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bby-deerling · 4 months

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crackerbox palace (zoro x reader)

dedicated to the anon who wanted to see artist!reader joining the crew! i got a bit carried away, so this one's a bit longer! as always, this can be read standalone, but is part of my larger zoro x artist!reader continuity.

ft. fem!reader, artist!reader, fluff, strawhat antics, sanji being sanji, a bit of canon divergence to allow for reader to join the crew

wc: 1.8k masterlist

Shortly after the events at the Baratie, the Merry docks for a brief supply restock at a small island nearby. With Zoro grievously injured, Nami sends Luffy and Usopp out to find a proper doctor; when they return with a painter in tow, she sighs, not sure why she expected them to heed her directions in the first place.

The allure of a quick portrait painting by a street vendor was too tempting for Luffy and Usopp to resist, and you jumped at the opportunity for some customers, and some good company. Rambling about your dream to be a painter renowned enough to leave a permanent mark on history gets your muses excited, and they shared their own dreams in turn.

“Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to paint the future King of the Pirates! I wish I could capture the rest of your journey!” you gushed, grin plastered across your face as you spun around your canvas to show Luffy your first finished piece. Stars in his eyes, he praised your work with excitement, and nearly ruined the painting as he eagerly inspected it; however, as you motioned Usopp to sit take his place and sit for his portrait, you picked up on a faint sense of gears turning in the rubber boy’s head as he watches you.

As you worked, putting more effort than usual into steadying your wrists on account of how hard the two of them were making you laugh, movement blurring in your peripheral vision breaks your focus—a petty thief was reaching for the great “Captain” Usopp’s wallet. His slick fingers were fast, but you were quicker to the draw, brushes clattering on the ground and paint streaking across your clothes as you reached for one of your throwing knives, launching the blade straight through his hand and pinning it to the ground. The three of you quickly ran the pickpocket off, and after some lively conversation, you returned to your task of capturing Usopp’s likeness, refining the forms of the highlights and shadows on his face.

“How come you jumped in to help us?” the sniper asked, eyeing you curiously while trying not to move too much.

“When I paint someone, I feel like I leave a piece of my soul in the work. I feel a connection with the people I paint—I know we don’t know each other well, but I feel a responsibility to take care of my friends.” you said, sheepish grin on your face and an echo of loneliness in your voice. Pink flush tickled your cheeks, embarrassed at getting attached so quickly to the exuberant strangers that had captivated you all afternoon.

“Since we’re friends now, join my crew!” Luffy said decisively, his thoughtful expression from before replaced with a wide grin.

“Luffy, are you sure?” Usopp whispered hesitantly, grabbing onto his captain’s shoulder as he sized you up.

“’Course I am!” he exclaimed, throwing his rubbery arm around your shoulders, prompting you to grin and stow your materials in your travel easel. Luffy laughed at your eagerness—he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t sure you were going to accept, after all.

“C’mon, show me to the ship, Captain!” you say excitedly once you click the final latch on your pochade box, buzzing and nearly vibrating with the promise of abandoning a stagnant downward spiral for an opportunity to chase your wildest dreams.

And it was as simple as that; here you were, boarding the Merry after a brief detour to pack some essential belongings. Itching to travel, sail, and feel the thrill of the sea breeze through your hair, there are no reservations as you step onto the deck; one life was all you had, and Luffy’s energy had thoroughly convinced you that from this point forward, every single moment would be full of meaning, purpose, and happiness—the true kind, that feeds one’s soul with a hearty and nourishing meal.

“Hope you don’t mind being put on first aid duty for a while—we don’t have a doctor yet.” Nami says after a brief introduction, shooting a glare at an oblivious Luffy. “Zoro’s pretty beat up.” she clarifies, handing you supplies as she motions her head towards the injured swordsman leaning against the railing.

Giving her a gracious smile as she fills your arms with bandages and salves, you nod and assure her it’s no problem at all, feeling a sense to prove yourself and get into the navigator’s good graces.

“You’ll love her, Zoro! She fights with two knives at once!” Usopp exclaims as he and Luffy make fake stabbing motions at each other, which quickly devolves into play-fighting before Nami scolds them and gives them something productive to do, confirming your intuition was correct in assuming that she was the one who kept things running smoothly.

Zoro simply sighs, barely paying you a passing glance; one could hardly blame him as his steely gaze fixes ahead at nothing, fighting to not drift out of consciousness. Crouching in front of him, you give him a gentle smile and introduce yourself; he gives you a curt nod in return, and you start to clean his gash. Turning your attention from his clenched jaw, tanned skin, and short, messy mint green hair, focused doe-eyes are glued to the messy, bloody, oozing injury that looks like it had already been ripped back open a few times.

“I heard from Luffy that you got this wound from Dracule Mihawk…” you say hesitantly as you work, curious but not wanting to pry too deeply. His stare is cautious, but a glint in his eyes urges you to continue your thought. A spark lights behind your gaze as your lips curl upward. “It’s exciting, isn’t it? That he sees your potential? That means you’re really gonna do it—you’re gonna be the World’s Strongest Swordsman!”

Upon hearing your words, a slight smile forms on his face and you truly look at him for the first time. Sunset casts a soft orange light, warm and comforting, over his tired face; you feel your heart stutter as you smile back at him.

“Makes every bit of the pain worth it.” he replies, letting his grin grow larger until another dab of anti-septic makes him cringe again. Remnants of a smile still on your face, you let your bottom lip pout apologetically, silently sympathizing with his discomfort.

“I know it hurts, but it looks a bit infected—we gotta make sure we keep this clean.” you mumble, voice trailing off as you become intently focused on tending to the areas of his wound that were starting to secrete a mystery yellow liquid.

Though the task at hand was less than appetizing, the tantalizing scent of something brewing in the ship’s kitchen intermingles with the scent of chemicals and sea salt in the air; as if on cue, a pair of suave footsteps nearly dances beside you, breaking your concentration and making you huff in annoyance.

“What goddess has taken such pity on a man such as me on this lovely evening? Does this gorgeous creature have a name she could—”

“We know each other, Sanji.” you say dryly, only sparing him a momentary glance before going back to cleaning Zoro’s wounds as he laid back against the railing of the Merry. The cook is shocked enough by your words to pause his professions of adoration and scrutinize you, scanning each of your features intently to try to place your face. Eventually, a wave of recognition washes over his face, light sparking in his eyes at the successfully recovered memory.

“Of course we do,sunshine.” he says after a long pause, before informing you and the swordsman that dinner would be ready in a few minutes. You nod and go back to your job of patching up Zoro, and Sanji finds himself lighting a cigarette and lurking behind the mast to observe you and eavesdrop on your conversation with the swordsman.

“What was that about?” Zoro asks curiously, wincing as you dab his oozing flesh with more anti-septic, inspecting it carefully before finally reaching for a roll of bandages.

“Met him at the restaurant a few years ago. Went with my family—they were regulars, but they only brought me once in a blue moon.” you reply, biting the inside of your cheeks, deep in focus.

“He make a pass at you?” he asks with a smirk that only grows wider when you giggle mirthfully in return.

“’Course he did, have you met him? He made plenty of moves on my mother too. My brother would always tease her and say Sanji was her little boyfriend.” you say, smiling up at the swordsman; you were already embedding your way under his skin, and making jokes at the dopey lovesick cook’s expense only endeared you to him more.

Zoro throws his head back and laughs, and you end up in a giggling fit, leaving the still eavesdropping Sanji with his jaw agape and feeling like he was in a fever dream, shocked at how quickly you were getting on the stoic swordsman’s good side.

“Stick around me and I’ll keep him out of your hair for you.” he says, ruffling your hair as you tie the last of his bandages. Your grin spreads from ear to ear, cheeks flushed pink, and Sanji swears your eyes are sparkling as they meet Zoro’s—if he wasn’t so jealous, he might swoon at such a display of chemistry.

Instead, he lets the monster in his chest, green as the mosshead’s hair, take over, and bitterly interrupts the sweet moment, informing the two of you that dinner was ready to be plated.

The swordsman nods in acknowledgement and pushes himself up onto his feet; reaching his hand out, he offers you his hand as if you were the one injured, confident grin on his face as you take it and he pulls you up.

“You’re a painter right? Do ya’ draw too?” he asks, walking beside you towards the kitchen, sun nearly sinking behind the horizon.

“I do—I’m better with paints, but it’s a fundamental skill so I practice often.” you reply as you take a seat next to him at the dinner table, giving the rest of your new crewmates a smile and wave.

“That so…I’ve got a few ideas for some cool poses.” he says, getting up to demonstrate one, putting one hand on his hip and holding his other sword up high above his head. The sight is captivating to you, and goofy to the rest of the crew, who start laughing and calling him a dork—Usopp even tosses a dinner roll in his direction, causing Sanji to bark at him and force him to eat it off the floor.

Taking a bite of your mouthwatering baked salmon, the explosion of flavors on your tongue causes a dopey grin erupt on your face; your heart was full and brimming with the happiness and bliss of having new friends, delicious food, and for the first time in a long time, hope of an optimistic future.

Having a new favorite crewmate felt nice too.

#one piece x reader #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro x you #zoro x y/n #roronoa zoro x y/n #one piece scenario #one piece fanfiction #x reader #i stitched together like 4 wips that i abandoned to finally make this into a cohesive fic hehe

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anto-pops · 1 year

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To the Victor Go the Spoils - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Since Sebastian can't hold himself accountable and show up to Quidditch practice, Imelda takes matters into her own hands and bans him from being around you until the upcoming game is finished. It's something easier said than done.

Alternatively summarized as you and Sebastian having a terrible time in lieu of Imelda's no-sex-ban, but good things always come to those who wait.

Based on a request I received! Hope you like it anon :)

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, explicit content

Full fic can be found here on Ao3!

It’s not like you couldn’t tell Sebastian was overwhelmed. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, despite his efforts to always hide them. A boggart could mirror him in a flash and betray his fears and his thoughts, but even then you would know what to expect beforehand, because you knew him better than anyone.

Between classes, the new Quidditch season, and his new goal of becoming an Auror, Sebastian felt like he was being pulled in a thousand different directions all at once. Realistically, it shouldn’t be so difficult for him to prioritize one task at a time. That’s how easy it would be to solve his problems; he only needed to slow down and take a breath before diving back into the bottomless workload. But it didn’t matter what he told himself or how he rationalized everything– he was still stressed and on the verge of tearing his hair out.

You watched as Sebastian pushed around a sausage on his plate, his breakfast mostly untouched while he warred with the thoughts in his head.

“You should eat,” chimed Ominis from across the table, tired of listening to the scrape of Sebastian’s fork on the platter. “Don’t you have Quidditch practice in an hour? You’ll need the energy.”

“Not really hungry,” Sebastian replied monotonously, and you frowned.

Popping your last piece of sliced fruit in your mouth, you jabbed at Sebastian’s sausage with your fork and held it up to his lips imploringly. “Eat. He’s right, you’ll be useless out there if you’re running on fumes.”

Pressing the greasy meat to Sebastian’s freckled lips garnered a small smile from him, but that was it. He gingerly pushed your hand away and shook his head, letting his chin fall against his palm with a sigh. “Sorry darling, really though. I think I’ll throw up if I try at this point.”

Grumbling something about ‘taking better care of himself’, your trio’s attention was then grabbed by the sound of the Great Hall doors being thrown open. The fact that Imelda had the strength to actually make the monstrous slabs of wood ricochet off the wall was terrifying, but the feeling paled in comparison to the fear you felt when your eyes landed on her furious expression.

“Sallow!” she bellowed over the chatter in the dining room, and a hush seemed to fall over the crowd. “Where the hell have you been?”

Sebastian’s back was to the doorway, but you watched as his eyes pinched shut at the sound of the Quidditch captain’s voice. Merlin’s beard– this was just what he didn’t need. Ominis fought a smile at the sound of Imelda stomping over to where you were seated, and when she came to stop behind you, you cast a pleading look over your shoulder at her.

“Imelda, he’s not feeling great today–”

“Bullshit,” she cut you off, and your mouth snapped shut with an audible crack. “He’s not feeling great but he still has time to run around school instead of coming to practice? I think not. Get your ass up, Sebastian, I’m not letting you miss a third day.”

His dark eyes made a full circle in his skull, but he sighed, already resigned to his fate. There was no arguing with Imelda when she was in one of her moods, and he knew he’d already done enough to piss her off by blowing off Quidditch practice two days in a row. He wouldn’t put it past her to kick him off the team entirely if he started to grouse.

Sebastian shot you a smile as he stood from his seat, although it kind of looked more like a grimace. Before he could move to head for the doors, he watched as Imelda snatched the fork you’d skewered his sausage with. She spun towards him, her free hand flying to his face in a split second, and when her fingers pinched his nose and jerked his head up, Sebastian’s mouth was left open long enough for his Captain to shove the food between his lips.

“Mmph–” the sausage hung limp in Sebastian’s slack mouth, his eyes widening at the brazen action, but Imelda only nodded once, pleased with her handy work.

“There. Eat that on the way. And you,” she pointed a crooked finger at you, making you pause. “Unless you’re going to drag Sallow’s lazy ass to the field every day this week, stay away from him. He’s useless to me if he can’t play right and something tells me you’re a bigger distraction than you are a help.”

An indignant sound resonated from your throat, but before you could formulate a retort, Imelda had spun on her heel and was dragging Sebastian out of the Great Hall by the fabric of his cloak. He cast one last irritated glance at you over his shoulder, sausage link perched between his lips, before he disappeared completely from sight, and you scoffed.

“Unbelievable. Who the hell does she think she is?”

It was a mostly rhetorical question, but Ominis chuckled across from you and scraped his remaining breakfast into a pile before answering. “She is the Captain of the team. Honestly I’m surprised it took her this long to drag Sebastian back to the field. He has been rather… preoccupied, recently.”

Exasperated, you exclaimed, “Yeah, with school! She can’t seriously think I’m to blame for him blowing off practice. Sebastian is going to do what he wants to do, we both know that.”

Ominis shrugged before spooning his last bite into his mouth, choosing his words carefully as he chewed and swallowed. “True. However, you have to admit he has spent every waking minute of his free time this week with you. It’s not a bad thing, don’t get me wrong, but we also know Sebastian will always prioritize what he likes to do over what he should do.”

It frustrated you to admit it, but Ominis had a point. Whatever, if Imelda wanted Sebastian to herself to focus on Quidditch, then so be it. The big game against Gryffindor was in three days. You could keep your distance from Sebastian for that long, for his sake and maybe for yours as well. It pained you to admit it, but you had been putting off studying for your exams, preferring to get tangled in the sheets with Sebastian late at night and canoodle like teenagers.

Convinced the rest of the day would be boring and slow moving, you sighed and rose from your seat. “Come on, let’s head to the library. Might as well spend the next three days catching up on some reading.”

Ominis neatly organized his cutlery on his plate before plucking his wand from the table and standing. “That’s the spirit. I wouldn’t worry too much, three days is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

For some reason, you didn’t believe him.

—

Imelda made good on her word to keep Sebastian away from you in his free time. Every time you saw him around school he was wearing his Quidditch uniform, grass and dirt stains accumulating on his knees and elbows with each passing hour. He looked beyond haggard, but he seemed to be in good enough spirits when you finally sat beside him in charms class a day later. It was the first chance you’d been given to talk with him since the other morning, and Sebastian seemed as eager to be around you as you were to be beside him.

“Hey stranger,” he whispered with a smile as Professor Ronan started on a tangent about responsible wand usage.

Your grin was ear splitting, “Hey yourself. How has practice been going?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, flipping through his textbook to give the appearance of following along in the lesson. “As good as it can be, I guess. Imelda’s new trials are brutal but effective. I like to think we’ll crush Gryffindor to dust come this weekend.”

“That’s good. Is she still keeping you on a short leash?”

At that, Sebastian’s face fell, his brows slamming down in disbelief. “You have no idea. Do you know what she told me after assaulting me with that sausage the other day? She said ‘no hanky-panky until we win the game’. Apparently my having sex is a distraction and she won’t have any of it.”

Sebastian groaned under his breath when you lifted your hand to muffle your laughter. “Wow, she isn’t messing around this time. Did she put you in a chastity belt or something?”

“Thank fucking Merlin she hasn’t, but I wouldn’t put it past her. It’s the most counter productive thing I’ve ever heard in my life. How is not having sex going to win us the game? If anything it’s detrimental to my performance– I’m all strung out and whiny.”

“Honestly, I think it’s just her own unique form of punishment for skipping practice,” you murmured. “Better sort out your time management skills fast, who knows what she’ll do in the future if you start slacking off again.”

Before he could reply, Professor Ronan was instructing the class to pair up and practice a new spell. Free from Imelda’s piercing gaze for one blessed hour, Sebastian didn’t hesitate to place his hand on your shoulder, silently claiming you as his partner.

