunities to play. This past fall, I finally got my chance. I jumped with excitement at seeing GOG offering the now-ancient (by video game standards) title and immediately purchased it, fully prepared to experience what I had been missing all this time. I booted it up several days after and played for around an hour. There was the gameplay I remembered in all its clunky glory. As well as the haunting sound design and twisted visuals. It was a great throwback, but for some reason I didn’t come back for more. I planned to play more but it sat on the digital shelf for months before I would finally touch it again, this time with my partner at my side to experience it along with me. At first I worried having another person there would take away from the atmosphere, which is what I always saw as the strongest part of the series. Thankfully this wasn’t really the case. Anyway, now after enough extra shit, my thoughts on the game itself.

================================================

What first struck me was how creative and intriguing I found the setting to be. I’ve known for a long time what it was, but actually playing it now I found it resonated with me in an unexpected way. I recently moved into my first non-college apartment and as I played I found myself sort of day-nightmaring about what it would be like to wake up one day and find myself trapped in my apartment, door chained shut, windows stuck, and no real communication to the outside world but a strange hole which has appeared in my bathroom wall. Letting myself sort of float in that headspace really got me immersed into the world and I really grew to appreciate the apartment as a sort of hub world in the game. A safe space from the horrors that lay on the other side of the hole. At least, temporarily safe as I would eventually discover. Throughout the first half of the game the apartment served as a resting point in between forays into the unforgiving outside world.

Then one time I came home to discover that the ceiling fan had mysteriously broken and smashed down upon the coffee table. Henry, our lovely protagonist, commented that the air felt heavier as though a weight was bearing down upon him. The in-game ramifications of this event didn’t become clear until a bit later, when I discovered that my health no longer regenerated when in the apartment. My one reliable form of healing had been taken away from me. And the game being a survival horror game, I very quickly felt its effect. Healing supplies were very limited and I found myself struggling to survive through various enemy encounters now where before I had done alright with occasional trips home to heal up. But this was only the beginning.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour or two later that upon entering the apartment I was greeted by a castrophony of crashing and banging coming from the living room. I entered and found the windows there shaking and slamming against their frames, as if by the manipulation of some violent poltergeist. Even so much as nearing them damaged me and despite the frustration at not being able to interact with them anymore without fear of taking lethal damage, it was one of the coolest things I’ve seen in a game for a while. From that point onward every few visits to the apartment, I was met with some new form of haunting in various parts of the few rooms I had. Eventually they crept in the way of the save point, forcing me to put myself at risk in order to even so much as save my game. It was a level of brutality that has become much less common in games. Thankless and cruel. But I loved seeing my safe prison twist and disfigure into a dangerous nightmare. For once in a piece of horror, whether game, book, or movie, I felt as if I was the one being haunted. This was my home and it was being slowly but surely wrenched from my hands. The hub easily became one of my favorite things about the game as a result.

My feelings about the rest of the game were a little more mixed. As is Silent Hill tradition, the controls were a clunky mess. I’m sure it was by design, as fumbling with them creates a tension in common interactions in the game not unlike the loss of coordination one might experience in a dream. As neat as that is as an artistic touch, from a gameplay standpoint it did sour the experience a bit when it came time to deal with enemies (FUCK the ghost victims).

On a related note, for some reason the devs thought it’d be a good idea to have the entire back half of the game be a goddamn escort mission. One where the quality of your performance affects the ending you get for some reason, no less (???). In general I liked Eileen as a character and appreciated the whole slow possession thing she had going on, but trying to maneuver through the cramped corridors of the game while also trying to move around her and make sure she didn’t get left behind with a bunch of enemies was a nightmare in and of itself. One of the worst things about the game, honestly. There were times I made sure she got left behind in areas just to give myself some room to breathe.

Enemies in general were a massive pain in the ass, at least until late in the game when I figured out how to deal with them efficiently. It didn’t help that their designs for the first third of the game were so bland. One of my favorite things about the series is seeing all the fucked up enemy designs and the speculation from the fanbase about what they might represent from a narrative standpoint, so I was super disappointed to find the first chunk of the game only feature zombie dogs, some ghosts, and pointy bats. Later on I discovered that the ghosts were actually Walter’s past victims who had lost all control and sense of reality after being slain for his ritual, which was a VERY cool detail I missed early on. It lent a whole new dimension to what would otherwise be boring generic ghost enemies. I just wish it had been conveyed better, because obviously I didn’t recognize any of them until Cynthia’s showed up during the second visit to Subway World (Yep. It’s actually called that.) It was a lot of fun seeing how each of the people I had seen murdered had unique abilities as ghosts meant to represent their personalities or behavior in life.

Once I hit the water prison, the game’s enemy design picked up though. I had seen images of the Twin Victims before, but it hadn’t prepared me for their sudden appearance in those cramped circular halls. In the past games and the beginning of this one it seemed like enemies usually had a sort of introductory cutscene showcasing a little of their personality or abilities, but for the Twin Victims? Nope, you get nothing. One second you’re in ignorant bliss of their existence, the next a two-headed shrouded figure is charging at you on its hands.

The rest of the enemies were all decent I think in my memory, though some better than others. I’m not sure who gave the okay on the decision for the Patient creatures in Hospital World to fucking let loose the most wild burps known to man whenever they take a hit, but it was simultaneously tension-ruining and laugh-inducing to knock one down the stairs by accident only to receive a musical number comprised solely of belches in response. Definitely a highlight of the experience, if an unintended one.

Since I don’t want to spend a ton of time on the areas themselves I’m gonna just throw together a little list here of quick opinions on them.

Subway World - Awful. Boring area, especially since this exact type of thing was done already in a fairly lengthy section in SH3. Fuck the dogs. Second visit wasn’t any better because being chased by Cynthia’s ghost was incredibly annoying, especially since you’re still just figuring out the mechanics of Eileen following you at this point.

Forest World - Refreshing after Subway World but still boring. Just a bunch of trees and annoying bats. Highlight was Jasper, my bro whose character arc consists of being scared of rocks, drinking some choccy milk, then burning to death. Second visit was a little better? I liked the torch mechanic and finding the body parts in the 5 wells was a creepy little sort of puzzle.

Water Prison World - One of my favorite areas. Really interesting design and home to one of the few true puzzles in the game, even if it is kind of explained to you outright. Also home to the debut of one of the creepiest enemies, Twin Victims. Second visit was kind of underwhelming and frustrating because of Eileen getting swarmed by them though.

Building World - Other than winning the Dumb Area Name of the Century award, this place was fine. Some areas were a bit too swarmed with enemies, but otherwise a pretty fun place to explore. Reminded me of past games in the series in terms of design. Second visit was ROUGH. I finished with no healing items and only a sliver of health remaining as I went into the boss fight, so I had to make sure I wasn’t hit once for its duration. Also what the fuck is up with the way Richard’s ghost moves? Thought my game was straight up glitching for a bit.

Apartment World - I think possibly my favorite area of the game. Just your classic Silent Hill apartment complex. Loads of rooms to explore and find keys for, etc. Second visit was exactly what I wanted. Just chaos throughout the building and creepy shit around every corner. Highlight for me was the chains on the superintendent’s door, for some reason. Just thought it was cool setpiece.

Hospital World - A pretty cool place overall, but too short and with no second visit it had me wishing there was more of it. A bit simplistic in design but I had fun checking out all the various rooms and the creepy shit inside them. Creepiest Shit in the Game award goes to the massive bloody head of Eileen that stares you down with eyes that can only be described as vibrating. Normally I’d be annoyed at Henry literally not reacting to it, but it somehow adds to its disturbing factor. Almost as if its some kind of meta-scare that Henry can’t even see.

As for the characters, I found them overall to be okay. Nothing special really. Henry is boring as hell and doesn’t really seem to react much to any of the crazy things happening around him, which makes me question his mental state a bit. Eileen is probably the best of the group in my eyes. She goes through a LOT during the game. I thought the possession mechanic with her was very cool and loved eventually finding out that her level of possession actually modifies her dialogue at various points in the game. Definitely a very nice touch. Walter is pretty meh. Just your ordinary insane serial killer really. Nothing to write home about. Didn’t really have a personality beyond “I’m bloodthirsty and I want my mommy.” Also, for someone who was trying to kill me, it really didn’t feel like his heart was all in it. He was easy to sidestep and he’d just sort of become disinterested and wander off. I was a bit underwhelmed to find the superintendent didn’t have any role really past the halfway point in the game. Where did he go? In one of the endings he’s confirmed to be dead but otherwise not mentioned at all. He got a lot of the spotlight in the first half so it really makes no sense.

The plot was pretty entertaining. Might be sacrilege to say so, but I think I preferred it to SH2′s despite its flaws, though it’s been a while since I played that so maybe I’ll have to give it another run-through sometime and see. I just had a lot of fun following Joseph’s notes and slowly learning about the Wishing House cult and Walter’s murders. I found myself guessing at what we could expect from Walter and his twisted ritual around every corner and how the tale would eventually unravel.

Upon tearing into it more closely my partner and I found a number of weird little issues and nitpicks with the plot that we couldn’t seem to find any explanation for. Was Walter ever really in prison? The game is deliberately vague about this detail, and I assume we’re meant to come up with our own conclusions, but it felt a bit strange to not give a more solid explanation, as other issues arise from the lack of one. If he did really kill himself in prison, how did he get out of his grave and perform the Ritual of the Holy Assumption? If that wasn’t him in prison, why would anyone bother digging up the grave at all? And either way, why mark the coffin with his number, 11/21? It doesn’t really make sense. Not quite related, but we’re also missing the why of Walter’s split manifestations. What about the ritual caused him to split off a child version of himself? It’s not exactly important to the plot’s progression, but it’d be nice to know if he fucked up some part of the ritual, or was punished for being a little shit by God or whatever.

Unfortunately my partner and I found the endings to all be pretty lame. I got the ‘21 Sacraments’ ending, which I guess is to be expected because I wasn’t very careful in taking care of Eileen due to the controls being a massive pain in the ass while also not really understanding how to purge the apartment of hauntings with candles. I understood the mechanic but literally couldn’t figure out where to place the candles to achieve the desired affect despite all my attempts to, which was a shame. I’m also still not entirely sure why the ending I got results in Walter possessing Henry’s body when I clearly followed the instructions to put a stop to his ritual, but the other endings aren’t all that much better. In the ‘Mother’ ending, apparently Eileen is somehow still possessed? Why? By who? No explanation is given! Always a good time.

Despite the nitpicks at the plot, the confusing decision to make most of the game an escort mission, and the messy Silent Hill game controls, I still had a fantastic time. I still felt just in love with the atmosphere, sound, and enemy design as I did back when I played SH2. I wish there were more in the series to experience, but it seems like my options aren’t all that great. The first game is kind of a dated mess visually, I’m not sure I have the heart to replay so much of the opening of the third game to allow myself to experience the entire thing, and apparently all the games after kind of suck in various ways.

I find myself leaving Silent Hill 4 with a renewed sense of sadness at the cancellation of PT and the grim hopes for the future of the series, but excited to maybe get back into playing more horror games. It’s a genre I used to be all over but eventually fell out of entirely, save for a few recent titles, such as Resident Evil VII.