The rest of class breezed by fairly quickly, and afterwards when everyone had been dismissed to head out to lunch, you found yourself being led down a corridor into a dark, dusty broom closet by Sebastian. You felt your boyfriend’s hands on your waist as he guided you backwards against the wall, and then his lips were on yours, chasing away the hollow feeling that had existed in your chest since he’d been kidnapped from the Great Hall the day prior.

It was frantic and desperate, both of you trying in vain to taste as much of the other as possible. Your hands were everywhere; in his hair, scratching down his chest, then underneath the pressed fabric of his dress shirt as your fingers danced across his burning skin. Sebastian’s tongue delved deep in your mouth, swallowing the tiny mewls his kisses pulled from you with deep rooted pride. When his knee nestled itself in between your spread legs and pressed against your core, you couldn’t help but moan loudly at the sensation, wanting instantly to feel more of him after one mere day of trying not to be a distraction.

As Sebastian’s hand came up to undo the top button of your blouse, light suddenly flooded the dirty closet, sending the two of you scurrying apart flushed and panting.

“Well well, my little bird was right. You were being naughty. Tsk tsk, Sallow.” Imelda had her hands firmly planted on her hips, an utterly devilish smile playing on her lips. “Out you go, dear. Sebastian needs to eat lunch and then it’s straight to the Quidditch pitch for practice.”

“For fuck’s sake, Reyes. Is nothing sacred anymore?” Sebastian’s hands raked through his disheveled hair, looking like the textbook definition of ‘frazzled’ and ‘horny’.

“My rules are sacred, and you damn near broke the most important one. You seriously can’t keep it in your pants for two more days? It’s not like I’m asking you to cut off your manhood and leave it with her. It’s just pathetic at this point.”

An elaborate string of profanities fell from Sebastian’s lips as he strode out of the closet past Imelda, his hands curled into fists at his side. He said nothing to you on his way out, but you already knew he was in for it now. His erection had been painfully obvious pressed against your thigh through his trousers.

Imelda was still standing in the doorway, taking in your own unkempt appearance with a coy smirk. “You can have him back after the game, I promise. In the meantime, I would go clean up if I were you. You look like you’re in heat.”

She turned to leave then, the closet door drifting shut in your face as you gaped at the empty space where she had disappeared from.

That woman was unbelievable. You silently wished Sebastian luck with the brutal case of blue balls you knew he would be sporting for the rest of the day.

—

The game was unbelievably intense.

Imelda had definitely put her team through the ringer in the days leading up to Saturday, but the same could be said for Gryffindor’s players. Every time Slytherin scored, Gryffindor seemed to bounce back almost instantaneously with a point of their own. Your eyes had been glued to Sebastian the entire time, watching in awe as he zipped around the field and evaded bludgers with a finesse you couldn’t help but cheer for.

He scored the next point, psyching out Gryffindor’s keeper with a fake throw towards the left hoop before angling his arm at the right one. The quaffle soared through the ring, and the crowd around you roared in support.

“Sebastian scored!” you exclaimed and grabbed Ominis by his forearm, shaking him wildly with enthusiasm. “It’s fifty to forty now– we might actually win this!”

“Where is Slytherin’s seeker?” he asked, your excitement palpable enough to get his heart racing.

You searched the field for the woman in question. Clarisse Brown was scanning the pitch below her from high above, her eyes narrowed in concentration. All the noise from the stands did little to deter her focus, and you watched with rapt interest as her gaze zero’d in on the Gryffindor seeker across the way.

“She’s close to the goal post on her side– no hang on, she’s diving! She’s following Gryffindor’s seeker, I think they’ve spotted the snitch.”

Everything else happened so quickly, you barely had time to commentate any of it to Ominis before you were watching the two seekers tumble against the grass after the tiny, golden ball. A hush fell over the crowd as the players untangled their limbs from the ground, but then it was Clarisse shooting upright, the snitch clasped victoriously in her hand.

“She caught it– Slytherin got the snitch! They won!”

The celebration started almost instantly. Throes of screaming students funneled down onto the field to hoist Clarisse high above their heads, whooping and cheering and chanting songs to praise the hard earned triumph.

You and Ominis stayed in the safety of the emptying stands, but even from far away, you saw Sebastian’s head turn towards you. His gaze was one of thrilled success, and when he took in the sight of you beaming at him, a different sort of look passed over his features.

One that you were eager to see up close.

—

The Slytherin team certainly knew how to throw an after party. The common room was in a celebratory uproar, goblets of spiked pumpkin juice being passed around as chatter filled every nook and cranny of the otherwise dim, quiet room. Truly, you’d never seen it so packed.

Sebastian didn’t give a shit though. He didn’t care about toasting to his team’s victory, nor did he care to even congratulate Clarisse on catching the snitch in the first place.

No, all he cared about was getting you upstairs on his bed.

You had no choice but to practically skip to keep up with Sebastian’s long-legged stride as he led you to his dorm. His grip on your wrist was like a vice, unrelenting as he weaved through the scattered groups of people you encountered on the way. A few of them looked as though they wanted to congratulate him– maybe even strike up an actual conversation– but the look on his face must have been downright primal, because everyone of them backed up with wide eyes and hushed whispers.

You flushed under their knowing stares. Merlin.

When Sebastian tugged you through the threshold of the dorm, his lips were on yours in a heartbeat. He pressed you against the still closing door, and as it latched shut, you were jolted by the weight of Sebastian leaning against you. His hands were winding in your hair, tugging you against his mouth urgently in some desperate attempt to taste you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kicking your legs up to hook around his waist as you shamelessly rolled your hips against his, and the throaty growl he let loose had heat pooling in your gut instantly.

“Worst fucking week of my life,” he groaned the statement against your lips, and you couldn’t help but snicker. “I’m serious, I’m gonna kick Imelda’s ass if she ever tries to impose her rules on me again.”

That wasn’t going to cut it. You hadn’t spent the last three days waiting to get your boyfriend back from Imelda for him to start talking about her with his cock rutting against you. “Can you not bring up Imelda and just fuck me already?”

An animalistic sound came from Sebastian then, and he pulled away from your lips long enough to stare at you in a way that had you dizzy with arousal. “With pleasure, darling.”

He was quick to throw you down on his bed, hastily muttering a locking charm on the door before he tossed his wand on the dresser and ripped his jersey over his shoulders. The dried sweat on his skin glimmered against the glow from the hearth in the center of the room, leaving your mouth watering, and you rushed to kick off your boots to speed things along.

Sebastian was on you in an instant, kissing you senseless as one deft hand slid under your waistband and flicked the button open. He trailed his soft lips down the curve of your jaw, then lower along your neck, and he paused to suck at the skin there as he tugged your trousers down from your hips. You lifted your ass to assist, and once the restrictive material was gone, Sebastian straddled your waist so he could press his clothed member against the thin cotton of your undergarments firmly.

You moaned at the contact, tilting your head back to grant him easier access to your fluttering pulse. He licked a broad stripe down the sensitive skin of your throat while his hands began undoing the clasps of your shirt.

Sebastian’s gravelly voice vibrated against the wet skin of your neck, snapping you out of your pleasure induced daze. “Do you want me to bend you over or do you want to look at me while I fuck you?”

Damn. “I-I want to see you. Feel like I haven’t had the chance to all week.” Your hands punctuated the statement by trailing up the delicious curve of his spine, drawing a shiver from him. “Is that okay? What do you want?”

When he pulled away from your flushed neck, his eyes darkened immeasurably further, and the longer strands of his hair falling into his face gave him the appearance of some impassioned, sex-driven lunatic– but you weren’t about to start complaining. Not when he scooched down your prone form to start unbuttoning your shirt, and certainly not when he poked his tongue through his lips in thoughtful concentration.

“I just want you, I don’t care about anything else. Fuck– not even jerking off helped– it’s like there was a mental block I couldn’t get past.” The last button fell open, and Sebastian slid the material off of your shoulders, his eyes hungrily roving over your naked body. His fingers trailed up your smooth stomach before kneading your breasts in his heated palms, drawing a strangled gasp from your throat. “Did you touch yourself at all this week or were you waiting for me?”

You were embarrassed to admit that you had tried, but before you could tell him as much, Sebastian was pinching your nipples slightly and twisting, causing you to arch into his touch as a high-pitched moan sounded from your kiss swollen lips. “Mm, Sebastian–”

The sound of your voice threatened to send him over the edge right then and there. “There is no wrong answer, I’m only curious…”

He trailed off, lessening his ministrations against your breasts so you could reply. “Y-Yes. I tried, but it wasn’t the same. It never is.”

That cocky smirk was taking up his entire face, and you knew then you should have just lied, because now his ego was bound to grow out of control.

“It never is, hm? Then what do you want– what do you need to get off? Say the words, darling, and it’s yours.”

Despite the delectable feeling of his hands working you into a frenzy, you wanted to smother him for taking so long. Was three days worth of stolen glances and a crippling case of blue balls not enough to push him into action? Of course not. Typical of him to still find a way to make you beg for what you knew he wanted more than anything.

Your hands flew up to grip the belt loops on his painfully tight trousers, tugging his hips down so they were flush with the slick cloth separating your heat from him. “I need you– I need your cock inside of me, please Sebastian. My fingers just aren’t the same–”

He silenced you with a particularly aggressive kiss, breathing heavily against your cheek as his teeth came to nibble at your bottom lip before he pulled away entirely to unfasten his belt. You’d never seen him move so quickly, his quidditch trousers coming to pool in a wrinkled heap against the stone floor, and then it was just his briefs in the way. They disappeared just as fast, his cock springing free and arching proud against the hair below his navel, and then Sebastian was scaling up the bed like a predator.

When he kissed you again, he started to slide your soaked panties away, letting you kick them off when they got too low for him to follow. He placed his fingers against your overwhelmingly slick entrance, relishing in the needy gasp his featherlight touch pulled from you.

You caved completely to Sebastian as he pushed a slender digit inside, working you open slowly as your spine curved off the mattress and you whined loud. Sebastian let himself bask in the sight of you for a moment despite his baser urges; you looked great spread for him like this, rocking down onto his finger as your hands fisted in the sheets beneath you, and when you cracked open your half-hooded eyes to gaze up at him, the tenderness in your expression tugged at something in his chest.

Tentatively, Sebastian added a second finger, slowly pushing inside you and pausing briefly to give you a chance to adjust to the intrusion, but you were already writhing under him, feebly searching for something more.

“Something the matter?” he purred the question, feeling rather smug when you narrowed your eyes at him.

“N-Not to be ungrateful, but your fingers aren’t cutting it– ah!”

Sebastian had pulled his hand back and plunged his digits back in, crooking the tips of his fingers up in search of that magical spot that always reduced you to a moaning mess, and it didn’t take him long to find it. He knew your body better than you did. “Not cutting it, huh?”

You shivered as he proceeded to rub the long appendages along your pulsing walls, seemingly focused on hitting your sweet spot every time, and Merlin, was he succeeding. The pleasure was undeniable, your stomach tensing and twitching as warmth rapidly pooled in your gut, and when the pad of Sebastian’s thumb came to roughly press against your clit, there was no stopping the keening sob that ripped from your mouth. It was glorious– absolutely everything you had been dreaming about all week– and you frantically clawed at the tops of Sebastian’s rounded shoulders in a silent plea.

“Fuck, please Sebastian– I want you– I wanna come on your cock, I’m not gonna last long, please–”

He was pulling his fingers out of you in a flash, those strong hands coming to grab at your hips and haul you down the bed so you were flush with his leaking member. The feeling of your slick rubbing against his shaft had him seeing stars, and when he aligned himself and finally pressed into your welcoming heat, his head tipped back as a groan slipped through his clenched teeth.

“Merlin, you’re so fucking perfect– fuck–”

It wasn’t a slow descent by any means, but it wasn’t fast either, and you were grateful seeing as it gave you the chance to really feel Sebastian’s cock fill you up. The blunt head reached so deep, way deeper than his fingers or your own, and your nerves lit on fire when he pulled back and rammed into you, his skin slapping against the shapely curve of your ass. Every sensation amplified the fire that had nearly crashed through you minutes earlier, and once he set a steady rhythm, you were writhing in earnest underneath him.

“Shit,” you gasped after one especially rough thrust. “Fuck, fuck, Sebastian–”

“F-Feel good, darling?” Sebastian whispered, adjusting his grip on you so he could lean closer, and the new angle allowed him to shamelessly rut against you after each plunge of his cock, his own orgasm building quickly after three days of torturing himself without you.

“Yes, fuck yes, s-so good– right there–”

The sight of you moving harder against him, panting and keening and trembling, pulled filthy praises and moans alike from Sebastian’s lips. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted to cum so bad in his life– his pace had a mind of its own as he brainlessly thrusted into you, relishing in the feeling of you shaking and tightening around him before your nails were scraping deliciously down his back, and the sting had his cock twitching in a telling manner inside of you.

“I’m gonna come darling, I’m– fuck–”

You beat him to it, his aggressive tempo sending you falling over the edge with a loud, drawn out cry of his name. Sebastian fucked you hard and fast through it, taking advantage of your pulsing heat to chase his own orgasm as he wound his fingers through your unruly hair and tugged hard enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

That did it.

Sebastian buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth biting at your collarbone as he whimpered your name over and over before his hips faltered and he was coming deep, and the sound of his moans coupled with the feeling of him filling you to the brim only served to push you higher.

Completely spent, Sebastian let most of his weight fall on top of you as the ebbing waves of his orgasm coursed through him.

“Holy fuck,” he heard you mutter from beneath him, and he cracked open a bleary eye to see you gazing contentedly at the ceiling. Removing his fingers from your hair to trail lightly over your cheek, you let him drag your face into a lazy, satisfied kiss, the lush scent of him filling your brain with mind numbing bliss. “Mm, missed you.”

Sebastian’s voice was muffled against your lips when he spoke, “Never agreeing to something like that again. Quidditch can fuck right off– I don’t care.”

Snickering quietly, you wrapped your arms around his sweaty back and tugged him sideways firmly so you could lay on top of him, careful of where the two of you were still connected. “And here I was going to say this was almost worth the wait.”

“Then you, my dear, are a sick and twisted masochist.”

That got a real laugh out of you. “Hardly. When I think about it, it was nice seeing you in your uniform all sweaty for three days. Lots of dirty thoughts to fill in the gaps.”

The awareness in his eyes came flooding back as he stared up at you wide-eyed, and you made a point to commit his gaping expression to memory. “You… wait, what?”

You fought a smile as you shrugged nonchalantly, “You look good in a uniform. What else is there to say?”

Following the bob of his throat as he swallowed, Sebastian’s voice sounded tight when he asked, “Do you want me to put it back on?”

“Not now,” your fingers traced the sharp outline of his collarbones, gliding lower until they came to splay in the sparse collection of hair at the center of his hips. “I can think of a few other things I’d like to watch you do instead of strip all over again.”

“Only a few?”

“You’re incorrigible.”

The rest of the night went by in a blur, with everyone celebrating Slytherin’s victory in the common room by drinking and dancing. All the while, you and Sebastian stayed sequestered in his dorm, intending on taking full advantage of the locked door before his roommates inevitably returned to soil the fun. You two would never need to know that Imelda stood guard at the bottom of the stairs, shooing away any meandering students to different wings of the foyer. It would be her own secret to keep.

After all, she figured she kind of owed it to you for being such a good sport about the whole thing.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x female!reader #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow oneshot #ominis gaunt #imelda reyes #my writing #this was such a fun request I LOVED writing Imelda

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milfgyuu · 1 year

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Matilda Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader Series: SVT x Harry’s House Tags: 1.8k, Wedding!AU, Angst, Comfort, Found Family. Summary: “You can let it go. You can throw a party full of everyone you know. You can start a family who will always show you love. You don't have to be sorry, no.”

Warnings: re-opened emotional wounds, family/childhood trauma, abandonment, bad parents, lots of tears both happy and sad. The underlying reasons for sadness are rough, but there is a lot of love and healing in this piece.

“Cheol…”

Jeonghan’s voice is tight, throat constricted with emotion and both Seungcheol and Joshua look at him in the mirror’s reflection already wary of what he’s about to say. Joshua finishes fixing Seungcheol’s tie and he lays a hand on his shoulder. “Superstitions be damned,” he sighs, “She needs you more than anyone else right now.”

Seungcheol thanks his groomsmen and quietly exits the suite. The partners of his friends, your bridesmaids, are filtering out as he nears, all giving him a heartfelt nod or pat on the arm. He takes a deep breath, pushing back his anger, and opens the door of your suite.

You’re sitting in front of the vanity, face hidden in your hands, your dress still hanging in the corner of the room, untouched. He can see your shoulders shaking, hears your broken cries and the effort of trying to stuff them down and drown them out. He steps closer and tugs at the sleeves of his suit jacket. Not wanting to frighten you, he speaks up just enough to let you know he’s here.

“Sweetheart…”

You turn around in a shock. “Hey,” you quickly wipe your face, “Y-you’re not supposed to see me before the wedding. It’s bad luck…”

Seungcheol only smiles at you and open his arms, “Come here.”