I’d definitely recommend Silent Hill 4: The Room in a heartbeat to anyone who can stomach the clunky controls as well as some some dated graphics and game mechanics.

Goodbye for now, Silent Hill.

#silent hill 4 #silent hill spoilers #horror #silent hill 4 the room

2 notes · View notes

sodalitefully · 4 years

Text

Rose Petals & Petty Rivalries [GNR AU, Slaxl] 🌹🌹

The Hollywood Rose is a florist, run by Axl Rose and Izzy Stradlin (in lieu of the actual owner, who never seems to make an appearance), with Duff McKagan behind the wheel of the delivery truck. Axl likes working there; he likes the flowers, he likes the quiet, and he likes how things don’t ever change: business is slow but steady, customers are as predictable as ever… and the tattoo parlor next door is still a pain in his fucking ass. Don’t even get him fucking started about how it scares off the Rose’s customers by attracting seedy thugs, or how the owner is a fucking creep that Axl may or may not have history with.

Seriously, don’t: Izzy might actually gouge his eyes out with plant clippers if he has to hear Axl’s rant one more goddamn time.

Tracii Guns opened up the L.A. Guns tattoo parlor a few years ago, and he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon, no matter how much animosity he gets from the flowerboy next door. Business is going well for once; so well, in fact, that Tracii has decided it’s time to hire a second artist.

There’s just one problem with that: There’s only one tattoo artist in LA who is both up to Tracii’s standards and looking for a place to set up shop, and that person is Saul Hudson, better known as Slash, a talented, hotshot artist who also happens to have a rivalry with Tracii dating all the way back to their school days when they first upgraded from stick-and-pokes to cheap tattoo kits.

Tracii left his mark on more of LA’s reckless youth than Slash did in their teen years, but just barely and only because Slash was often distracted by anything from BMX to zookeeping. He may have gotten a slower start to his career, but Slash’s talent as an artist is now making him a hot commodity in the tattooing community – If Tracii doesn’t grab him now, someone else will hire him soon enough, and Tracii can’t risk that kind of competition.

So Tracii reaches out and Slash accepts the job offer, but that doesn’t mean their little rivalry has been resolved. Tracii tells Slash that there’s not enough space in the tiny shop for both of their work stations on street level, so he assigns Slash the basement. Slash actually really likes the space, once he gets it all cleared out and set up the way he likes (he calls it “the snakepit” in his head), but he’s not about to let Tracii get first pick of every customer who walks in the door. Whenever he’s not with a client, Slash is hovering around upstairs, putting his art up on the walls, greeting potential customers from behind the counter, and generally doing everything he can to poach Tracii’s clients. Tracii does not appreciate his efforts, but when he’s in the middle of an appointment there’s nothing he can do to stop him.

So now Tracii has to deal with competition from his own employee (though by no means is their feud one-sided…) on top of his pissy neighbor who somehow manages to give Tracii an impressive amount of attitude while also blatantly ignoring him. Of-fucking-couse things only get worse when the two meet.

Duff is new in town, fresh from Seattle, Washington, and working two jobs to pay for his shitty bug-infested studio apartment: by day, he drives the Hollywood Rose delivery van, and by night he waits tables at a steakhouse across town. So he’s not entirely caught up on the details of Axl and Tracii’s bad blood, and comes into work one morning eager to show off his brand new tattoo.

He got it from an artist that his buddy Steven recommended. “It’s just the place next door, Axl, have you gotten any of your tattoos done there?” An innocent question, perfectly reasonable, and yet –

“…Oh. You went there?” Poor Duff did nothing to deserve the look of sour disdain that Axl is serving.

"Uh. Yeah, I got it done in the basement, seemed like a pretty neat place. Why, what’s up?"

“Wait – in the basement?"

"Yeah, Ax, Tracii’s got a new hire,” Izzy threw in, still admiring Duff’s new ink – it was well done, he had to admit. "I’m surprised you have’t seen him around, he’s pretty, uh, distinctive. Big fluffy hair, likes jewelry and leather?"

“Izzy, that describes about half of Guns’ clientele."

“Nah, you’ll know him when you see him, trust me.” Duff bobbed his head in agreement.

“Hm. What’s his name?”

“Slash. He’s a nice guy, really talented –” Duff adds, but Axl has stopped listening, and started formulating a plan.

For the past two years, give or take, since L.A. Guns opened its doors, Axl has been making a point of going to any and all of Tracii’s competitors to get his ink done, without so mach as sparing a glance at the parlor next door (not counting the occasional glowering from behind slanted blinds, or fantasizing about ramming his car into Tracii’s trash bins in the shared parking lot). But that day, Axl marches right into L.A. Guns, meets Tracii dead in the eye and demands an appointment as soon as possible – with Slash.

Tracii gapes at him for a second. The shock of seeing Axl in his shop fades quickly, replaced by an expression that broadcasts Are You Fucking Kidding Me loudly enough to be picked up by any radio antenna in a 30-mile range.

“You can’t be serious Axl. Why don’t you go back to your fucking daffodils and leave me the fuck alone, hm?"

Axl arches a brow and opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by a tangle of curly hair and bare limbs that swoops in, shoves Tracii back, and tips forward over the countertop until his frizzy bangs are inches from Axl’s face, all in one fluid rush that Axl can barely follow.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you, Guns, so why don’t you scurry off and give us a minute to take care of business?” He doesn’t say it like a question, and he smirks when Tracii throws up his hands with a huff and stalks off to his station at the back of the room. Once he and Axl are granted the illusion of privacy, the smirk transforms into a dazzling grin, propped up on his fist as he – Slash, obviously (Axl realizes what Izzy meant when he described the man as “distinctive”) – leans forward on the tall counter, offering Axl his best “sorry about my crazy boss now how can I help you?” look.

“So, you’re interested in a consultation appointment?"

Axl belatedly realizes that he’s blushing. “Fluffy hair, likes jewelry and leather” was obviously an inadequate description; Izzy had failed to prepare Axl for Slash’s warm brown eyes, for the way the hoops in his ears peek out from his mass of soft-looking curls or the way his sleeveless shirt shows off the ink on his tanned arms... And that’s not to mention his beautifully infectious smile.

“Yeah,” Axl responds, his voice pitching up a bit against his will. “Maybe around this time tomorrow, if you’re available?"

Slash flips open a day planner and hovers his pen over tomorrow’s date. “How does tomorrow evening at 5:15 sound?"

“That would be great."

“And your name?"

“Axl Rose."

Slash pauses and glances down at Axl’s work clothes, lingering on the pin over his pocket with his first name and the shop logo. He looks back up at Axl with a bemused expression. “Axl Rose? Who are you, the mascot?"

“Hey!"

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Slash giggles then manages to compose himself. “Axl Rose at 5:15,” he pens the appointment in slanted script. “I didn’t mean to make fun… Did you do the arrangements in the front windows? They’re really beautiful."

“…Thank you.” As a tattooed florist with anger issues, Axl is in no position to stereotype, but he still wasn’t expecting to hear that from Slash. If he wasn’t blushing before, he certainly is now.

Tracii scoffs loudly behind Slash, and Axl’s pink flush is abruptly replaced by an angry, embarrassed red. He hunches his shoulders and mutters a thank you when Slash slides him business card with the appointment time scribbled on the back, then heads for the door as confidently as he can manage. This whole plan to piss Tracii off is going to backfire if he keeps getting flustered by the cute, overly-friendly new artist.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Slash calls after him cheerfully.

Slash watches him walk out the door and back towards the Rose, then finally turns around to meet Tracii’s incredulous scowl.

"You’re not really going to do a piece for him, are you?"

"Uh, yeah, why wouldn’t I?"

"’Cause he’s a Grade-A fucking asshole who’s had it out for me and my shop ever since I moved in."

Slash laughs dismissively. "You’re full of shit, Tracii, he seems like a real sweetheart to me."

Tracii snorts. "Axl Rose, a fucking sweetheart?”

“You jealous, Guns?”

“Hardly,” Tracii says with a scowl. “He’s going to hate the tattoo and then use it as an excuse to give me even more shit than he already does. It’ll be unbearable around here with him bitching all the time.”

“You mean like how you’re bitching right now? You don’t know shit,” Slash declares, “because Axl is going to love his new ink and you’re not going to hear a thing from him except when he’s beating down our door to beg me for more.”

I’m afraid my ideas are getting predictable, but I couldn’t fucking resist. Tagging @fan-with-issues for chatting w me about this au, and @insipidrhyme just because.

Shoutout to Tracii Guns for once again stepping in when I want to give a side character a hard time. You’re a good sport, Trace.

#yikes it's been a month since i last posted #sodafics #slaxl #slash #saul hudson #axl rose #gnr #guns n roses #hollywood rose #tracii guns #la guns #l.a. guns #florist x tattoo artist au #and you thought I couldn't get more cliche #i've been staring at this for too long so i guess it's time to post

84 notes · View notes

knking · 4 years

Text

Memory 16 : The King’s Secret

Part 3/6

Written by TK, Illustrated by me

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The injury was nothing noteworthy, really. Even a smidgeon of the flower’s potential was sufficient for a speedy and painless recovery, but that was besides the point. He couldn’t reveal his secret to Toriel, and discussing the matters at hand within the castle seemed too risky. The one place where they wouldn’t be looking for them would be their hideout around the garbage. After all, what kind of King would hang around junk with two weirdo bears?

“... So that’s it then. I will be King now, he’s no fucking use!” Ömen blurted, pacing around angrily around Asgore. “What kind of chance does he have if he can’t even pinch his attacker?”

“It’s not like that! I can still be King! I-I can defend myself!” Asgore paced around Ömen as well.

“Oh yeah, How? Are you gonna ask them politely to stop, and start giving out hugs?”

The only one not pacing around at that moment was Shaa, who seemed content to lay on a dirty mattress between the two restless monsters, indifferent to their bickering, but attentive nonetheless. It was his old mattress. It was in pretty bad shape, but it’d served him well for quite some time in the past. It was also the one thing in that room that didn’t stink of Ömen.

“Alright, look. If I’m King, I’ll still let you call the shots alright? You and Toriel can keep your room, and do all that other cute shit you guys do yeah? So? What do you say?”

“I can’t! They’d come after you instead of me! They’d lose trust in all of us! They’d… They’d wonder what happened for such a weird decision to take place! Rumors… They… They’ll spread rumors and they’ll all know! They-”

“What does it matter? I’ll kick all their asses!”

“You could get hurt, brother!” Asgore begged.

“NO! YOU could get hurt! I dedicated my whole life from the moment you freed us to make damn sure NOTHING would ever happen to you! Up there, down here, everywhere! I made a promise, that I intend to fucking keep!” Ömen had ceased pacing and now stood face-to-face inches away from the horned monster, as they both so affectionately traded spittle... and glares.

“I am not a child, I can take care of myself! I’m not King for no reason, I nearly killed you back at the Savannah!”

“And look at you now! You couldn’t even hurt a fly if you wanted to!”