His voice is so gentle and the choked back tears fall anew as you throw yourself against his chest and wrap your arms around him, locking your fingers at his back as though it would keep him tethered to you. That was never a genuine fear with Cheol, though. He was by your side through thick and thin and had never once pushed you away or left you behind.

Unlike your biological family. As cold and detached as the term itself.

“I shouldn’t have invited them,” you sob into his shirt, “I knew they wouldn’t show up even though they made me feel guilty but I held out hope for it anyway and I feel stupid for hurting like this. I’m too old to be this naïve.”

He hushes you, kissing your hair. “You’re blaming yourself again,” he whispers, cupping your face to look at him, “You’re not naïve to seek comfort from the people who are supposed to love you and you’re also not responsible for their poor choices. You don’t have to keep trying to to please them or prove yourself worthy of love.”

“I t-tried so hard to be a good daughter,” your voice cracks, “And I know that they have put this strain on our relationship but…they’re my parents. It’s so hard to let go and convince myself it’s ok. If I let go completely, doesn’t that make me a failure?”

Seungcheol shakes his head adamantly, “Absolutely not. You don’t owe anyone an apology,” his thumbs stroke your cheeks, “You moved out, your worked your ass off, put yourself through school, made friends who love and adore you…”

Your lips twitch into a small smile, “I found you.”

He grins, “You found me,” he whispers just before his lips meet yours for a tender kiss.

Choi Seungcheol had begun filling a huge whole in your heart the very moment you met him four years ago. He loved you unconditionally. Loved you on your best and worst days. He’d been there time and time again when you broke down and gave your family another chance only for them to disappoint you as usual. He was by your side when your mother cut you down and berated you for being selfish and unfeeling. Held you close to his chest all through the night while you sobbed and reminded you that none of it was even true.

He’d brought you home to his family. He’d made the effort to meet your friends and introduced you to his own, a crowd you allowed yourself to trust and care about immensely. If there was one thing Cheol would always prioritize it was keeping you surrounded in a community of love and support.

“Listen to me,” he peers into your eyes, “Everyone here loves you so much - they chose us and we chose them. No obligation, no blood ties - they are here because they want to be. You’ve grown up and made a family all of your own and you don’t have to ever feel guilty for moving on with your life and surrounding yourself with the people who care about you.”

“You’ll never let me wallow in self-pity, will you?”

Seungcheol smiles and kisses your forehead, “Never alone, but especially not on our wedding day. We have everyone we need here with us to celebrate. No need for tears today, baby.”

“I love you,” you whisper, the tension in your shoulders melting, your fingers unlocking. You know he’s not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back, dipping his head and kissing you until there is a light knock at the door.

You both turn around and Seungcheol’s mother pops her head in politely, “Hi, sweetheart. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was hoping, if it’s not too much to ask, that I could help you get ready?” her eyes water and she takes a moment to collect herself, “Every girl deserves to have her mother at her side on such a big day and It would be an honor…”

“Oh,” your lips dip into a frown as tears spring to your eyes once more and your arms slip from around Cheol so you can walk over to your mother-in-law who embraces you, kissing your hair tenderly. “It would mean the world to me.”

She pulls back to wipe your cheeks. “I won’t have my daughter crying on her wedding day either.”

Another knock at the door sounds and it’s Seungcheol’s father. His mother opens the door and he clears his throat, averting his eyes in the other direction, “Is ah, everyone decent?”

He’s met with a chuckle and deems it safe to look inside, his chest cracking at the sight of tears in your eyes. He takes up one of your hands and squeezes gently, smiling with so much fondness that you crumble under the weight of it.

“I wasn’t sure of a right time to give you this, but I figured now is as good a time as any,” he says with a chuckle and then pulls a jewelry box from his coat, “These belonged to my grandmother. They were worn on her wedding day and have since been worn by my mother, my wife, and now that I am being blessed with a daughter, I’d like to gift them…to you.”

He opens the box and there sit a silver necklace with baby blue diamonds and a matching pair of earrings. Cheol’s mother squeezes your shoulders from behind, “Something old and blue for you to pass down to your daughter one day.”

You look at both of them, lip quivering and break into a watery smile. “Thank you for being so gracious,” your eyes glance over to meet Cheol’s who’s hastily wiping away his own tears, “I wish I’d had parents like you growing up, but I’m so grateful to have you now. I hadn’t realized how much I would gain when I fell in love with your son and I’m so thankful for all of you.”

“You never have to thank us for loving you, sweetheart,” his mother says, “You are an incredibly loveable person and we’re delighted to be your family. So is everybody else out there filling up on hors de ovures.”

“I suppose that means we should get the show on the road,” you grin, dabbing at your eyes, “I should probably fix my make up and get dressed.”

“I’ll go fetch the stylists and your bridesmaids,” she says, “I’ll be right back,” she is almost out the door and then spins around, “Choi Seungcheol go straighten your suit and get your boys in order, you’ve seen enough of your bride before the wedding already.”

Cheol laughs. You’re never too old to be admonished by your mother apparently. Even on your wedding day.

He leans in and steals one more quick kiss, “I’ll see you out there.” A wink and then he’s gone.

Cheol’s father is about to leave as well when you catch his hand and he turns in surprise.

“W-would you…walk me down the aisle?”

Mr. Choi was a big, burley man - the strong and usually silent type. And his eyes glistened as soon as the question left your lips, a hopeful ring in your voice.

“Nothing would make me happier,” he smiles and you chuckle, handing him a tissue as Cheol’s mother returns with your stylists and your bridesmaids in tow, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Once the door to your bridal suite closes, there is a flurry of motion with the stylist fixing your hair and touching up your make-up. Your bridesmaids finish getting themselves ready and you all fall into a fit of giggles as they help you get into your wedding dress and veil. Your beloved bonus mom securing your necklace and earrings with a proud look.

And then it’s time.

Everyone disperses as they are called one by one to walk down the aisle and you hope your photographer catches every bit of it. Cheol and his mother go down first. Then it’s Jeonghan and his wife, two of your greatest friends in the world. Joshua and his fiancé, whom you’ve known since your waitressing days. Then it’s Wonwoo’s son, your trusted little ring bearer followed by his best friend, Mingyu’s sweet daughter, who you actually catch sight of, stuffing her little hands into the basket of flowers before tossing them up into the air.

Then it’s quiet, and the music changes tempo.

You look to your right and there stands Seungcheol’s father, offering his arm out to you with a watery smile. You go to him, linking arms and taking a big deep breath. He pats your hand and whispers, “You look beautiful. My son is a very lucky man.”

You chuckle, eyes watering at his reassuring smile and you make your way down the aisle together. You’d imagined your eyes would be focused straight ahead out of sheer nerves but you look around in awe at all of your guests. Your friends, co-workers, neighbors, some extended family you hadn’t expected to show up, and then your eyes fall on him.

The moment your eyes meet, Seungcheol’s lip quivers and he’s overcome with emotion.

This man, your one true love, had given you so much and still promised you more. He’d vowed to remain at your side and navigate life together on bended knee and you trusted him with your very soul. You near the end of the aisle and your future husband steps forward just as his father, hands you off with a soft kiss to each of your cheeks.

Under the altar, hand in hand with your soulmate in front of a family of your very own creation, one that had always shown you love, you exchange your vows sealing those promises with a kiss as everyone erupts with joy.

Cheol holds you close, smiling against your cheek as everyone celebrates your union and you know for certain that you’d never need to fear feeling lonely or unloved ever again.

Thanks for reading! 💖

SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Milfgyuu, 2019. ©️

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volos-togepi · 8 months

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Intentions - Volo x reader

“heyyyy i loved ur last fic!! do you think you’d be willing to write another? i thought this sounded like a fun idea: a volo x reader fic where the reader is just as secretly unhinged and resentful as him and have the same goal. they think they’re manipulating each other into what they want, but then they realize that they’re both after the same thing and escalate their friendship into something more? 🤭 thanksss <3” - anon

i FINALLY got this one finished!!! it only took me a month and a half :')

i hope you enjoy! <3 (also thank youuuuuu!!!!! <333)

y/n - your name 2k+ words (2,076) friends ⟶ lovers

Plates.

Plates are what you’re after.

You’ve been searching and searching, seeking them out to meet with a higher being: Arceus. You’ve devoted so much of your time and efforts into studying the Almighty Sinnoh. Laying low is so hard to do. But, despite how much you want to express your true feelings toward this land you call ‘home’, it’s better you didn’t.

You’ve been watching Volo and the new recruit from afar; watching them both gather the plates you’ve been longing to find. You sigh in frustration.

They were supposed to be yours.

Once you return to the village, you run into Volo. It seems he’s stocking up on wares to ‘sell’. You already knew he had the lowest numbers in the Ginkgo Guild. It’s not that hard to overhear, especially where you like to sit on Kamado’s balcony to do your work.

“Seems like someone’s heading back out.”

He turns to you with a rather shocked expression. “Y/n! You startled me.” Quickly gathering himself, he calms down and and smiles. “How did you know I’m heading back out?”

“Well,” you begin, tilting your head. “firstly, you’re stocking up on more wares. Perhaps to sell, or… to use for yourself.”

You see his cheeks flush slightly. “How do yo—”

“Second, your trousers are already splattered with fresh mud, most likely from the Mirelands. Nowhere else has dirt so… red.” You pause. “What were you going to say? I’m sorry for interrupting.”

He purses his lips. You can tell he’s trying to read you. “Nothing… we’ll pretend it didn’t come up.”

“Mhmm…”

Silence takes over. It’s not like either of you to stay this way for very long, as you both like to carry on lengthy conversations on the interesting facts of the region. Volo finishes stocking his bag and throws it back on, grunting as the weight of it almost pulls him to the ground. “Well, I’m off to… sell.”

“Before you go—”

His eyes widen, eager to hear what you have to say. Any information to him is important, and you know that oh so well.

“Would you mind telling me why you were the one chosen to help the new Survey Corps recruit over me?”

He’s taken aback by your question, almost offended that you had asked. “You know how well versed I am in these studies, y/n. You wouldn’t understa—”

“I wouldn’t understand?” Your eyes grow angry. “Do you know how long I’ve been studying each and every ruin and artifact I’ve found in the Hisui region? How much time and effort I’ve put in to piecing together this stupid binder for Cyllene, just so I can spend more time out in the open air? I wouldn’t understand?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“What I don’t understand is why they let an outsider take the lead on this one.”

You’ve offended him.

Oh, how you’ve offended him.

“Excuse me?!” he shouts.

You glare at him, lowering your voice. “You heard me, Volo.”

—————

It’s been a few weeks since your argument. Volo’s been trying to apologize since the day after is happened, but you don’t want to hear it.

“Y/n, please! Do you think I want to help Akari on my own?”

“Who?”

“The new recruit…”

You shrug. “I never bothered to learn her name.”

Volo lets out a hearty laugh. You’ve never seen him so genuine; so true, even in your past conversations. “That was good.” he responds. “I wish I could say the same.”

You both joke around for a while. It’s nice to have a friend back on your side.

“Hey…” You break the silence, a more serious tone taking over. “What if I… help you? You know, with finding plates?”

A coy smile spreads across Volo’s face. “I love that idea.”

—————

“For safe keeping. You both travel quite a bit, and I would hate for either of you to lose them.”

Weeks have passed. You’d convinced Volo and ‘whatever their name is’ to let you keep the plates in your possession. Volo was a bit apprehensive at first, but the girl seemed to trust you. “I think it’s a good idea, Volo. Y/n does have a point: we do travel a lot.”

“Fine.”

More days pass. You have all but one. You cannot believe how easy it was to just… take them. You smile as you sit on the bank side of Lake verity, taking in the fresh air around you. You feel a hand touch your shoulder. Startled, you look up to see Volo.

“What are you doing here, y/n?” He sits down next to you, setting his bag to the side.

You shrug. “I needed some air, and Lake Verity is so pretty this time of year.”

He nodded in agreement. “And the plates? Are they safe?”

“Of course! Do you think I’d let them out of my sight?”

He smiles, looking to the water glistening in the sunlight. “Good.”

You sigh. “Hey, this may sound strange, but…” You take a deep breath. “Do you ever feel that… the girl is… getting in the way.”

His eyes light up, and even though he’s not looking at you, you can tell he’s interested in what you have to say.

“I mean, she wouldn’t even know where to look if it weren’t for you. And, if I’m being honest, you know more about these plates than she does.”

“She’s gotta get home somehow.”

You shrug. “All I’m saying is that you deserve this more than her. We deserve this more than her.”

You watch as Volo’s lips curl into this small, almost unnoticeable smile. “You know,” he says, looking out at the water, “I was wondering when you’d come around.” He turns to you, the smile on his face growing bigger. “I mean, it was only a matter of time.”

“I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at.” you reply. “I was only trying to ma— wait… you’re not doing this for the sake of helping are you?”

He laughs.

Oh how he laughs.

It’s a beautiful sound; a melody. Tears start to roll down his cheeks from the laughter. “Oh, y/n!” he chokes out. “I never have been!”

You start to giggle.

“I was only trying to get you on my side.” he continues. “I figured it would be—”

“Volo,” You interrupt. “Why do you think I asked to keep the plates?”

He stares at you, unsure of what to say. His eyes are wide, and he seems surprised that you, you, would be trying to sabotage not only the girl, but the entire Survey Corp? “Y/n…” His voice is soft; hushed. “I never thought that you—”

“That I’d want to turn my back on the people of Jubilife? Because I’m not.”

He’s silent.

“I’ve always had this intention. It just took me years of acquiring the knowledge and the connections to feel comfortable enough to go for it…” You pause, watching a Magikarp leap out of the water. “Besides… the girl makes it easier.”

Volo gently slides his hand over yours. You don’t think anything of it.

You’re friends.

“Meet me in the Highlands tonight.” he says. “There’s something I need to say.”

—————

The Coronet Highlands were so pretty at night. You lay on your back in the patch of flowers at Fabled Spring, looking at the billions of stars just above you in the sky. Volo arrives not too long after you, setting his bag against one of the trees. For once, he’s not in his uniform, wearing a dark green kimono and matching trousers. “I thought I’d dress little casual this evening.” He sits down next to you, pulling something out of his pocket to hand to you. “I thought you may like this.”

You sit up and carefully take what he’s holding. “A comet shard!” you squeak. “How did you—”

“I found it in the Mirelands; the day you caught me with mud-stained pants.” He bit his lip, looking to the ground. “The day of our little spat.”

You’re silent.

“I’d been wanting to give it to you for so long, and…” He looks at you, eyes filled with starlight. “I just didn’t know how.”

“Volo, I…” You exhale. “Thank you.”

He shakes his head. “No need to thank me, y/n.”

You both lay there for a while, listening to the nature around you. It’s so peaceful; serene, the fireflies lighting up the spring.

“I wish every night were like this.”

Volo squeezes your hand a little tighter. You watch as his lips curl into the smallest, yet sweetest smile. It makes your heart flutter.

Had you always felt these things?

“Feeling content with sharing the experience of a serene, summer night.” he continues. “It’s easy with you.”

“I agree.” you reply in an almost whisper. “It’s… it’s nice.”

You can feel his eyes on you, even when you’re focused on the stars above. “So what did you want to talk about?” you ask, trying to break whatever tension you were both feeling.

“Never mind that.”

You look to him once more. “Volo, I—”

“I just want to share this moment with you.”

He rolls over on his side to face you, his hand caressing your cheek. “Do you know just how pretty you are?”

Your abdomen feels like it’s going to explode. You can’t help but to blush as Volo says these things to you. You hope he doesn’t notice, but…

“Do you like it when I say these things?” He scoots closer, his chest barely touching your arm. “Hmm?”

You look at him, and it’s hard to keep yourself contained.

“I did, actually, want to talk with you about something tonight.” he whispers. “If you’ll allow me to.”

You nod. He takes a deep breath, his hand still placed on your cheek. “Y/n, I— if we’re to use the plates for ourselves, and forge this new world, would you… would you mind if we did it together?” He gulps. “Because I don’t want to do this without you.”

“Volo…”

He pulls you in close.

So, so close.

“I can’t do this without you, y/n.”

You wrap your arms around him tightly, tangling your limbs together in the patch of flowers you lie on. Volo nuzzles his face into your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, his fingers tracing the seams of your Survey Corps uniform. You feel your breath hitch. Volo feels it too, looking up at you when he does. “Are you alright?”

You nod quickly. Maybe too quickly.

“Y/n, promise you’re not lying to me.”

“I promise.” you breathe.

His fingers continue to trace your uniform, every seam; every outline; every wrinkle in the fabric. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” You watch as his fingers slowly trace their way up to your neckline.

“You do know I meant it when I said you were pretty, right?” His tone has completely shifted. He smirks lightly as he looks at you, lust in his eyes. “Because you are.” Untangling himself from your grasp, he sits up, pulling you up with him. “My pretty y/n.”

You were feeling those things again.

And he knows it.

He leans in as close as he can, noses almost touching. “Promise you won’t leave me behind.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He grabs your waist tightly and presses his lips to yours, pulling you into his lap as he does. He’s so passionate, yet so soft; his lips warm against yours in the cool, summer night. He pulls away to look at you, his eyes meeting your gaze as your lips part. You both smile at one another, and Volo is quick to kiss you once more.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.” he says, holding your hands in his.

“Then why didn't you?”

“Because I needed to know where your intentions were.”

You giggle softly at his remark. “Obviously, I made the right choice.”

“That you did.” He pushes a stand of hair out of your face. “Not completely off topic, but how many plates do we have so far?”

“Seventeen.” you respond. “Why?”

He starts to get up, you sliding off his lap into the flowers. Volo extends his hand to you to help you up, not letting go once you’re standing. He looks to the mountain just up above, and a mischievous grin quickly forms on his face. He turns back to you, squeezing your hand tightly.

“Let’s go.”

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ro-sham-no · 2 days

Text

Sam fucked up.

Dean had always teased him for being a try-hard at school (with a secretly proud smile he thought Sam couldn’t see or wouldn’t notice, but oh, Sam noticed). He’d tease Sam, saying it would bite him in the ass one day, and now, at Stanford, it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq class he actually liked had given him extra work. It's not a big deal, not really, just reading out his stupid, gay-ass prose about his big brother in front of a crowd of people, all to get out of taking a final... Dean was across the country, so what could go wrong?

cw: wincest, referenced underage sex (barely), questionable prose lol

includes excerpts from "sweetness" - stephen dunn

“I’m telling you, man, they’re gonna expect more from you ‘cause you’re putting in all this extra effort.”

Dean was speaking in that slow, crooning voice that he always got when they were alone together in the quiet, like he was afraid to break the silence but still wanted to fill up Sam’s head with the sound of his voice so bad that he couldn’t stop himself. As if the way he was smoothing his hand up and down the breadth of Sam’s bare ribs and stomach - all palming and grabby, groping at Sam like he owned him - as if that didn’t already nail Sam’s focus and affection to the cross of their shared devotion. As if he needed to do anything at all, other than exist, to completely own Sam from the inside out.

Sam shook himself out of his trance to respond, huffing that scoff-laugh that only little brothers manage to pull off, reaching up to trap Dean’s hand against Sam’s stomach, splayed and possessive but finally stilled so Sam could actually think for a second. But before he could come up with a counter, Dean continued, sweet and slow in his ear, like syrupy molasses that’s just warm enough to drip and run down the spoon,

“I swear, if we stayed in one place for longer than it takes Dad to fuckin’ blink, they’d have you up to your ears in extra work by now.”

Sam hummed at that, all smug younger brother proving a point, “Well I guess it doesn’t matter then, huh, Dean? ‘s not like the old man’s that old, his blinks aren’t slowing down anytime soon,” said with a finality that shut Dean up, finally granting Sam some goddamn peace as they basked in the feel of each other’s bed-warmed skin.

And that was that. Still, they rehashed it a few times, here and there whenever it got brought up.

Sam flicked Dean’s hand off his shoulder because, “I need to finish my homework, Dean. There’s a quiz on it tomorrow,” providing the perfect opportunity for Dean to bring up that old argument once again. Calling him a try-hard and a teacher’s pet, distracting him enough to bully him into their bed, away from his homework, and suddenly enveloped in the warm arms of his older brother - devious bastard that he was, dammit.

Sam always got 100s on those quizzes, anyway. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the chase, the thrill of seeing Dean be jealous of a piece of fucking paper and a pen before Sam caved and they fell together oh-so-sweetly.

But that was then, when the metaphorical speed of Dad’s blinks still kept them flitting from place to place. Now, Sam had already been in this place for 9 months, consecutively, and he was in for at least another 3.25 years. Four years he would be here, and that’s where Sam fucked up, forgetting his “wise” older brother’s warning (because he’s not here to remind me), and it had finally happened.

Betrayal of all betrayals, the professor of the only prereq that he actually liked, Dr. Morris, had given him extra work. All because,

“This is really something special, Sam! I really think people deserve to hear it.” She saw Sam begin to protest but cut him off, continuing, “From the author’s mouth, don’t give me that. That’s you, in case you’ve conveniently forgotten. C’mon, the literary arts event is next week and they’ve been asking me to fill an inspired composition spot. I think this is the perfect work to fit right in, with the way you’ve expanded on Dunn’s poem, interpreting meaning from it and making it your own- just, Sam, I seriously want you to consider presenting it.”

“It” was an assignment to write a piece about or inspired by one of the poems Dr. Morris had covered in class recently. One of them had tugged at Sam’s recently-shredded heartstrings, and so he wrote something inspired by it - so sue him if he wrote a little prose, alright? But, Christ, it was soft and mushy and it was horrifically revealing. But he didn’t have time to redo it, so this was what he was stuck with.

Damn, she’s really trying to sell this, Sam thought with a sigh.

Once again, though, his professor cut him off, this time with a conspiratorial look on her face, “Besides, a little birdy told me that the final for this class might be optional if you participate in the event…”

Well, that’s just diabolical.

Sam pinched his nose with yet another sigh, arms clutched around his notebook, which conveniently contained the exact literary “work” Dr. Morris had been raving about for the last ten minutes. All Sam had wanted to do was to make sure that it fit what she was expecting for the homework prompt before he turned it in, and then she’d trapped him.

He really did hate taking tests for this class, too, and she knew that. UGH.

“Fine, Dr. Morris, you win! But that little birdy better be tellin’ the truth or another little birdy is so gonna write the meanest course review this school has ever seen, I swear to god,” he pointed his finger at her accusingly, eyebrows raised in faux intimidation.

She laughed along with him at his empty threat, holding up her hands in mock surrender with a gasp, “No, not an angry student review! What about my career?”

She sobered a little, “The birdy is telling the truth, Sam, I promise. You know I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sam nodded with a rueful smile, “I know. Thank you, Dr. Morris, I’m uh- well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It was worse. So, so much worse. God, Sam fucked up, colossally.

Somehow, his friends had gotten wind of his little performance - something about a poster with his name on it? (Damn you, Dr. Morris!) - and now Sam was about to go on stage and make a fool of himself in front of both liberal arts and now STEM majors alike. Four STEM majors, specifically, his “friends,” and he was never going to hear the end of it after this.

I’m not even out to these people, what was I thinking? They’re gonna know, now. Sure hope they’re fuckin’ cool with it.

And, beyond that, he’d only read through the piece a total of two times without crying like a fucking baby. Reduced to hiccupping sobs over the stupid poem, and over his stupid feelings laid bare on the page, and over his stupid fucking brother that he’d basically broken up with when he came here like the incestuous freak that he was, and-

Goddammit.

Sam pinched viciously at his thigh through his pocket to stop his eyes from prickling.

This is gonna be a disaster.

But the final would be worse, Sam was sure, and he didn’t want to disappoint Dr. Morris - like the total sucker that he was - so he was gonna man up and do this thing.

The person on stage before him finished up their piece and, is the crowd seriously fucking snapping? Jesus Christ, these people are pretentious. Thankfully, pretentious or not, the event wasn’t that formal. They were just outside on a small stage, with standing and sitting room in front of it. Casual. Easy.

Yeah, right.

Still, Sam steeled himself and stepped out onto the stage as prompted, calmly raising the height of the mic stand while the event coordinator introduced him to the audience, “Thank you for that wonderful reading. Now stepping on stage is Sam Winchester, with a literary reading of his work, inspired by the poem “Sweetness” by Stephen Dunn.”

Sam cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, “Ah, thank you, for that introduction. So… this is just a piece I wrote based on that poem, which uses the term “sweetness” to describe more than just sensation - to me, it describes a feeling, an emotion, and even a person. That’s something that really struck me, and is the basis of what you’re about to hear.”

While he was speaking, he scanned the crowd and- yep, there were his friends, waving and cheesing so hard it made his own mouth twitch a little in response, amused at their amusement. Still, there was this odd feeling, almost like… nevermind.

He cleared his throat again, purposefully this time, and began, “Often, a sweetness comes and changes nothing in the world, except the way we stumble through it. Our sweetness, the one we make between us, changes the world - my world - because of the way you envelop me entirely. The sweetness between us changes the world, shrinks it down to the size of your mouth, to the size of your hands.”

Images flash in Sam’s mind: silver ring; cupid’s bow; black bracelets on twin right-wrists, like their own secret wedding bands.

“But the world is no smaller for it, even though it’s shrunk to fit the shape of your body.

It’s still ever-expansive, always with something new to explore. New gasps to wring out from the valley of your mouth. New ways to bruise and mar the landscape of your skin, changing its terrane to map out the topography of our love, our sweetness, and the way it blisters between us…

Staining, always staining.”

Golden skin that’s littered with scratches, hickies marring it in impossible places, and freckles that reach out to Sam like starlight.

“Some days you believe it stains us down to the soul level. Those are the days I spend sick with heartbreak because those are the days you won’t touch me. Those are the days you won’t touch me, when you can’t even bear to look at me, littered as I always am (and how I always want to be) with the stains of our shared, world-changing sweetness. You see the stains on those days and, instead of cherishing them the way I would bid you to, you are sickened by them.”

A memory, now,

That beloved cupid’s bow stretched out in a self-deprecating sneer, “This is wrong, Sam! God, look at what I’ve done to you, I should be fucking locked up. You don’t even want this, you can’t!”

“Even worse, you’re saddened by them, the stains that I cherish, convincing yourself that you’ve doomed me by them. On those days, you believe you’ve doomed me to an eternity of fire and brimstone, even though the only God either of us truly believes in takes on the form of the finger-shaped bruises you leave on my thighs and the teeth-sized scars I’ve left in your skin.”

The stains, god, the stains: tear tracks on freckled cheeks, red and puffy eyes so unused to crying, bloody knuckles from losing to brick walls.

Sam’s eyes prickled. One hand went from the podium to his pocket and gouged its nails into flesh, welts forming on top of already-present bruises.

He cleared his throat again, blinking harshly, “But even if that were true, that you have doomed me, my love, then please: let me be doomed. The truth is that I am doomed. I am condemned by the shade of your eyes, by the strong elegance of your wrists, and the way your head tilts when you focus that I’ve never told you about.

I am doomed by the sinuous-sinful curve of your lips and your waist, by the crinkles caused by your breathtaking smile, and by the shade of reddish-orange on your teeth when you consume me. I am stained by these things, and for that, I am doomed.”

Sam's fingernails were digging into his skin through his pocket, but he still had to pause to sniffle off to the side, hopefully out of the range of the microphone. But the movement of his head let his peripherals sweep over the crowd and, there- the feeling from before was back, or maybe it was just stronger, now, never having left.

The feeling that he was being watched, but not just by anyone. It was a feeling he’d memorized during late nights with the lights out, not seeing but nevertheless knowing that Dean was watching him, staring at him, in the dark. And that’s what it felt like, now, but that’s impossible… right?

He continued, “I am stained by our sweetness, and so are you. We are stained and left wanting, always wanting, because there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient to leave us sated, never to be needed again. For that, there is no sweetness that’s ever sufficient, because it comes as if on a loan, ripped away at a moment’s notice. Re-possessed with an interest rate that leaves us desolate and bereft.”

His eyes were tearing up actively by then, and he knew it, but he couldn’t spare the thought to worry about it. Not while he was overwhelmed with DeanDeanDean, trying so desperately to avoid looking in that corner but- the figure ducked behind a group of people stuck close together, and wasn’t that just telling? Telling, but also heartbreaking, because,

He won’t answer a fucking phone call, but he’ll haul ass across the country in two days to come see me read some half-assed prose?

Sam regularly tracked Dean’s phone, see, so he knew where he was two days ago: middle-of-nowhere Indiana. How the hell he had heard about Sam’s current predicament? Sam couldn’t even begin to guess. But he’d learned of it, somehow, and had driven thirty-four out of the last forty-eight hours to get here and watch Sam fall apart on a sound stage, California-tanned cheeks lit up in the golden evening light and soon to be glistening with tears that he couldn’t seem to stop from forming.

There’s no way he doesn’t know this is about him. Fuck. It’s Dean, he’s here, and he’s hearing me turn whatever the fuck we had together into this flowery, perfume-tinted crap. Fuck.

He came to see me. He’s here. Fuck.

Sam searched for Dean in the crowd without a care for the rest of his audience, voice coming out strong and clear as he spoke directly to him, suddenly bold,

“But the loan lender is you, and I, the borrower, the loan holder. The interest rate is your guilt, entwined with your ever-infuriating sense of righteousness, and you rip away the loaned-out sweetness when it starts to make too much sense.

When the sweetness starts to come too easily for your self-flagellating tastes, that’s when my payments are no longer sufficient. You rip away our sweetness and make it return to its supposedly dark source, the one you conjure up for it in your mind.”

Sam blinked tears out of his eyes and they rolled down his cheeks, but just he didn’t care.

Dean stood frozen, mouth open and tears of his own making his eyes turn that same puffy shade of pink that it always did. His left hand was rubbing over his bracelet, on the same wrist as always, mirroring the one on Sam’s own wrist. Unsubtly, Sam reached over to shrug up his sleeve and reveal the black bracelet he also wore.

More glimpses of memories, Right hand reaching out to right hand, clasping awkwardly between them but it felt right, so right, to see the claim they’d put on each other stated so loudly, stark black lines so obvious across their wrists.

Dean’s golden amulet gleaming in the light, dragging across Sam’s chest as Dean stayed above him, so deep inside Sam that he swore he could taste it. He shivered at the cold touch of the metal, but all he could feel was warm.

They were holding each other’s gaze, now, and Sam’s face was twisting up as he tried desperately to choke out the next words, tried to reach out with his brain waves to shove them into Dean’s own skull, to make him understand,

“But-” he sniffled again, into the mic this time, “But as for me, in the end, I don’t care where our sweetness has been, within the depths of your mind. I don’t care what bitter road it’s had to travel, through the muck and the mire of your unfounded shame, your self-made sorrows and imaginary transgressions.”

Sam was one step away from weeping at that point, voice strangled and cracking intermittently as it rose in pitch, tears streaming all ugly down his reddened face, roughly scrubbed away by a stray hand. This was the most direct Sam had ever been with Dean, a lifetime of silent looks and unspoken words suddenly torn wide open; his ugly, accusatory feelings laid bare, but mixed in with forgiveness, and with yearning for a reunion that Sam knew was never going to happen.

It was exhilarating. It was terrifying.

Dean looked gutted, and it twisted up Sam’s own insides even more in response. He was clutching his bracelet-ed wrist tightly to his stomach, twisting the strands of it between his fingers in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was shaped with that familiar, guilt-ridden sadness, the set of his shoulders belying his age, making his 22-years-young appear suddenly ancient.

All the responsibility and burdens of a brother, a boyfriend, and a parent- a mother, wrapped up onto one person’s shoulders. Sam could only imagine how heavy it was.

“Because oh, my sweetness - and that is what you are, what you have been this whole time - when the sweetness finally returns, when you have come back to me, I don’t care how long I’ve been in its absence, or rather in your absence.”

Sam could just barely make out the tempo of the tears streaming down Dean’s face as they fell, though he wasn’t sure if he could actually see them, or if he just knew the rhythm of Dean’s anguish better than his own heartbeat.

Dean was a boy full of a sadness that was forced to stagnate, forced to fester and rot inside him, never to be allowed out. The rot was pouring down his face from where he stood in the crowd. Sam thought he’d never looked more beautiful than how he looked right now, back in Sam’s life after the longest time they’d ever spent apart.

“I don’t care what bitter road you’ve traveled to come back so far, to taste so good. It’s okay, it’s alright! Please, my love: lower your hackles, you’re on that bitter road no longer. It’s okay, and I don’t care, I’ve never cared, because in the end you come back, and for all of your travels, you never fail to taste so, so good.”

Sam fell silent and stepped back from the mic, smiling that sheepishly awkward, too-dimpled smile of acknowledgement and faux-gratitude to the crowd to signify his conclusion, never quite taking his eyes off Dean even as the crowd hesitantly-to-enthusiastically applauded his work.

Then Sam blinked, and Dean was gone.

#3k+ words #OH btw #this was also inspired by the 10 things i hate about you poetry scene... y'all know the one #just fyi #(#spn #sam winchester #wincest #stanford era #sweetness by stephen dunn #ro writing tag #)

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curvingsunsets · 2 years

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Could I get an Eddie Munson x male reader please? So Eddie has a deaf/hard-of-hearing boyfriend, he learned sign in like a month so he could ask him out (even tho bf could read lips, he wanted to make the effort) and he tells the Hellfire club about him. When he mentions taking him to his bands gigs they’re like ‘?? Why?? He can’t hear you play??’ & Ed explains that even tho he can’t hear the music he can still ‘listen’ by putting his hand on the speakers and feeling it. I just find it adorable to imagine this metalhead asking out a boy in broken sign and being able to say cute things to each other in public w it cuz so few people in Hawkins would understand it and getting to see his cute bf sit right next to a blaring speaker without flinching.