“Why did you do it?” once more, the calm mediator stepped in to make sure things did not heat up too dramatically. Shaa stood up on his filthy, ragged mattress he called “his bed”. They both turned their heads towards him, but his gaze was elsewhere. Sometimes it was hard to tell what went on inside the polar bear’s own head, when his gaze was simply a deep homogenous blue.

“Can you stop doing that?” Ömen scoffed at his other half

“Only after you stop yelling.” Shaa bit back.

Ömen flared his noses in a disgruntled snort.

“...Ugh. Fine, whatever.” the greater half scoffed once more, arms crossed and facing away from his two siblings.

“Well then, why did you do it Asgore?”

“I… I don’t think I... “ he struggled to garner the strength to find the words appropriate to his feelings. Ironically, he found he was still capable of fighting himself. Not physically, but with his own thoughts, his own feelings. Incapable of scarring the flesh of others, he now turned to scarring his own mind. Mental scars can’t be healed by a fleur saignante.

“Well?” Shaa probed.

“I was so… Afraid. Afraid of hurting you guys again… Of hurting Toriel, or Sofia… Honoré. That night at the lions’ home, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for it. I’d lost control but… I could still see and hear. I saw what I did to you, to Toriel…” He’d now sat down in front of his thin white familiar. Arms resting at the knees and gazing down. Despite his best efforts and flowing golden mane, he did still resemble a child, even if unintentionally. In the end, he’d never truly experienced the golden years of his youth - that sacred bliss of innocence - having spent most of it on the run or in pain. Now that the cards had adjusted themselves into a neat house, that spark of naiveté flared within him, becoming a kindle.

“...that’s how I remembered your tattoos, your power, Shaa. For so long I’d wished for peace, I’d dreamed of home. I saw my true power that night with the lions, but it was pure violence... I wondered if I could only use that power to make dreams come true… So I focused on my dream of… Harmony. I pictured before me what those buttons you talked about would’ve looked like and… They just appeared… So I destroyed it, I destroyed my fight… Button.”

Both the bears simply listened unquestioning to his confession, his supplication for understanding, however, both still had difficulty in abstracting from what Asgore’d said. Perhaps it made sense that when describing the destruction of something as otherworldly and intangible as “your fight button”, the only person in the room to fully grasp it is the speaker. Ömen rose an eyebrow in incredulity, whilst Shaa merely pondered the consequential intricacies of such an act by his brother. It did not take long for him to reach his verdict.

“Perhaps, it IS best if Ömen becomes King.” He pronounced.

“Finally someone listens!” he laughed in satisfaction, slapping his stomach. “Alright, let’s go tell the others.”

“Wait! No, this can’t be the only way!” he promptly jumped back on his feet, placing himself between Ömen and the exit of their hideout. “Listen to me, I can do it, just listen!”

The grizzly had enough, his patience had been tried sufficiently. First, it was the walks, then it was the taunting, then the “button” thing. Now he still needs to listen to this? No, he’d had enough of it. He grabbed Asgore by his shoulders, and pressed his muzzle against his, a streak of seriousness finally washing over him

“No. Leave this to me. I must protect you.” he growled.

“What about our fight just ten minutes ago? What if I… Just dodged all the attackers, what if I-” he could not get his point across without being cut off by his large teddy of a brother.

“Do you think dodging will solve all your problems? DO YOU THINK I DIDN’T TRY THAT ALREADY?! IN THE ARENA?! IF I HAD STUCK TO THAT, SHAA WOULD BE DEAD AND SO WOULD YOU!!! I MUST PROTECT YOU, I MUST PROTECT YOU SHA-” his berating quickly turned into an incoherent rambling, so, the serene voice intruded again.

“That’s enough Ömen. It’s not your fault.”

The grip around Asgore was now a grapple more like, and small beads of tears had started to appear on the bear’s eyes before he finally let go and stumbled back, before sitting down on the mattress besides his brother. Shaa continued

“But the point still stands, I do not see how you would be able to defend yourself or those around you with your ability to fight removed entirely from your essence.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell Ömen - what if I don’t need to fight to defeat my opponents? What if I became so quick and dexterous they could not even place a finger on me? You saw my fight with Ömen! He was nearly out of breath by the time he smashed his face on your forcefield!” Asgore replied.

“You can’t.” the grizzly calmly stated, submerged in his process of calming down. “You don’t have the reflexes and swiftness to achieve that kind of perfection. That’s the stuff of machines, and you’re simply a monster.”

“I’m not giving up that easily!” Asgore stomped. Fists clenched. Though now clenching fists meant very little since, well, you’ve read far enough into the story to get it.

“What if you trained him to be a machine, brother?” Shaa proposed to his greater half.

“What ?”

“He’s no machine, but you are the Royal Engineer. If there is someone with mastery and knowledge of mechanics it’s you. What if instead of crafting a machine with nuts and bolts, you crafted a machine out of soul and flesh… That is, what if you could turn Asgore in an evasion machine. You’re also an expert brawler, those two skills could complement one another and help him.” Shaa explained.

“Well… I won’t say it is impossible because… I mean Asgore achieved the “impossible” already with his button shit, so… It’s not impossible, but it won’t be fucking easy.”

“I don’t need it to be easy.” Asgore defied him “I can do it.”

The air of the hideout grew still, the polar bear sensed that fiery glow of the boss monster’s soul in the pitch black of the surrounding ether. The grizzly could see the shimmer of the amber and azure in his brother’s eyes. Asgore might have been foolish, naive and somewhat ill-directed at times, but if there was one quality he undoubtedly possessed, it was determination.

“Then let’s go.” Ömen stood up.

PARTS : [1] - [2] - [3] - [4] - [5] - [6]

[INDEX]

#TOMR #Asgore #Ömen #Shaa

14 notes · View notes

carmenlire · 4 years

Text

Hands Tied

Part 5 of my Mafia AU!

read on ao3

Pain seizes through Alec and it’s only instinct, well-honed, that keeps him from crying out.