Feel The Music

Eddie Munson x Male! Reader

A/N: Oh yes i can 😎 i hope that this does your request justice 🙏🏻

It was a pretty average Thursday, the Hellfire Club bickering about something at the lunch table. Eddie didn’t bother listening, trying so desperately to memorize the pictures on the page in front of him.

“Eddie,” Dustin waved his hand in front of the boy. “Dude, I’ve literally never seen you study this hard it’s making me worry.”

Eddie slams his hands down on the table in frustration. “Goddamn sign language just be fucking easier!”

Mike and Gareth give the boy a confused look. “Sign language?” Mike asks, stealing the paper. “Why are you learning sign language?”

Eddie snatches the paper back quickly. “Because, Wheeler. There’s someone in my Study Hall who’s deaf. And, yeah he can read lips or whatever, but…” he trails off for a moment. “I wanna make him feel a bit less alone, I guess?”

The group nods, knowing that he had his eyes on someone for a little while now. They were honestly just proud of him for taking the first step.

Gareth takes a look at the page. “And you’re sure that you’ve got the right signs?” he asks, causing Jeff to nudge him.

Mike shakes his head. “I think it’s super cool that he’s even trying. That’s more than you’d do, man!”

Eddie ignores the groups bickering, going back to learning the phrases on the page.

—

Study Hall rolls around once again, you were already sat at your desk catching yourself up on an English assignment.

You’re taken away from your work when you feel a tap at the edge of you desk. You look up to see Eddie, nervously rocking back and forth between his feet. You wave up at him.

He waves back, peeking down at the piece of paper in his hands before tucking it in his pocket. He wipes his hands off on his shirt before starting to sign something. It takes until he fully finishes poorly signing what he wanted to say for you to understand.

“Are you…are you trying to invite me to something?” you ask, a soft smile growing on your cheeks.

“Is it that bad?” he asks sheepishly.

You shrug as he takes a seat at the desk next to yours. “I’ve seen worse.”

He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed at his failure. “Yknow, that took me three weeks to figure out,” he explains.

You let out a laugh. “What are you trying to invite me to?”

“Oh I haven’t even told you yet! My band, Corroded Coffin, has a show Tuesday night. I thought…maybe you’d like to come?”

You look at him confused. “Eddie?”

He shakes his head. “It was a silly request, I know, but you can say no and we can totally drop it I understand.”

“No, it’s just..I’m not gonna be able to hear it.”

His eyes shimmer after that. “I know you can’t actually hear it, but I figured you could come and sit in this booth right next to the stage. It’s got a speaker right next to it..a-and you can put your hand on it and feel the music instead!”

His excitement and generosity make you feel warm inside. It wasn’t usual for you to be met with so much accommodation. You nod your head. “I’ll be there.”

He claps happily, cheering to himself. “You won’t regret it I promise.”

—

Tuesday night rolled around quickly. Eddie offered to pick you up, gifting you one of his rings to wear along with a chain incase it was too big on your fingers. The ride was nice, Eddie telling you what to expect.

When you both arrived, you found the booth easily, Eddie letting you sit down right next to the speaker.

It wasn’t long before it was time for Corroded Coffin to start their set. He stood up to run onstage, but before he left, he caught your attention.

“This one’s for you, Sweetness,” he signed nearly perfect, clear he’d been practicing it for a long time.

The gesture gives you butterflies, excited to watch the band perform. After setting up, Eddie pointed over to the speaker. “You’re gonna love this!” he signed.

You place your hand right over the speaker, the soft vibrations only growing as the song started. It only got better from there, the interesting rhythm drawing you in. It would’ve been the best part if it weren’t for Eddie’s pure enjoyment of playing the music. You noticed him gaze over at you, getting somehow even more energetic at the sight of you banging your head along to the song.

The set eventually dies down, Eddie practically jumping off the stage to come back to you. “What’d you think?” he asks, scanning your face for an indicator of your feelings.

You nod happily. “Best music I’ve ever felt,” you tell him happily. Your heart flutters as you watch him celebrate a successful show. You laugh at him tousling his hair around and drumming on the table along with the next act.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x male reader #eddie munson x you

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igotanidea · 1 year

Text

Workaholic insomniacs : Matt Murdock x reader

request by @pinksirensong: 132 from the "Choose for me - prompt list" with Matt Murdock

132 was "I haven't slept in four days." It did not indicate which one of them :D

***

I think I might be dying. I am tired to the point where I can’t even close my eyes and get some rest, my mind is racing and I’m suffering with too much thoughts causing my head to drift dangerously to the brink of explosion. Life and job has been too much lately. Of course I knew getting a job in Hell’s kitchen would be … well, literal hell. Sure, I was aware that being a detective who loves one’s job is not exactly a piece of cake. I suppose I just did not see this much coming on me.

At this point, as we run an investigation I work almost 24/7. I haven’t slept in four daysand it slowly starting to show. The fact that someone constantly wants something from me so I can’t finish anything does not help. It’s nearly midnight and my team is still burning the midnight oil, our effectiveness inversely proportional to the efforts. Seems like the more we try the less we get. Did I mention my head hurts?

“I need air” I mutter to the operation chef, agent Nadeem “just five minutes of it”

“Go, agent. Take a break, we all could use it” he mutters

“Was that an irony, Nadeem?”

“Sorry. I guess I became a bit grumpy because of this case”

“Yeah, didn’t we all. I’ll be right back I promise and then you can go get some distance.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so” he shook his head “you know me, not going anywhere until I’m done.”

“I know, but your wife will kill me If I let you keep tormenting yourself this way. So no sir, you are next in turn.”

“Women” she rolls eyes.

“You men would be truly lost without us” I smirk and walk out the room with cameras tracing my every step. Being the only girl on the team can be hard sometimes. They have tendencies to undermine your skills and abilities, treat you like a porcelain doll even if you would take down most of them and sometimes make some inappropriate jokes. Good thing our supervisor is a woman. That make them halt a bit. Oh, and I am extremely good agent. Otherwise, I would not be put on this case at all. Besides, there are also benefits. You get your own room while they camp together, you can eat as much food as you want without being judged and you get to understand how the brain of a man works. Or at least get a closer look. I mean, all of this agents are my friends, and even if we banter and fight sometimes we would give life for each other. Especially agent Dex, the sniper, the first one on the defense line. He actually saved my life once and that is kind of debt I could never fully repay. Lately he has been acting strange but I won’t interfere with whatever business he has going on. If he want to talk, he knows where to find me.

Because of all the security and buffers It takes almost fifteen minutes to get out of the building, each second longer than the previous one. The latest rate of suicide victims had raised significantly and therefore the access to windows on the highest floors are limited. Unfortunately, FBI are always located high. Ironically the key figures claim it’s for security. Waving my pass in front of the bouncer’s eyes I finally reach the revolving door and leave the dirty and suffocating space behind me.

The cold, autumn air of hell’s kitchen instantly make me clench the coat tighter around my shoulders and I shiver a bit. I love my city, seemingly empty at this hour, but under the surface still pulsing with life. Driving cars and sounds of carriages, few people walking the streets and occasional shutting makes it all so real. It’s good to come down on earth and sense the surroundings after hours and hours of keeping your head in the documents. Yes, the world is full of violence, unfairness and all those negativity that comes from being human. On the other side, however you can always get hope upon looking at the rising sun or listening to the wind rustling in the wind.

I wasn’t always like that. I use to march through the world like it was a war zone. Straight from point A to point B. Absolutely focused on saving time and getting all my tasks done. Surrounding? Ain’t nobody got time for that. I was an agent and we don’t really have time to devour the singing birds or other stuff like that.

It changed when I met a man, who has all his senses, except one, sharpened like a new-bought pencil. He made me stop and wonder about the sounds, the smells, the feelings. It was something utterly new, like opening eyes to the world after a long dreamless sleep. And it ended up with me in a hospital, seriously hurt during field operation because I got distracted. Yes, Matt Murdock had and still has a lot of negative impact on my life. And our relationship is complicated and damaged in hundreds different ways, but we just can’t be without each other.

“Agent”

“No.” I turn around and spot a red-dressed silhouette in a dark alley. “No!” I repeat firmly shaking my head.

“You don’t even….”

“I’m not giving you anything, Devil”

“Oh, come on, please” he pleads with this tone that in other circumstances would make me give up just because of a single word and give him anything.... Stop! Stop! You are at work, get yourself together, dirty thoughts aside. “I need some information.”

“Those are strictly confidential and you know it. I don’t need any trouble besides those I already have” I pointed at him angrily.

“Come on honey, you know I can figure it out faster than the FBI. Just give me something to work with.”

“No.” I stand my ground “Drop it, Matt”

“Shh!” with one firm move he grabs my hand and pull me into the dark alley where no one could see us, his hand on my mouth “do you want to compromise my identity, sweetie?”

“You are a threat to yourself, so I don’t think there’s much I can do to make it worse” I mutter trying to yank free of his hold and failing spectacularly.

“Honey….” He mutters nuzzling my cheek “why can’t we get over with this. You know, because of this I haven’t slept in four days.”

“Well I know the feeling.”

“Wouldn’t it be lovely to spend some time together after closing the matter?” he pulls me closer

“Careful Murdock, I got a gun”

“Well, I got batons”

“You can’t win this conversation with me”

“Well, shall we try? I’m a lawyer.”

“Oh, well, I am a woman so don’t even try!”

“Karen would….”

“Oh, low blow! Now we’re done here.”

“Why?” he slightly moves back pouting,

“Karen, seriously? You know how I feel about you getting a civilian involved.”

“So it’s not about us anymore?”

“Look, you dumbass of a vigilante” I sigh “You have masochistic tendencies. And it’s fine. I’m used to it as long as you are doing it on your own responsibility. But I’m not going to help you with getting yourself hurt, all right? My conscience would not take it.”

“But….”

“No buts, Matt. Drop it.”

“Is than a command, agent?” his voice becomes dark and serous under this mask of his and this leaves me no choice.

“Yes, it’s a command” I pierce him with the coldest gaze I can produce on my face and even if he can’t see it, I know he felt the ice in my whole posture.

“Well, too bad I don’t listen to those. And you know you can’t do this without me!” he turns around and jump on the nearest set of stair disappearing into the night. Damn him!

***

“did you come up with something substantial on your visit to the outside world?” Nadeem asks seeing me back, coattails running loose, hands in pockets uncharacteristically angry “What happened?”

“Nothing” I snap but his admonitory gaze put me back in my place “sorry. Just some relationship trouble”

“Oh, I can surely relate to that.”

“I know, but that’s no excuse. I’m sorry. But, on the bright side I actually think I may have an idea and a trail that is worth checking.”

“Do tell” Nadeem fixes his gaze on me in anticipation for any detail that can help the team and for the first time I notice the tiredness and weariness on his face alongside with a few grey hair in his dark shag.

“You know, there was this little thing in the files. A symbol” I flick through the documents “here it is, see” I point to the almost invisible pictogram of a blue spade on the building in the background of the photo. “I know where I saw it.”

***

“FBI! Everyone on the ground!” the force team kick the door down and barge into the mansion with me and Nadeem close on their feet. I guess I was right since we have four of our suspects lying on the floor with their hands handcuffed. Mission completed.

“Good job, agent” Nadeem puts a hand on my shoulder as a token of congratulations “I bet this would get attention from the high level. Maybe you would get an investigation on your own.”

“Nah. I would decline that. You and I we make a good team, agent Nadeem, don’t you think.”

“You are a pain in my ass.” He smirks and in his case use of such words means he feels we do work well together.

“I’ve heard that many times before and I’m still here”

“Let’s head back. We have some interrogation to do. This is not over yet.”

“I’m more than happy to do so. And we were so lucky to get here first” I say to no one in particular.

“What do you mean?” Nadeem frowns at me

“Oh, no, nothing. It’s just… lately TV has been claiming that FBI and police are inept and Devil of Hell’s kitchen does all the job. Guess they were wrong.” I meanly stress out the last word noticing a single streak of red sneaking behind me.

***

“Did you have fun?” when I get back to my apartment Matt is already there

“By proving you wrong? By winning the race with the daredevil?” I tap my chin in consideration “Yes!” I grin in satisfaction “So much of it! And rumor has it I’m up for promotion”

“Good thing the Devil decided to left the matter in your hands”

“It is, right? A lot of luck. Or maybe rather a lot of competence and observational skills. Not to mention intelligence and fast thinking.”

“Well thank you” he chuckles

“I’m sorry Matt, but I was talking to my reflection in the mirror. Did not see you in there.”

“Talk about a low blow” he hiss in pain.

“where?” I move towards the couch perching on the edge

“Nowhere” he tries to move away but wince again.

“Matt,….”

“I’m sorry” he sighs closing his eyes “I should have never doubted you”

“You shouldn’t have” I agree “but it’s a habit, right? You do it every time you are on your vigilant shit.”

“I’m sorry”

“No, you know what it’s fine.” He looks at my direction a bit confused “you weren’t Matt., then. You were Daredevil. And I was not your girlfriend. I was an FBI agent. Two different lives, four different person.”

“Do you have any mental problems I should now about.”

“See, that was Matt.” I smile “what I mean is that in our… other life we are supposed to be enemies. After all you steal my job and I hate that. But all this spiting and fighting and teasing while we are both in suits are good. We get better don’t you think? Trying to prove something.”

“As twisted as that is you may be a bit right.”

“Well I mean I get better, you seem awfully savaged, more than usual. Losing your proficiency?”

“Is it an agent talking or my girl?”

“Your girl” I smile and he grabs my hand kissing my knuckles gently.

“Well, like I said before I haven’t slept in four days and that’s an effect.” I stay silent waiting for him to continue and after a while the words come “can you stay with me? I need you close to me.”

“Sure I can” I snuggle next to him, forgetting about the job, the stress and the fight some agent has with some vigilante. We’ll deal with that in the morning, now it’s just boyfriend and girlfriend making themselves cozy in a shared bed.

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock x y/n #daredevil netflix #daredevil x y/n #daredevil x you #matt murdock imagine #daredevil imagine #matt murdock one shot #daredevil one shot #mcu #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel imagines #marvel imagine #marvel one shot

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imjulia-andilikecats · 9 months

Note

just read ur cal tiktok post (and absolutely loved), but i’m dying over mares username being lightningmarequeen💀 it’s so in character though

Mare would put the most random stuff together cause she sees no point in making an effort 💁‍♀️ (and we love her for it ✨️).

Also, Kilorn definitely encouraged her to use it cause he thought it would be stupid funny. Then after a few weeks start to wonder why she hasn't changed her username yet.

PART 2 of Cal's Tik Tok Account and His Quest to Mare's Heart

Cal doesn't mind the username, he loves Mare's humor and going out to have coffee with her.

Which they did go on a date....along with Maven.

Who explained that he wanted to try the cafe's new roasted beans and would leave once he has his drink.

Cal agreed, he can't say no to his baby brother and maybe Mare would be comfortable having Maven accompany them for a while.

After they all got their drinks and a few slices of cake, Maven casually shoved himself between him and Mare. Immediately start chatting with his date.

Cal also chipped in the conversation, making Mare cutely snort at his cheesy jokes.

But then, his brother would switch into topics that only he and Mare would know. Leaving him out and making him feel a bit awkward.

Whenever he tried to lightly remind Maven that he was suppose to go home. Maven would just give him a sheepish smile and say, "Ten more minutes, brother."

After thirty minutes, Maven was still sitting between him and his future wife date. He was busy talking about how unrealistic the plot was and the show poorly adapted their source material. While offering Mare a bite of his cake, since she was nearly finished with her donut.

That small gesture summoned a tiny, jealous demon in his chest. It's voice screeching in anger.

Ca loves his brother but at that moment, he just wanted to throw him out the window along with damned coffee.

"Thanks Maven, but I want some piece of that instead." Mare leaned to the side. Peeking over Maven's should, as she pointed at his barely touched vanilla cake.

Maven paused. Dead silent for a moment.

Turning his head towards him. "Oh my, you're still here?"

Cal raised both his brows at his brother's question.

He opened his mouth, ready for a snippy remark. Only for Mare cut him off.

"Well. Of course, he is still here."

Mare tilted to the side. Her bright face and warm brown eyes finally facing him. "I have a date with him after all ." Tipping her head at his direction.

Cal's heart soared.

Maven looked at Mare for a moment. His brows slightly furrowed, confused and...even hurt?

But his expression didn't stayed that long. Maven quickly stood up, his half-finished coffee in hand. "Ah right."

Maven turned toward the exist, but paused to ask Mare. "You do know we have homework in History, right?"

Mare continued, while taking her final bite of her donut. "To be submitted on Monday."

"Don't you need any help?" Maven offered, his expression hopeful.

It only met with Mare's laid back response. "You do know that History is my favorite."

Maven smirked, lacking any humor as he teased. "I almost forgot that you are lame."

Mare laughed warmly and winked at him. "Said the teacher's pet."

His baby brother's expression softened. "See you on Monday."

Cal watched them both quietly. They sure are close... Anyway, at least Mavey's going home.

He was lost in his thoughts when he noticed Mare's stealthy hand pulling his cake towards her.