“Lightwood, Lightwood, Lightwood,” someone chastises him, tone equal parts mocking and gleeful. A grunt escapes him as his hair is suddenly caught in a vise grip and yanked back to expose his throat. He feels the sharp edge of a knife dig into the side of his neck, suppresses a shiver at the rivulet of blood he feels trickle into his collar. “You should have known your place.”

It takes a few moments for Alec to blink his eyes open. In those few moments, he catalogs his injuries, notes the bruised-- if not cracked-- ribs that make his breathing wretchedly difficult. He can only imagine what his face looks like as it shimmers between numbness and a burning chill. When he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, he tastes copper and his thigh is throbbing like it caught a particularly nasty kick.

When he finally does open his eyes, he finds the vision in the left is a little blurry but he’s still able to focus on his surroundings. The scene is a familiar one, though the asshole currently thinking he holds all the cards serves as a little variation.

“Aldertree,” Alec grits out and doesn’t try to stop the sneer of disdain at the sight of the man grinning like the cat who’s caught the canary.

Aldertree steps back and that allows Alec space enough to see the empty warehouse, the thousands of square feet of empty space. It looks dingy and just a little too contrived-- like something out of a movie scene, if he’s being honest with himself-- but the man before him has always liked to think of himself as a bit of a ringmaster.

From his periphery he sees a couple of men standing watch at the only entrance to the room. They both look bored, hands resting idly on their guns, and Alec wonders how long until the next step unfolds.

Aldertree sighs. Alec focuses his attention back on the fucking snake in front of him and raises a single brow. Just that little action hurts like a bitch but Alec’s long since learned that appearances will always matter most in tableaus like this. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Aldertree?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Aldertree takes a step back. All the better to peer down on me like I’m his goddamn peasant, Alec thinks to himself but he keeps his expression still.

Aldertree shakes his head slowly as he reaches into his coat and pulls out a handkerchief that he uses to wipe the blade of his knife. Once that’s done, he carefully folds the stained linen until the blood is hidden away and slips it back into his pocket with a moue of distaste. The knife disappears, as well.

“A little birdie told me that you had your eye on the eastern front of my territory,” Aldertree drawls as he looks at Alec with dark eyes.

They look almost warm in the dim light.

“That little birdie told me that you were had designs on the gambling dens in that neighborhood and, well, that accounts for almost thirty percent of my revenue.” Aldertree tuts. “We can’t have you cutting into my profits. Now can we, Lightwood?”

Alec’s face is blank as he simply asks, “And who is this informant of yours? Surely you’re not believing rumors from any pathetic little street runner who comes your way?”

“Oh no, Lightwood. My sources are always above reproach.” Like the pompous asshole he is, Aldertree gestures grandly behind him and it’s then that Alec sees a figure appear from the shadows like some sort of fucking phantom.

“Bane,” Alec greets coolly. “What are you doing here?”

Alec watches as Bane steps forward, looking like he’s stepping off a goddamn runway and not fastidiously avoiding the filth of the warehouse as he comes into the light. He grins at Alec, lethal around the corners.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Magnus starts and his gaze is unwavering on Alec’s. “You see, I know you’re a newcomer here, darling, but you should know well enough to leave things alone.”

“Things?”

“Yes, things like well-established territory lines.” Magnus moves closer until he’s standing just in front of Alec and then he leans down. His voice softens until it’s just a whisper, until Alec flicks his gaze over Magnus’s shoulder to see Aldertree straining to hear his next words. “Things like trying to usurp the best player in the game.”

Without warning, Magnus’s hand is on Alec’s neck, fingers tightening in a sinister threat. Alec swallows hard and watches the way Magnus’s eyes darken as he feels the ripple under his hand.

“I don’t see anything but a little boy trying to fill daddy’s shoes,” Alec forces out. “Asmodeus ran the empire but he's dead, Bane. He’s dead and all that’s left is you and a half dozen petty criminals playing at kings. I see an opportunity and the way things stand now, the whole fucking city’s ripe for the taking.”

Alec meets Magnus’s considering gaze. For all he cares, it’s just the two of them. Aldertree, standing behind Magnus, huffs in indignation but like this, with Magnus so close that Alec can feel his breath, it’s clear who the real players are.

“Is that so, darling?” Magnus’s mouth curves into the faintest smirk and it’s all the warning Alec gets before he’s suddenly forced up by the hand still lingering on his throat and shoved backwards. His chair topples loudly in the otherwise still room but Bane doesn't pay it any mind.

He trips over his feet but Magnus doesn’t let that deter him as he pushes Alec until his back makes painful contact with the nearest wall. He grunts in surprise and feels the ache in his already sore ribs before Magnus’s hold on him changes. He grabs a handful of Alec��s once pristine shirt and pulls him toward him before unceremoniously turning him and shoving his face into brick that’s at least a decade overdue for a good scrubbing.

“You fucker,” Alec spits out and gets nothing but a mocking laugh and a mouthful of gritty dust for his trouble.

Bane presses him against the wall and behind him Alec can hear the sounds of a gun’s safety being flipped off, the cool slide of a blade from its sheath.

“You should have run away when you had the chance,” Magnus whispers in Alec’s ear. He stills himself against a reaction, knows in the tone of Magnus’s voice that he felt his tremor anyway. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you about little Goldilocks who bit off more than she could chew?”

Relaxing against the damned uncomfortable brick, Alec sucks in a breath as he feels hands cover his own bound ones, as he feels rope give way. He closes his eyes, keeping his hands together and puts his trust in Magnus for the hundredth time.

In a voice too low to be overheard, Alec replies, “You know what they say, Bane. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

Magnus noses along the back of Alec’s neck for a split second-- Alec feeling the ghost of Magnus’s breath more than anything else-- before abruptly pulling back to look over his shoulder at the three men still in the room.

“You really worked Lightwood over, didn’t you, Aldertree?” Facing forward again, only Alec hears the sly aside muttered in silk tones, “But you do like it messy, don’t you, Alexander?”

He bites back a grin as Magnus’s attention is once more shifted back to Aldertree and his lackeys. His eyes are still closed as he feels the blunt edge of a knife slide along his palm before it disappears along his sleeve. With a last, covert sweep of a hand along his ass, Magnus steps back and everything in the room chills as Alec feels a gun rest on the back of his head and hears it cock back.

“Now, Bane,” comes Aldertree’s soothing voice. Or, what Alec imagines would be soothing if the smug undertone wasn’t clearly audible. “Are you sure that’s necessary? Don’t want the poor boy to piss himself.”

Magnus hums a little. “I’m surprised at you, Victor. I would’ve thought you’d want Lightwood’s head on a pike for the way he’d planned to cheat you. Never say you’re going soft in your old age.”

Aldertree’s laugh holds a bite as he moves closer, heels tapping along the cracked cement. “Don’t you worry about me, Bane. I’m just trying to be the voice of reason here. Are you sure he doesn’t hold any further information that could be of use?”

“Good point.” Magnus nudges Alec with the gun and Alec can hear the smirk in his voice as he asks, “Well, Lightwood? Maybe if you’re a good boy, we’ll let you leave this place alive.”

Alec barks out a laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

His laughter is cut off quickly as Aldertree lunges forward. From the corner of his eye, Alec sees Magnus step back and watch the proceedings calmly as Aldertree turns Alec until he has a clear angle and then Alec’s served with a neat right cross. His vision wavers and it takes everything he has to keep his cool and not break character.

It wouldn’t do to ruin the scene before its time.

Alec doesn’t react to the punch, just lets himself be hauled back up until Aldertree’s snarling face appears. “I think you need to learn some respect, Lightwood. It’s been less than a year since Robert died and I think I speak for everyone when I say, we’ve allowed you to play long enough.”

It takes more effort than it should to straighten and Alec’s breath is forced as he sneers. “And who the fuck are you to teach me some respect? You’re nothing but a pathetic snake of a man who makes his men do his bidding. That’s you’re problem, Aldertree. You don’t know how to dirty your hands anymore. You’re a goddamn coward.”

“You little bitch,” Aldertree grits out but his voice dies before he can spew anymore vitriolic bullshit.

He stares at Alec, stunned, and Alec just grins. His eyes glitter in the low light as he twists the hilt of his knife.

Aldertree groans, low and pained, but it’s drowned out by two neat gunshots. Alec looks over Aldertree’s slumped form to see Magnus studying the two lackeys on the ground as he tucks his revolver back into his waistband.

“Thanks, babe.”

Magnus raises a brow. “No problem, babe,” he replies dryly.

Alec turns back to look at Aldertree and his shock is both palpable and so goddamn satisfying.

“What,” he mutters. “How?”

Alec pulls the knife out of Aldertree’s gut, carelessly wiping the blood on Aldertree’s shoulder. With his free hand, he grabs Aldertree’s chin and forces eye contact. “Bane came to you with news of my planned takeover. Like a little lamb, you believed him and the two of you, in turn, made a plan to capture me. You wanted to show me a lesson.”

Alec leans down until there’s nothing in Aldertree’s sight but him and the evidence that he’s been beat. “But here’s the thing,” Alec continues softly. “Like the dumb little bitch you are, Magnus played you. Magnus and I are a team, Aldertree. We devised our own plan and with you out of the way, that frees up the entire east side of the city. Magnus and I thank you for your sacrifice.”

Without another word, Alec straightens and wraps a hand in Aldertree’s hair, coming round until he’s standing behind him. He yanks Aldertree’s head back and brings his lips to Aldertree’s ears as he makes eye contact with Magnus. “How does it feel to know you’re a dead man, Aldertree?”

It takes some effort but Aldertree finally gets out, “How does nobody know about this alliance of yours? Everyone thinks you and Bane are rivals.”

Magnus watches the scene in front of him with a bemused look. “Oh, Victor,” he sighs. “This job doesn’t allow for any weaknesses. Alexander and I protect each other and the best way to do that is to minimize the other’s role in our lives. You should know better than anyone else what happens when vulnerabilities are exposed.”

“Don’t you dare, Bane,” Aldertree snarls. “You keep her name out of your filthy fucking mouth--”

Magnus’s gaze hardens, though his posture doesn’t tense as he looks at Aldertree like a particularly pitiful bug under his microscope. “You should be happy, Aldertree. You’ll join your lost love soon enough.” He smiles but it’s bitter. “While it’s unfortunate that you won’t be leaving in the same condition you left my poor Alexander, rest well in knowing that dead men know no recompense.”

“The Lightwoods send their regards,” Alec murmurs and then he’s bringing the knife up to Aldertree’s throat and slitting it in a gruesome parody of a smile.

Tossing Aldertree to the grounds, where he lays unmoving, if not silent, Alec looks up at Magnus. “You really let him do whatever the fuck he wanted?”

Magnus frowns a little as he nears Alec and takes out his own handkerchief to dab at his split lip, making a soothing sound when he dabs a little to hard and Alec hisses. “We both knew what this plan involved, Alexander. We had to sell it and I couldn’t very well do that if I was fluttering around you like a worried aunt. Besides,” Magnus utters with a smirk that has Alec preemptively rolling his eyes. “You do like it rough, darling.”