Cal reached for his plate. Hoping to stop this lovely thief from stealing his cake, as she already stole his heart.

"Thief." He said softly. Watching her grin at him, with his cake in her hands.

"Obviously." She replied. Looking at him, as she took a mouthful of cake to her full lips.

She then offered him a bite of his cake and somehow it tasted sweeter.

#red queen #mare barrow #glass sword #war storm #king's cage #cal calore #maven calore #old meme #random #tiberias vii calore #marecal #mareven #maven iliketocockblockmyolderbrother calore #mare iwanttohaveapieceofcalscake barrow #cal ijustwanttostartafamilywiththisamazinggirlbutmybabybrothercanttakeahint calore

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aspenwritesstuff · 1 year

Text

Part One: It’s a Deal

🌹 prev 🌹 masterlist 🌹 next

🌹taglist: open! @drhsthl

I want you there every step of the way. I want to do what you asked for in your bio. I want you to watch our relationship bloom, to see love be true and real in the flesh.

I want to prove you wrong.

🌹warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, borderline cheating/inferred cheating, mentions of sex/sleeping around

🌹w/c: 5.5k

🌹a/n: I finally got around to finishing the first chapter of the story that has overtaken my entire life lately! 😭❣️

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! I hope you enjoy the introduction to the world of Prove Me Wrong as much as I’ve enjoyed putting the pieces together.

“Give me your phone.”

Your attention lifted from the device that you’d been tapping away at during Jisung’s recollection of the night he’d spent with his latest match, sheepish guilt clouding the depths of your gaze as you gave him your best apologetic smile, “I know I seem distracted, but I’m listening! Promise.”

He sighed, offering an eyeroll that would’ve seemed annoyed had it not gone hand-in-hand with an affectionate smirk. He took a deep breath, pretending to calm down from nonexistent anger before launching back into the details of the outing.

“As I was saying,” he cleared his throat, resituating himself comfortably on the opposite end of your couch, “He walked me all the way back to my car, even though he had to work in the morning.”

You bit your tongue, forcing yourself not to let your cynicism show by informing him that it wasn’t all that impressive - and was actually, in fact, the bare minimum his date should do after 10PM.

“And then, I said he didn’t have to if he needed to get home and rest, guess what this man said to me?”

You hummed rather than actually asking, knowing based on the animated storytelling and twinkle in his eye that you were going to be told anyway, regardless of your interest.

“He said he’d be awake worrying about me anyways until I’d gotten home safe!” he’d nearly squealed, kicking his feet against the carpet happily, “It was literally the sweetest fucking thing! I think he may be–” a sharp inhale drew your gaze from the notes app you’d once again been typing into, bringing Jisung’s shocked expression and wide eyes into view.

“Are you taking fucking notes?”

A scoff tickled your lips before you blatantly lied, “Why would I do that?” Your voice had shifted up half an octave, effectively giving you away as you dismissively waved your hand.

“Oh my God!” he screeched, laughter bubbling from his lips as he reached for the beer he’d all but abandoned in his rush to spill each and every intricacy of his date, “You totally are!”

You felt the prickle of an embarrassed flush creep from under the collar of your shirt as you mumbled for him to shut up, sipping at your own open drink as you waited for him to stop cackling - which he eventually did, most likely influenced by the sight of your still-reddening face.

“Writer’s block that bad again?” he finally asked after his composure had returned, genuine worry knitting his brow, before setting his now-empty bottle back into the ring of condensation it had left on the coaster whilst being neglected.

You nodded with a sigh, lips downturned in dissatisfaction, “It just feels like I’ve written all there is to write, y’know?”

He shook his head, giving you an inquisitive raise of his eyebrow - a silent effort to earn an explanation.

“Love isn’t as complex as everyone thinks it is,” you offered, tipping your head back to finish your ale. Setting the empty bottle down, you continued, “There’s only so many ways to tell the same old story.”

You pointed at your digits as you listed the main steps of love, “Person meets person, they fall in love, then live happily ever after - or, more likely, leave eachother broken and damaged before moving on to the next.”

Han’s face was easy to read, displaying obvious distaste towards your opinion. He knew better than to try and change your mind by now, though.

“We get it, you think love is dumb,” he’d said instead, sarcastic words laced with a sadness he couldn’t manage to completely mask.

“But, back to the topic at hand!” He proclaimed, any traces of brief melancholy dissolving as he clapped his hands together.

“It’s that I’m not flattered by the idea of my love life being your muse—“ he stood from his place on the sofa to make his way to the fridge, pulling another bottle from its container, pointing it towards you before interrupting himself to ask, “Another?”

“Sure,” you smiled affectionately as he grabbed a second beer, pushing the fridge door shut with his hip before making his way back.

“Wouldn’t it be more effective to just go on your own dates?” he handed you your drink as he asked, flopping unceremoniously back down into the indent he’d left in his absence.

Only Han could get away with that suggestion, you thought as you instantly withdrew so as not to have to remind him that - for you - that simply wasn’t an option.

You filled the looming silence with the quiet hiss of your bottle opening, Jisung’s eyes burning holes into the side of your head as you sipped once, twice, and three times.

You’d be the first to admit he had a valid point. Vicariously pulling inspiration from your best friend’s first date was definitely among the more convoluted ways to retaliate against a tauntingly empty document.

That wasn’t relevant, though.

It wasn’t because he was wrong that you’d gone mute.

It had somehow already been a year since you and your highschool sweetheart, San, had called off your engagement. You’d dated since senior year, somehow balancing the stress of university with a happy, loving relationship.

When he’d proposed to you at your joint graduation party - a collective finally coming from your shared group of friends - everyone was overjoyed. You were the couple other couples aspired to be; adoration evident in every glance you’d share, so madly in love that it was palpable.

Until you weren’t.

You’d gotten into one of your rare, heated arguments after attending one of his work parties. You had expressed your distaste for the way his coworker’s hand lingered on his arm, the other twirling an auburn strand around her perfectly manicured finger whilst they exchanged inside jokes about the project they’d been assigned to work on together. You had effectively been made feel like a third wheel despite the diamond glittering proudly on your finger.

He’d said you were acting far too jealous, accusing you of being controlling when you’d tried to point out that he’d done nothing to stop her from being increasingly too touchy with him.

“This isn’t who I proposed to!” he’d snapped, eyes sending you a dangerous glint you’d not seen before.

“And you’re not who I said yes to,” you’d whispered back through silent tears, watching as he packed his bags violently - snatching the ring from your finger to place it back into it’s little velvet box gently, completely opposite to how he’d shoved it haphazardly into the pocket of his coat immediately after - before slamming the door on his way out.

Only to end up dating his bubbly, beautiful coworker less than a week later.

Once the initial shock had worn off - finger no longer feeling the phantom weight of a silver band - and you’d become capable of going twenty-four hours without crying, Jisung had insisted you go out and, “live your best life.”

It probably wasn’t what he meant when you’d immediately tried to distract yourself with other men, prowling the bars for someone sober enough to retain their ability to coherently fuck you without going soft.

And just drunk enough to forget your name afterwards.

That lasted for only a couple of months, though; Jisung’s concern had already been close to stopping you, but it was a sudden realization after a particularly boring one night stand that cemented the end of your promiscuity.

The strangers had somehow made the unoccupied side of the bed San had left behind feel even emptier.

Thus began your earnest but incredibly short attempt at getting back into the dating pool. It was a strange adjustment, saying yes rather than cringing away when someone would ask for a date. It was when you’d called the number the cute Starbucks employee had scrawled on your cup, agreeing to a dinner date, that you’d come to the conclusion that love - for you - was dead.

You’d nearly forgotten how to prepare for a date. After spending arguably too long choosing an outfit that was pretty in a love way - not a sex way - you arrived at the impressive French restaurant he’d scored a reservation at. You’d spent what - to any sane, rational person - was a beautiful evening with an attractive man.

Except, in your heartbreak, you were neither sane nor rational.

He’d offered you a modest bouquet of pink carnations, stunning and lovely. Most would feel their heartstrings be plucked like a harp at the gesture. But, to you, it served only as an unwelcome reminder that you’d still needed to call the florist and cancel your order of that exact bloom for your wedding that would never happen.

The white wine you’d sipped, though delicious and assumedly expensive, had only reminded you of the glass San would always bring you while you soaked in the tub after a difficult day.

The nervousness in your date’s eyes that should’ve been endearing failed to even flatter you as flashes of the same expression on San’s face when he’d asked you to prom shot daggers through your heart.

Despite all of the painful memories, you had let the cute barista kiss you goodnight afterwards.

It wasn’t a bad kiss - filled with hopeful feelings and the taste of the chocolate dessert you’d shared- his surprisingly soft lips capturing your own in a chivalrous, gentle way.

No, it wasn’t a bad kiss. It wasn’t a bad date. He wasn’t a bad man.

But yet, after you’d said goodbye and got into a cab, you’d thanked him for the night by blocking his number and googling the address for the next-nearest coffee shop.

You didn’t want another date with him. You didn’t want a date with anybody.

Of course, being your best and oldest friend, Jisung knew that.

“It’s been a year, honey,” he gently informed you, not that you’d have forgotten had you tried. His hand fell gently onto your knee, stopping the bouncing motion you hadn’t noticed until it was brought to a stop by his warm palm.

“I know,” you sighed, placing your hand on top of his in a show of appreciation, rubbing your thumb over his smooth knuckles as you whispered, “but it’s like I said before –”

“Your heart can’t break if you don’t share it with anyone, I know,” Jisung cut you off, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair before exhaling a sigh that could only be described as defeated.

“But not even a meaningless date for inspiration?” he pressed, raising a brow as you chugged over half of your fresh beer, attempting to delay having to answer.

Jisung had yet another perfectly valid point. But, as was typically the case, you also had another perfectly valid reason not to do as he suggested.

It’s not that you hadn’t considered just finding a few dates here and there to serve as a fount of creativity - it was, by all means, the most direct approach to climb out of your slump.

Maybe before San, or if things had ended differently, you would’ve made attempts to do exactly that by now.

But San had, in fact, happened - and events had, in fact, unfolded as they did.

Now that you knew the hurt of feeling played, the absolute seasickness that wondering why you weren’t enough could cause? You couldn’t find it within yourself to give anyone the opportunity to hope for more - at least not with you.

Not dating was the only way to keep any more hearts from breaking; be it others’ or your own - even if it meant your agent having a fit over the lack of chapters you’d sent to your editor as of late.

“I don’t wanna lead anyone on, Ji,” you admitted, actively trying to escape the tense atmosphere - the off-putting vibe that only hung over you and Jisung when your love life was the topic - by standing up.

“Some poor guy’s gonna think we’re gonna get married someday,” obviously forced humor fell from your words as you busied yourself, gathering empty beer bottles from the side tables.

Your best friend followed as you brought them to the kitchen to rinse out, taking them from your hands one-by-one to place gently in the recycling bin.

“What if you just…tell the truth?” he suddenly asked after the last of the bottles had been taken care of, making you drop the plush towel you’d been drying off with.

You were absolutely shook by the sheer simplicity of what should’ve been the obvious answer.

“What?”

“Y’know, just be upfront about it,” he reiterated nonchalantly, “Just say, ‘I need to go out for research, don’t expect more of me’ or something.” He opened one of your cabinets - grabbing a bag of pretzels and biting down on one with a casual shrug - though he hadn’t just given you the Holy Grail of solutions.

There had never been a rule that you had to want to fall in love to go out on a date, though that was traditionally the goal. In theory, as long as you could find a willing participant, you could go on dates simply for the experience.

Admittedly, you felt a little stupid having not thought of it on your own.

“Hey, Ji?” you queried, biting back a smirk at the way his head shot up, cheeks bulging with the snacks he’d been indulging on. He struggled to ask what you’d interpreted to be something along the lines of ‘what’s up,’ finally bringing a breathy laugh to your lips before you asked him to do something you never thought you would.

“Will you help me set up a tinder?”

After his completely understandable surprise had worn off, Jisung was ecstatic to help you set up your account.

He’d personally selected each photo that appeared on your profile, not-so-subtly choosing only those that he’d snapped himself. He waved you off when you’d called him on it, insisting that it wasn’t his fault you took terrible photos of yourself.

As you stared down at your own brilliantly smiling face in the picture he insisted appear first - lips painted red, parted mid-laugh with shimmering gold flecks around your eyes, crinkled in jubilation at a joke you could no longer remember the punchline to - you decided that he may just be right.

He’d since handed you the reins, begrudgingly leaving the bio up to you after you’d turned down his many - as he put, brilliant - suggestions. Jisung officially lost the privilege of helping after he’d genuinely offered, “Hot but emotionally unavailable, swipe right to be blue-balled,” as an option, disappointment obvious in the way his shoulders slumped when you’d told him, in these exact words, that it would never fucking happen.

It wasn’t as easy as you thought it’d be. As an author, you knew the importance of an attention-grabbing opening line, so - after several instances of typing, backspacing, and deliberating - you settled on something simple yet compelling:

“Love is dead, prove me wrong.”

Jisung had told you that it was very mid-2000’s emo of you, earning him a playful smack to the arm before you published it to your profile and began swiping.

Ignoring your best friend picking apart every line written by the potential dates, you read each person’s description diligently - treating it less like dating than the experiment it had become - and swiped right only on those who didn’t come across as the type to insist that you simply didn’t believe in love because you hadn’t met them yet.

That didn’t stop you from receiving your fair share of cringe-worthy messages.

Hey sexy, unmatch, you’re too pretty to be such a cynic, unmatch, it’s so unfair that you don’t actually want a relationship, you sure i can’t change your mind? Unmatch. I don’t believe in love either, wanna bang? Stifle your vomit and un-fucking-match.

It wasn’t until Jisung had excused himself to return to his apartment - having yawned one-too-many times in the last hour to trust himself with driving home had he stayed any later - that a simple, genuine question popped up from one of your matches. It bad provided you with the long-forgotten feeling of warm hope deep inside your chest.

The sender?

Lee Felix, a twenty-three year old bartender with an innocent, joyful smile who - according to his profile - might be the answer to your unspoken prayers.

His bio was short and sweet, simply reading, “Hopeless romantic, hopeless at dating. More awkward in person.”

Seeing the way his eyes sparkled with childlike wonder, you could’ve easily known he loved the idea of love - even without his self-proclamation.

I almost didn’t swipe right, but I just had to ask. Please don’t be offended! but... If love is dead, why are you here? 😅

You forced that unfamiliar warmth down as you typed your reply, knowing that your plan was pretty far fetched - even in today’s dating world. You decided on keeping it as short and sweet as you possibly could, though Jisung would later tell you that you were a terrible texter;

At least you’re honest. I’m an author, a romance novelist to be exact. Hilarious, I know. The irony isn’t lost on me. I’ve hit a bit of a slump that going on dates could be the remedy for.

You chewed your lip for a moment before typing out another message, wanting to be as transparent as possible with the man behind the bright-smiled profile picture, only to be surprised by the telltale bubbles of your match responding bouncing in the lower corner of your screen.

So, you know a lot about love then?

This was the first of many questions Lee Felix, twenty-three year old bartender would ask that surprised you - but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

I know enough to know it’s pointless.

Your retort would later earn you a slightly-too-hard smack from Jisung, directly to the back of your head while he would chastise you for trying to spread your “anti-love agenda.”

Your match, for as grating a message you’d sent, was either unaffected or politely ignoring the jaded undertones when he immediately answered with an inquiry that you could never have predicted.

If I help you, will you help me, too? Not in a creepy way!!! That sounded weird, sorry.

You laughed aloud at his self-awareness towards the way his message could’ve come across, wondering if he truly was even more awkward in person as his bio stated.

You deliberated this until his next message popped up, sparking your interest with an intensity you’d forgotten you were capable of.

There’s this girl…

He went on to explain that he’d downloaded tinder in a last-ditch effort to forget about the so-called woman of his dreams, a regular at the bar he worked at, who had no idea he existed outside of being the guy who refills her cosmopolitans. He’d tried to talk to her off the clock all of once, taking a twenty-minute detour to get his pre-shift coffee at the café she worked at.

He’d gone through all of that effort only for her to be completely unaware she’d ever seen him before, asking him for the name she’d seen on his nametag - every weekend for three months, he included with several broken heart emojis - to write on the cup his latte would be poured into.

He hadn’t known how to try since then, still dejected by his experience and more-bitter-than-usual latte.

So you want me to help you impress this girl?

You aptly summed up the contents of the two paragraphs with a single sentence, laughing aloud at his immediate response.

Yes.

After a two-second pause, he added a please for good measure.

That’s all?

Your hesitance stemmed from just how perfect it all seemed. Despite your eagerness to give Jisung’s offhanded idea a try, there had been a voice in the back of your mind reminding you that - even if you left your feelings completely out of the equation - someone could end up falling for you.

So how exactly had someone who was already enamored with someone else just fallen into your lap?

Almost.

His answer caused your breath to hitch, the ordinary word he sent holding an unusually heavy weight. As you watched the circles at the bottom of the screen do the wave for longer than anticipated, you breathed out a near-silent, “Please don’t be something gross, please…”

I want you there every step of the way. I want to do what you asked for in your bio. I want you to watch our relationship bloom, to see love be true and real in the flesh.

I want to prove you wrong.

Now, that was a first. Not the desire to show you that love was real, there had definitely been a fair amount of men who’d claimed they could prove you wrong - your experience on tinder tonight only serving as an unfortunate reminder of the cockiness with which a man would proclaim they could alter your entire perspective, claiming you’d feel differently if they would’ve been the one to love you.

But never once had one of them wanted to prove you wrong via falling in love with someone else before your very eyes.

Making a decision you weren’t sure whether or not you’d regret, you quickly sent your own completely average single word answer with the same above-average connotation.

Deal.

“Did you pack your pepper spray?” Jisung called from the living room as you swiped a thin layer of mascara onto your lashes, catching your own eye roll in the bathroom mirror before you justified his wild comment with a verbal response.

He’d been near-unbearable with his insistence on self-defense ever since you’d told him you were going to meet with Felix today, figuring it would be easier to discuss details of your unconventional deal face-to-face.

Felix had initially suggested you come into the bar while he was working, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable by simply inviting you over. He’d quickly backtracked, though, when you’d reminded him that the subject of his affections could appear - potentially overhearing the conversation, effectively revealing his debilitating crush.

Felix practically jumped at a new suggestion in his eagerness to move past the near-foiling of your not-yet-enacted plan.

“We’re meeting at the food court, what’s he gonna do?” You paused to swipe a clear gloss over your lips, smacking them together with an audible pop before finishing the thought, “Stab me in front of Taco Bell?”

Walking into the bathroom and setting the aforementioned canister of pepper spray into your purse, Jisung placed a hand on your shoulder and solemnly spoke, eyes meeting yours in the mirror, “I was thinking Panera,” he shrugged, unbothered as you stared at his reflection with a gaping jaw.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned, brows raising as he sincerely continued - still ignoring the indignation written on your face, “Author found dead in front of t-bell? That doesn’t give enough headline energy and you know it.”

The way your eyes narrowed must have finally gotten to him, seeing as he quickly tacked on a compliment, “You’re too classy for that.”

You huffed, grabbing your purse now that you were content with the state of your face. Sure, there were no romantic intentions behind this meeting - but you still liked to feel pretty.

“No one is getting stabbed!”

“Correct!” Jisung grinned, “Because you’re taking the pepper spray!” He nodded in satisfaction before placing a quick peck to your cheek, skipping back to the living room. He narrowly avoided the kick you’d aimed for his arse as you followed him, coming to a stop at the welcome mat before voicing a sarcastic complaint.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” you’d grumbled, slipping your feet into your favorite worn pair of black boots and zipping the sides.

“And, yet, you keep me around,” his voice held a smug air of pride as he slid his own shoes onto his feet, opening your front door for you as he always did when the two of you left at the same time.

“Only because your warranty ran out,” you winked, slipping out the door and watching Jisung diligently lock it behind him with the spare key you’d given him years ago.

“Don’t lie, you just lost the receipt,” he laughed, hooking his key back onto his keyring before serving you a rare, serious look.

“Real talk, though,” he began, running his fingers through his hair nervously, a habit he typically engaged in when he felt anxious, “Be safe.”

“I’ll be fine, Ji,” you assured, falling into stride next to him as you walked towards the parking garage, “Promise.”

Content with your vow, he offered a gentle smile before branching off, walking towards his own vehicle as you climbed into the front seat of your own.

You waited to watch him leave, waiting until he turned the corner to put the key in the ignition. You shushed your old Nissan as a parent would their whining child, breathing a sigh of relief as it reluctantly sputtered to life.

Jisung had often criticized you for still driving the weathered four-door when you could easily afford something better, but it was easy to ignore his complaints. Loyalty to the first car you’d ever bought had always just made sense to you, even if it resulted in being the butt of a few jokes.

Your car - dubbed ‘Georgia’ by a shitfaced Jisung after you’d rescued him from a party he’d been forced to attend - was reliable, despite the rust creeping into the sun-faded maroon paint. You’d reasoned that she’d taken care of you, so why shouldn’t you do the same?

Jisung disagreed, claiming that you were just replacing romantic love with misplaced affection towards Georgia.

The journey to the mall was uneventful, filled only with your own voice singing along softly to the near-mute radio until you’d clumsily parked in an empty space a respectable distance away from the main entrance. You cursed yourself silently, remembering the long-forgotten pair of sunglasses on your bathroom counter as the late summer sun brought your eyes to an uncomfortable squint as you walked quickly to the doors.

Once the shade of the looming building provided a much-needed respite from the brightness of the sky, you whipped out your phone and shot a quick message to Felix, only to see that he’d beaten you to it.

Hey, I’m here! I know I’m a little early 😅 I got us a table, so take your time! no rush.

You exhaled your amusement, wondering how he’d managed to make informing you of his arrival into such an awkward affair, typing a quick ‘here’ in response as you crossed the threshold into the sensory nightmare that was Twin Peaks Mall.

You were immediately assaulted by the discordant, overlapping chatter of the mall-goers and the mixed scents of the several food chains present. Your eyes scanned the dining area for the man you’d only seen in photographs, stopping for a moment on each head of blonde before realizing none of them were attached to the freckled face you’d memorized before leaving home.

Your name being called from the midst of the throng straightened your posture, head whipping around as you looked for the source. You audibly snorted as you spotted him standing atop a chair, arms drowning in the sleeves of a soft, pink hoodie as they waved above his head. He beamed proudly as your eyes met his, the corners of your own lips involuntarily lifting to mimic his contagious joy.

Your eyes stayed trained on his mop of flaxen waves as you made your way through the crowd, uttering inevitable apologies to those you bumped into. You held back a laugh as Felix clumsily brought himself back down to the ground, lips downturned in both fear and concentration as he squatted on the wobbling chair.

Every second you’d spent near Felix thus far had made Jisung’s paranoia seem more and more unfounded.

You watched as he inhaled deeply before jumping safely down to the tile below, noticeably exhaling his relief. With arms outstretched on either side of him and an expression of sheer focus, his demeanor was more comparable to that of a gymnast who’d landed an important stunt rather than a man who’d leapt from a seat.

Furrowed brows were exchanged for a brief, triumphant smile as he glanced up to see you approaching. Rising to his feet, Felix stumbled in his haste to rise before your arrival.

“You do acrobatics for all of your dates?” you teased as soon as you were in earshot, tittering good-spiritedly at the way his cheeks flushed pink. Despite his embarrassment, the gentle-mannered man before you still offered his palm.

“Only on Tuesdays!” he chuckled, grasping your hand gently before giving it a quick shake. As he let go, he gestured towards the table and smiled warmly.

“It’s Saturday,” you corrected, taking the seat opposite the chair Felix had used as a stool to garner your attention.

A chuckle resonated from Felix’s throat as he reclaimed his seat - properly, this time.

“I was trying to be funny,” he informed you lightheartedly, corners of his lips still pulled into a ghost of a smile as you settled into a brief, comfortable silence. After plugging your meal choices into the food court’s provided tablet, the screen flashed to a timer. Ten minutes flipped to nine minutes and fifty-nine seconds in a fanciful font you’d come to find comically charming - especially after Jisung had claimed they were ‘yass-ifying’ fried chicken by using such elegant-looking numbers.

You’d had soda spew from your nose that day.

“So,” Felix began, pulling you from your reminiscing. You glanced towards him, watching as he fidgeted in his chair, attention focused on his worn sleeve. He twisted a loose thread between his index finger and thumb as he sheepishly admitted, “I’m not really sure how we do this,” a nervous laugh escaping his full lips as nothing more than a breath.

His admission brought you pause, realization hitting you like a ton of bricks;

You had no fucking idea. There was no manual for your extraordinary circumstances that the two of you could simply follow for the best results. Hoping that Felix wouldn’t think you incompetent, you finally shrugged and spoke honestly.

“I don’t have the slightest clue, to tell you the truth.”

His brows shot up as his lips parted, inhaling sharply before laughing aloud. Melodic bursts of joy poured from deep within his chest, infecting you in mere moments as you subconsciously joined him, carefree giggles meeting with his own rich, genuine laughter in perfect harmony.

As your giddy uproar dwindled, he timidly pulled a notebook from his backpack. You didn’t ask, but he’d informed you that he’d purchased this brand new one just for your meeting today. You’d thought about teasing him over it, but the expectant gleam in his gaze stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t bring yourself to dim the light he effortlessly radiated, brightness only increasing as he proudly handed you an unopened package of glittering gel pens - in thirty different shades.

It was in that notebook and in those sparkly pens that you’d come up with the conditions of your deal, Felix even writing out a mock-contract, face dead serious as he signed his name in vibrant magenta.

You’d fought the urge to pick on him once again as the corners of your lips turned upwards, the little heart he’d put above the ‘i’ in his name proving to be the most challenging thing to resist poking a bit of fun at.

You read over the bullet points he’d jotted down - ideas from you both, written in sequential colors of the rainbow providing a very rudimentary set of guidelines:

Felix will take you on a date each Friday. (unless either party has prior obligations, in which case rescheduling will take place.)

You will help Felix get closer with Ryujin each Saturday. (This could be in a variety of ways, via lessons or actively coaching him through interactions. The same rescheduling clause applies here.)

Expenses will be split evenly for each outing, regardless of the recipient.

Physical contact is to be limited to things friends would do with each other.

Either party can; suggest a break, ask for changes to the contract, or terminate the agreement at any time.

The completion of both parties’ goals (finishing the novel/dating Ryujin) marks the end of this deal.

If Felix successfully convinces you that love isn’t dead, you will admit that he proved you wrong.

When you’d signed your name in the same shimmering fuschia your counterpart had minutes ago, you were blissfully ignorant to the irrevocable way Lee Felix, twenty-three year old bartender would change your life - catastrophically, miraculously - forever.

#lee felix x reader #lee felix #lee felix fanfiction #stray kids fanficition #stray kids fic #lee felix smut #lee felix romance #skz fanfiction #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz reader insert #prove me wrong #lee felix fluff

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oc-heaven · 8 months

Text

Duties (completed)

Tw: Self harm and puking

Rowan's head lolled listlessly to the side as the noble fucking him buried his face in his shoulder. He had once again let the man fuck him so he could acquire a large sum of money to feed his troops and keep the man from causing trouble for him.

Looking out of the window at the night sky, Rowan dully wondered what Adonis thought of him after seeing him let the noble feel him up before being led off to the man's bed chambers.

He was probably disgusted with him, he now knew Rowan's dirty secret. Knowing he was letting nobles have their way with him, of course Adonis would be repulsed by him.

Gritting his teeth, Rowan swallowed the bile that rose in his throat as the noble placed gentle kisses on his neck. It would be better if the man just treated him like a common whore. Not like a precious doll. Why won't they just treat him like the worthless piece of shit he is?

It didn't take long for the man to finish, and it didn't take long for him to pass out. As Rowan sat at the edge of the bed that the noble slept in he knew he’d feel the man’s touch long after he had left. The feeling of the disgustingly gentle touches would make his skin itch until he found himself scrubbing it raw. The itch would only go away when the top layer of skin was gone.

He knew he’d make himself puke until he felt his throat and mouth had been burned enough by bile that any remnant of the blowjob he had given was gone. Rowan sighed and got up and put on a robe. He had duties as king, and he would follow through. No matter what.

"Hey, um, I thought you might want to wash up, so I got the servants to draw a bath for you." Adonis said as he smiled softly at the king.

"Okay," Rowan said dismissively as he avoided his knight's gaze, staring past Adonis. In the washroom, he discarded his satin robe and stepped into the warm water. The whole time he could feel Adonis' eyes on him. "Wash my hair." Rowan ordered coldly.

"Yes sire," Adonis said as he sat at the edge of the tub, as the king stared blankly out of the window, hands on either side of the tub, as his knight began to wash his hair.

“Your touch is gentle for a mercenary,” Rowan’s voice was vacant as he raised a pale arm to inspect the scars. “Am I pathetic?”

“What?”

“This body, it can’t handle much, try as I might to fight through it… despite my efforts… I’m still so… fragile… so… disgustingly pitiful. I can't even bear children, I'm only useful for the pleasure of others."

"You are much more than your body." Adonis was gentle as he massaged the soap into the king's hair, but Rowan couldn't pretend that Adonis' words made him feel better. Not when he knew the truth better than anyone, he just let the knight finish washing his hair.

"You are dismissed. Leave me now." Rowan didn't see the hurt look on Adonis' face as he stood and left. Once Adonis had left, Rowan felt that familiar itch under his skin. The itch he needed to scrub away. The itch of his sins.

He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. Until the water turned red with blood. Until his body became numb. Until the itch was gone. Until he was clean.

#oc #oc drabbles #jacks ocs #oc ship #rowan #adonis #adonis x rowan #tw self harm #tw puking mention #scars au

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bvannn · 8 months

Text

Weekly Update September 8, 2023

This week my body has not been kind to me so I haven’t done as much as I’d like, but honestly I still did a lot.

First and foremost I fixed the corrupted TRGA file (and by fixed I mean redid everything that was lost), and I’ve started the next step: Jon’s animation for shot 1-2. I’ve been looking into some framerate studies and I think? I have an idea of where and where not to hold frames, this piece of animation will use that a bit, as a prop will be moving fast enough to warrant it. Also I designed the prop, I know I’ll need to mess with it more in later shots but the hardest part is done. I’ve finished the keyframes and have started the tweens, I consider myself 1 day ahead of schedule for now.

I’ve also been messing with some drawing designing things: Backstage, one of my OC stories, warrants some alternate outfits for certain characters that I haven’t really put an effort into designing until recently. That picture of Reesie in the dress being one. I’ll try to get art done for the others.

I should also be able to update commission stuff as well, haven’t done the math to see if I need to change prices, but I should hopefully be able to add backgrounds as options soon.

I have been scattered as far as music goes. I keep thinking projects will be good for learning, then putting them off. Honestly the ‘big’ music project I had seems the most straightforward at the moment, and also seems like a better springboard to teach me what I’m missing than I thought, so I think I’ll commit to it. It’s a long form medley of several short songs, I don’t know how long it’ll be, but since it’s a mashup with many songs, it’ll teach me what I need, hopefully. I have a spreadsheet I’ll fill out with the keys and chords, once I finish I’ll test some segments out and maybe stop being vague about it. I don’t want to build attention before I know I’ll be able to get anywhere with it, but we’ll see where we get.

Most importantly, I have an interview for an internship next Tuesday morning, so I’m going to be hard focusing on making sure I’m as healthy and hydrated and whatever as I can be until then. This means early bedtimes, so I might have a bit less time to draw, but this is a really important internship I’ve wanted for a really long time, and last time I interviewed I got really close to getting picked, so I want to do whatever I need to guarantee it this time. This might mean taking it easy and not drawing anything until Wednesday, or drawing extra to boost my mood. Not sure, we’ll see.

#weekly update

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soyces · 8 months

Text

Morning Tea (Johnlock) Pt 2

tags- fluff, angst :)))))

Chapter One(Sherlocks point of view)

I wake up to the sound of the kettle whistling and footsteps. But I don't move because I almost physically cannot, my head is pounding almost as if I were talking to Moriaty or Anderson…god do they give me a headache. I struggle to get up from my bed which seems to be filled with clothes and some sort of wrapper? I put the pieces together and realized that I must have slept with someone from the bar- but these were not only my clothes…but Johns? I sit up rather quickly and scan the room which is quite hard when you feel like you have just been hit in the head with a hammer. I crawl from the bed to my clothes and manage to put my trousers on with much effort and energy. I scatter through the room to find my dressing gown and stumble my way to the loo. As I'm sort of walking I can hear John making his way to the window, I glance at him then quickly look back at him once more. Has he always looked that way? I wasn't sure what he looked like but he looked nice? I don't think I've ever referred to him in that way… I shake my head and try to focus on something important rather than how a person looks. Peeing. Yes, let's try completing that without cracking my skull open. As I walk in I glance in the mirror and realize how dreadful I look so I quickly fix my hair. As I'm looking at myself in the mirror I think about John, specifically what his clothes were doing in my room…did he leave them there? Did he sleep in my room? My brain struggles to put the puzzle together almost like a riddle, I've never liked these guessing games, and was never good at them either. One thought that pops into my head is that maybe John was the “mistress” from last night…but I erased that thought and finished doing my business( i dont think youd want to know the details…) and I stumbled to the kitchen. I tried to stay quiet but ended up tripping on one of my wires connected to my glass capsules filled with something I cannot remember now. But I don't think I want it touching my skin- I hear John say something but it sounds muffled and loud at the same time? I respond

“Shhhh- just…quiet please John” I almost dont recognise my own voice…and my breath is horrible lord- I try to put the kettle on but trip yet again and fall onto the cold kitchen floor. I can hear John rush over to me as he notices the situation. I notice a small smile curl on his face and that's all my mind is filled with. His smile, it's always been there but I'm only now noticing how pleasant it is to look at- I snap back into reality and hear John say something and then I hear myself asking for his help. Then before I know it I'm in my chair and John is hovering over me. I feel a bit annoyed with myself for not being able to make tea for god’s sake- I look around our lounge, looking at all the scattered papers and bullet holes i left in the wall, the faint smell of tea and cigarette smoke lingers in the air. I’m just hungover, big time. I can hear John and Ms Hudson chatting in the kitchen. I've never really seen the point in small talk, if you're going to talk, make it something important, not something about the weather! After I finish complaining to myself I realize John has made me a cup of tea. Eargrey with a little bit of honey. I awkwardly thank him and watch him sit in front of me. We sit in silence as we drink our tea looking at seemingly nothingness before John decides to speak.