Alec scoffs and finally lets his strings cut. Magnus catches him as he almost doubles over from the aches ringing out all over his body. “At least everything went according to plan.”

“Our respective territories are considerably larger and our profits will both increase dramatically. All in a day’s work. Wouldn’t you agree, darling?”

Magnus’s voice is much too chipper for the way Alec feels like he’s been put through a meat grinder. Making some noise of agreement, Alec lets his eyes close as Magnus starts them toward the exit.

“You’re sure he was only accompanied by two men. There’s no one else standing guard outside or in the vicinity.”

“No, Aldertree didn’t trust most of his men with such a delicate operation. He wanted everything kept hush hush so that when your men tried to find the truth, there wouldn’t be anyone to tell. We’ve killed the only three people who knew of this little scheme-- and who might have had an inkling about us.”

“Good,” Alec mutters and he groans a little in pain as he’s jostled at the front door. Magnus stops him and just looks at him for a long moment.

Alec’s just set to ask him what’s wrong when Magnus brings him closer with gentle hands on his jaw and brings him down for a soft kiss. It lasts barely a second and when they break apart, Magnus’s expression is more open than Alec’s ever seen it.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt, Alexander.”

Alec laughs, just a little, more of a huff of air than anything else. “Well, I don’t like being hurt so it looks like we’re in agreement there.”

“I’m serious,” Magnus says and it stills Alec. “I had to watch Aldertree and his men beat you into submission without flinching and I think it might just have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It took everything I had not to rip Aldertree limb from limb for even daring to lay a hand on you.”

“I’m sorry,” Alec offers helplessly but he’s cut off before he can add anything else.

“I don’t need you to be sorry, Alec. This is our life and we both know what that means. I just wish--” Magnus breaks off, frustrated and Alec takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around Magnus and pull him closer for a heartbeat or several.

“Sometimes I wish this wasn’t our life,” Alec murmurs and he feels Magnus still against him. “Sometimes I wish I was just Alec and you were just Magnus and we were free to do whatever we goddamn liked. There’s something alluring about simplicity, isn’t there?”

Magnus is silent for a long moment before he sighs, melting in Alec for a minute before he pulls back to smile up at him. “Perhaps,” he allows. “But we both know we’d be bored to tears if we were just Magnus and Alec. The fact of the matter is, Alexander, that I want you anyway I can have you. If that means, in between dodging bullets and making underhanded deals, then so be it.”

Alec brushes his lips over Magnus’s forehead and breathes him in. “You have me, Magnus. For however long you like.”

All that escapes Magnus is a quiet but fervent, “Good.”

Alec smiles a little as Magnus reaches for the door. “I assume your car is waiting outside?”

With a quiet scoff, Magnus replies, “Of course it is, darling. I’m taking you back to mine so I can make sure you take the proper time to recover. I’m sure you can spare a night or two. Just tell Jack that you needed some alone time. He knows how broody you can get.”

Alec’s laughing a little as Magnus pulls back the door but it quickly turns into a squint against the harsh sunlight. He’s just about to walk outside when he hears someone call his name and he freezes, Magnus still behind the open door with a hand on Alec’s arm.

“Alec?”

Looking up, the first thing he sees is Magnus’s unmarked car up the block. His focus is immediately captured by his brother just a few meters from him, however, and Alec rapidly blinks. “Jace? What the hell are you doing here?”

“What do you think? Your driver reported that you never came out of the club and when we checked video surveillance, we saw you get abducted by that bastard Aldertree.”

Alec feels Magnus fall away like a ghost through shadows and it takes considerably more effort than it should for Alec to keep from looking over his shoulder as his boyfriend vanishes between one heartbeat and the next.

Shaking his head a little to clear it and then grimacing as it wakes up the headache that’s been tap dancing on his temples for some time now, Alec just nods grimly. “Aldertree did kidnap me-- something about wanting my territory-- but don’t worry, Jace. I took care of him.”

Jace comes to stand just in front of Alec, running critical eyes over his injuries before summarily dismissing them. They’ve both had worse.

He ducks past Alec and takes in the scene on the warehouse floor, whistling lowly. “Jesus Christ, you sure did a number on them.” He rakes assessing eyes over Alec. “Mighty impressive for your condition, bro.”

Shrugging uncomfortably, Alec dodges Jace’s piercing gaze. “You know how it is.” He gestures vaguely. “Adrenaline and all that shit. With Aldertree gone, though, our holdings have just increased.”

Jace hums, pleased. “Nice.”

Alec shuffles from one foot to the other. Jace ignores him for a few long moments, taking in the scene with the eye of a detective before turning back to his brother.

“Well, what’s done is done. Let’s get you home where you can take it easy for a few days and I’ll send a few men over here to clean everything up.”

Alec doesn’t respond, simply nods and turns toward the door. He doesn’t look back, just makes a beeline for his car idling in front of the building.

Jace follows him closely but just as he reaches the steel door, he pauses. He watches the driver hold open the door as his brother climbs into the back seat. With Alec safely in the car, Jace looks over his shoulder, peering into the shadows that linger along the edge of the warehouse.

He represses a shiver as he carefully runs his gaze from corner to corner.

He could swear he feels eyes on him as he leaves the warehouse, wonders to himself if what he sees is really all there is or if something’s hiding in plain sight.

Something tells him that that not everything is as it seems and Jace learned long ago to never ignore his gut.

As he turns back to his brother, Jace doesn’t falter as he hears footsteps echoing across cement, cheerful whistling following in their wake as they fade away.

#my writing #hands tied #malec fic #malec au

26 notes · View notes