“Do you have any memory of last night?” He asks with a certain tone that makes it seem he’s been racking his brain about this topic all morning the same way I have been. There's a pause and I take a breathe then start to speak.

“Well…from what I put together is that we went to a bar…for my birthday. We drank, a lot-”

“Yeah I got that much…”

I sigh “Alright… And we spent a lot of time in the bar and- well..”

“My clothes were in your bed, yes…”

I pause once again, I know he's not an idiot but he seems upset- does he regret it…? I notice he's running his hand through his hair and looking a little more angry but I cannot seem to figure out why… I mean sure the situation is awkward but I don't see a reason to be angry. He puts his mug down and looks up at me, his face is puzzled and upset. I notice him wanting to say something but going silent suddenly.

“Yes…?” I ask to try and make him feel less awkward about saying anything.

“This can never happen again. We are partners, friends, colleagues but we cannot be more-” He says in a tense and angry voice. His words seem to hit me hard and I am unable to understand. My face scrunches up with confusion and a little bit of sorrow.

I open my mouth to say something but stop myself to collect my thoughts that have started spinning in my head like a washing machine. Then I finally said something.

“Do you…regret it, John? I ask, looking at my feet and twiddling with my mug.

He grows silent. Oh god- He regrets last night…

“I-...You wouldnt understand why-” He suddenly speaks with a tense yet soft tone, not looking me in the eye. My stomach sinks…why wouldn't I understand? Is this about Mary…?

“Try me.” I say putting my mug down and clasping my hands together as I lean back in my chair.

He’s still silent, he is not saying anything and it's getting on my nerves. I should be more patient with him. But I can't help getting angry at things I don't understand, especially when it comes to John. Then I hear him sigh and start to say something.

#sherlock fanfic #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #bbc sherlock #sherlock holmes #johnlock

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yersina · 2 years

Note

Another prompt if you're still doing them!

Maybe a continuation of the Hyuna and Yoojin are friends universe?

[part 1]

this is two snippets: the second takes place a couple of years after the first!

~~~

Hyunjin groans and gives in to the urge to plant her face in her textbook. She hates math. Whoever invented algebra needs a stern talking to.

It’s time, she decides, to call in the reinforcements.

Hyuna eonni

Eonni I need help w my math homework Eonni Eonni Eonni Moon Hyuna-ssi Eonni I’m calling you

Hyuna picks up on the second ring. “What do you want?” Her voice is decidedly annoyed.

“I’m stuck on a math problem and I don’t know what to doooooo,” she whines. “Help me.”

“Ask Mom or Dad.”

“I asked them a while ago and they told me to ask you.” Unfortunately, math was not the strong suit of anyone in the Moon family.

“Look it up online, then.”

“I did!” Hyunjin pouts, even though Hyuna can’t see it. “I don’t really understand any of the explanations though. Eonniiiiii, can’t you help just this once?”

“You say that like this doesn’t happen at least once a week.” Despite her irritated tone, though, Hyuna sighs sharply once and says something to someone on the other end of the line.

Hyunjin perks up. “Is someone else there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know. What’s the problem you’re having trouble with?”

“Is it your boyfriend?” Hyunjin doesn’t really remember much of him from his appearance at one of their family dinners, other than that he was closer in height to her than her sister. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Hey, do you want to say hi to my sister? She’s being annoying.” Hyuna’s voice is faint, but it’s followed by a clearer, “Hi, Hyunjin-ssi,” from a guy.

“Hi, Hyuna-eonni’s boyfriend!” she chirps back.

“His name is Yoojin,” Hyuna says in his stead. “You know I haven’t done that type of math in seven years, right? I don’t know why you think I can help.”

“You’re good at explaining things, though.”

“We’ll see.”

Unfortunately, after a couple of minutes, it becomes fairly obvious that no matter how good Hyuna is at explaining things, her desire to completely forget polynomials after high school took precedence. “I’m sorry, Hyunjin-ah,” she says, sighing. “I remember learning this, but I don’t know any specifics—wait, hold on.”

A couple of seconds later, the guy—Yoojin—takes over the phone. “Hyunjin-ssi?”

“Eonni’s boyfriend!” she answers cheerfully.

“That’s me,” he says, sounding amused. Hyunjin likes him already. “I think my brother is in the same grade as you—he’s learning something similar right now, and I sometimes help him with his homework. Want me to try?”

Hyunjin shrugs, even though Yoojin can’t see it. “Might as well.”

Yoojin is much better at helping than Hyuna is. The fact that he actually understands the problem improves his advice-giving technique significantly, and he has just the right balance between letting her put the pieces together on her own and giving her the answer when she’s well and truly stuck.

“Yah, Yoojin-ssi,” she says once they finish, leaning back in her chair to take in the impressive view of her completed worksheet. “I’m going to come to you with all of my math problems now.”

She catches a laugh that grows fainter before Hyuna’s voice comes on the line again. “Are you done yet?” she asks irritably. Hyunjin raises her eyebrows. “We were supposed to start this show an hour ago.”

“Fine, I’ll leave you to your date,” she teases, and gets hung up on for her efforts.

A few hours later, she gets a text from an unknown number that just says, Hi Hyunjin-ssi, this is Yoojin. If you need more help with homework, let me know. Hyunjin makes sure to save the number with no less than seven hearts and sparkle emojis, just so she can witness Hyuna’s exasperated expression the next time they see each other.

“So, Yoojin-ssi,” Hyunjin says after Yoojin finishes explaining her math problem to her. Yoojin feels a reflexive shiver run down his spine at her tone. Nothing bodes well for him when either Hyunjin or her sister use that tone. “Are you gonna marry eonni or what?”

Yoojin chokes.

“What?” he wheezes, waving off the look Hyuna gives him from the other end of the couch. “I—you—what?”

“So that’s a no,” she drawls. Yoojin can just imagine the sly look on her face.

“Why are you asking me this?” he asks half-hysterically. “Did noona put you up to this? She did, didn’t she?” It sounds like something she’d do, just to watch Yoojin freak out over it. He sends her a suspicious look and Hyuna sticks her tongue out at him.

“I didn’t do anything,” she says innocently. Yoojin doesn’t trust her for a second.

“She didn’t say anything about it,” Hyunjin confirms. “I was just curious! You guys have been dating for, what, four years now? I know people who get married after one. Have you two even moved in together?”

“Why do you care?” Yoojin asks weakly. Don’t most younger siblings not care at all about their older siblings’ love lives? Then again, Yoohyun can sometimes be very invested in his relationship with Hyuna, too… Maybe they’re both outliers.

“Can’t I just want you two to be happy?”

“If you spent as much time focusing on your studies as you did thinking about our relationship, you wouldn’t have to call me so much for help.” He hangs up to Hyunjin’s outraged cry of “Yoojin-ssi!” Hardly a second later, he receives a text as well: YOU DIDN’T EVEN ANSWER MY QUESTION!!

Yoojin has never considered marrying Hyuna. It wasn’t even a possibility that ever entered his mind. Even with all the years that they’ve known each other by this point, treating their romantic relationship as anything other than fake has never, ever crossed his mind, because why would it?

And now it is there. Blaringly obvious. Staring at him.

“What’d she do to get you all angry?” Hyuna asks, raising an eyebrow at him over the top of her phone. “And what was that about our relationship?”

Marrying Hyuna wouldn’t be too bad, he thinks. Of all the people in his life that he could marry, Hyuna is probably the only one that he would. She’s obviously financially stable, he gets along with her family, and they’ve known each other for long enough that Yoojin knows he wouldn’t mind moving in with her.

It would be alright, he thinks. Certainly not any more real than their current romantic relationship, but equally tolerable.

“Do you… want to get married?” he asks.

Hyuna blinks at him. “What?”

“Well, we’ve been dating—‘dating’—for a while, so, y’know… It makes sense.”

“Do you want to get married?” Hyuna shoots back, incredulity obvious in her tone.

“No!”

“Then why are you asking?! Do you think I want to get married?!”

“I don’t know!” Yoojin waved his phone at her. “I was just talking with Hyunjin and she asked me when I was going to ask you, so I thought you might’ve just never brought it up with me.”

Hyuna stares at him for a long beat of silence before she startles Yoojin with a loud laugh. “Oh my god, Yoojin-ah,” she says, mockingly wiping a nonexistent tear from her eye. “Oh, I’ll have to call Hyunjin later and thank her for this.”

Well, that’s definitely not a ‘yes, let’s get married right away’ sort of response. Yoojin’s torn between sighing in relief and huffing in annoyance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She knows,” Hyuna says. When Yoojin gives her a confused look, she raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “About us. She knows it’s not real.”

“What.”

“She got suspicious after a while! I felt guilty not telling her.” She shrugs. “What was I supposed to say?”

“You could’ve said something to me!” This, unfortunately, explains Hyunjin’s strange teasing over the years and also why she’s always laughed at the romantic dates he’s had to make up when she asked. “Does anyone else know?”

“Just her,” Hyuna reassures. “And don’t worry about the marriage thing, okay? We’ve got some time before my parents start getting antsy about it, and I definitely don’t plan on bringing it up before they do. Until then, you’re just my boyfriend.”

“Fine.” Yoojin points a finger at her. “Don’t do that again.”

Hyuna rolls her eyes and tugs him across the couch by his outstretched hand so she can smack a disgustingly loud kiss against his forehead. Yoojin mimes throwing up once she lets him go. “Sure, sure. I promise. Now go make us popcorn, peasant.” She helpfully gives him a push in the direction of the kitchen that conveniently also dumps him straight onto the ground.

“Two years,” Yoojin mutters under his breath as he picks himself up and brushes dust off of his pants. “You’re older than me by two years.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

He goes to make the damn popcorn.

#lunaryugamine #sina writes #fanfiction #sctir #s classes that i raised #i'm so sorry that this took forever #was so excited to get this prompt and then writer's block promptly hit me w a 2 by 4 #i'm still taking/working on prompts but i'm in the process of moving n stuff so things will be slow!! ty for your patience <3 #the second half of this was just an excuse to give yj a forehead kiss there is no deeper meaning

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leyswhumpdump · 2 years

Text

Hidden Ink #14: Hand Warmers

It’s getting late, I haven’t updated in a few days and I want to finish this arc soon. Hopefully it’s not a weak instalment.

Masterlist

Tropes and CWs: Bad / frustrated caretaker, survival stress, dubious science (I did my best on the research), some swearing.

Summer soon disappeared without a farewell. Almost overnight, green turned to yellow and air that had once soothed with warmth now bit with chill. Mika found it impossible to ignore the signs of the changing season; they existed in the dry rustle of underfoot leaves, the dwindling birds, the clouds his breath made on the coldest days. A thick layer of snow would blanket things before long. Mika thought of the impending winter with a shudder.

Ari had made no further mention of Dakrii. In fact, he’d talked very little in the weeks since he’d shown Mika the backpack. Talked little, but observed everything. A wary pair of eyes had followed Mika around the cabin, lingering on him even when they could no longer see each other. Each time Mika went out, he could have sworn Ari followed him in spirit.

He wondered what was eating at Ari. Not the leg—the wound was most of its way to healed now, although the baby scar tissue made Mika wince each time he saw it. If Mika had to guess, Ari’s mission was still very much on his mind. He’d have sympathised more if it had aligned at all with his own; the wilderness waged constant war, and one could never afford to lose a battle. This did not seem to have sunk in for Ari, who preferred to curl up indoors and contemplate the contents of his bag. Sometimes he looked through his papers and made notes in margins. Mika couldn’t see how anything was so damn important it took precedence over basic survival.

“Will you put those down?” he found himself snapping, as an autumn gale blew through the cracks in the cabin walls. “I know you’re all nice and toasty in here, but this fire”—he pointed into the roaring hearth—“is only still going because of my efforts. I swear if we run out of firewood, your books and notes will be first to go up in flames.”

Ari might not have caught all the words, but he caught the message. He tucked the notes protectively against his chest, watching Mika with that guarded look that grew more frustrating by the day. “You want me do?” he said.

“I don’t know! Something. Anything. Just help a little more, please.”

“I want help.”

“Yeah, I know, and I agreed to help you, didn’t I? This fucking Dakrii business, and it’s not like I’ve fed you or clothed you or rescued you from anything. We are short—short on basically everything we need for winter, and all because you eat and don’t contribute. And unlike you I’m actually trying to survive, and I will put you out into the snow before I let you kill me.”

Ari blinked. “No,” he said quietly. “I want help you.”

Mika, who’d been ready to let out whatever else he’d pent up, stopped short. He forced himself to breathe out some of that rage. “Then do that,” he mumbled, trying to regain the mental balance that being wrong-footed had cost him.

“How?”

“By—” He stopped again. Ari had tried to follow him hunting, the dragging limp in his gait set to alert half the forest. Tried to help with cooking preparations, on days bereft of the mental energy to explain how to skin a rabbit in a way Ari would understand. Tried to tidy the cabin, putting things away in places they did not belong and disturbing things that shouldn’t have been disturbed. And how had Mika reacted? With annoyance, anger, ingratitude. Ari had tried so hard not to be useless, and Mika had thrown every effort back in his face. “Oh, forget it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Mika huffed into his hands. He’d been out in that wind just a few minutes ago, and the tips of his fingers had turned whitish blue. They faced a bitter winter, if this early autumn was anything to go by. “I’m going back outside,” he said.

At least the wind soothed the sweat from his continuing attempts to hack logs into pieces small enough for the fire. Each successful strike of the axe offered a tiny hit of dopamine—dopamine that chased away the fidgets that had burst out at Ari. By the time it was dark he had enough firewood to burn for a few days, and the day felt a little less fruitless. He paused at the cabin door, gathering his thoughts into an apology, and went inside. “Ari, I’m—what the fuck is that smell?”

Ari gave a guilty start. He’d been stirring a pan above the fire; Mika peered inside and saw that whatever had been inside, it had boiled away and left scum. He didn’t need to move his head closer to know that was where the acrid tang was coming from. “Whatever that is, it’s… beyond fuckin’ saving. Ari—”

Ari held up a pleading hand. “No! Please,” he added, and poured the remnant fluids into a bottle Mika didn’t recognise. “I help you.”

Mika crashed into the fireside chair, listening to the howling wind outside. He put his hands against the fire, willing the numbness away. His tight grip on the axe handle had left the little tendons stiff.

He wasn’t aware he’d fallen asleep, rather than simply resting his eyes. But when he woke up, his neck and shoulders aching and the heat roaring against exposed skin, the worst of the smell had dissipated. Ari stood in front of him with a tiny seethrough bag in one hand. Mika wrinkled his brow. The bag’s contents came a little close to piss for his liking.

“I uh, I try? Try this, before.” Ari’s eyes gleamed. He passed the burningly-hot bag into Mika’s hand. “For you. When you go, um… go out.” He mimed rubbing his hands together.

“Why are you giving me a hot bag of…” Mika gave up trying to understand anything. “Okay. Thank you, Ari. Clean up that pan you used. I’m going to bed and getting some proper sleep.”

Ari nodded, looking downcast. Mika stumbled to bed, rubbing the crick in his neck as he went. Damn, he really needed to take back the pillows. If Ari wasn’t intruding into the space Mika rested his head, he was hoarding them in the night like some kind of squirrel. He was going to have to reassert some boundaries, otherwise winter would find him frozen outside the sheets while Ari slept in a swaddle of warm, happy contentment.

But even the pillow did not do much for his comfort. He found himself awake after Ari had fallen asleep, staring blankly at the stars through the cabin window. Then his eyes drifted to the nightstand, where Ari’s strange little creation seemed to mock him. He leaned across Ari, trying not to disturb him, and closed his hand around it. Intending to bring it closer, to squint at its fuzzy shape in the grey semi-darkness as if it might offer some answer. Somehow, the touch of it confused him. He paused, sure he’d imagined it—then, when he realised he had not, he pulled it onto his lap and held it in his hands.

Hours on, the bag was still warm.

Part 15

Taglist: @heart4brains @mechanical-caracal @the-blind-one-speaks @thegreatwhodini @wolfeyedwitch

#whump #whump writing #caretaker pov #uhhh yeah whatever this scene is #my plan said to do it so I did #anyway it's an update at least #not a scientist #hidden ink #original post

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