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thedensworld · 2 months

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Your Best Man | J.Ww

Pairing: Wonwoo x reader

Genre: fluff, humor, established relationship

Summary: Wonwoo has tried his best to become the best man you've ever met. At the end, he is the best man.

Author note: let's have a break from angsty suffering story and have some fluffywonu!

Wonwoo loves you. He loves you with all of his heart. Honestly, he loves you with all of his life. In conclusion he loves you very much. Wonwoo sat there, an empty soju glass in hand, his words flowing like the river of affection he held for you. Mingyu, realizing his friend had reached the brink of tipsiness, halted the soju parade, albeit reluctantly, knowing Wonwoo was just getting started.

"Mingyu, remember when I fell head over heels for her at first sight?" Wonwoo's tone was earnest, albeit slightly slurred, as he delved into his favorite topic, you.

Mingyu nodded, taking a break from his spicy budae jiggae to indulge Wonwoo's sentimental journey.

"She was stunning," Wonwoo continued, his gaze drifting upwards as if searching for you among the stars. "I mean, she's always been gorgeous, but back then? Wow. Even Cupid would've been jealous of my aim that day."

He chuckled, the warmth of nostalgia enveloping him as he recalled the moment fate intervened, intertwining your destinies.

"In hindsight, it's like the universe had a checklist and decided, 'Yep, these two are meant to be.' And who am I to argue with the universe, right?"

Wonwoo's laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy you brought him, even in the haze of alcohol and spicy food.

So there they sat, one lost in love and the other in a spicy stew, united in their admiration for the wonder that was you. And as Wonwoo raised his glass in a tipsy salute to your magnificence, Mingyu couldn't help but toast silently to the cosmic comedy that brought you all together. Cheers to love, laughter, and the occasional soju-fueled confession.

Years ago, Wonwoo became acquainted with you through a movie he watched with Vernon. You were a rising rookie actor at the time. Fate, however, had a more direct introduction in store for him. It happened one evening by the Han River, where Wonwoo sought solace in the night air and a bowl of ramyeon, alone with his thoughts.

The tranquility was shattered by the intrusive click of a camera shutter, followed by a beam of flashlight. Initially annoyed by the presence of paparazzi, Wonwoo's irritation quickly turned to anger as he contemplated the invasion of privacy suffered by countless others in the industry.

His resolve to confront the paparazzi was cut short by a sudden thud and a groan. Rushing to the source of the commotion, Wonwoo discovered the paparazzi lying on the ground while another figure stood nearby, inspecting the camera.

"I know this is your job, but this is not right," Other person admonished, voice firm with conviction. "You've invaded someone's privacy and caused them untold discomfort. Can you even sleep at night knowing what you do?"

As the other person, you, retrieved the memory card, your eyes met Wonwoo's. In that moment of shared understanding, Wonwoo offered a thumbs-up in appreciation of your intervention, sparking a conversation between the two of you.

You explained that you recognized the paparazzi, having caught them fabricating rumors within the industry. Wonwoo nodded in solidarity, acknowledging his own frustration with such unethical practices.

"I was about to take action myself," Wonwoo admitted, shaking his head. "I'm relieved to know I'm not the only one who feels this way."

And so, amidst the backdrop of the Han River, a bond formed between two strangers united by their disdain for injustice and their shared desire to protect the integrity of others. It was a chance encounter that would leave a lasting impression on both Wonwoo and you, shaping the course of their future interactions.

A conversation led to another, as late-night discussions evolved into playful banter and eventually escalated into vulnerable talks. What began as strangers connecting gradually blossomed into friendship, and then something more profound – love. Wonwoo cherished every step of the journey with you, never once regretting the decision to let you into his life. With you by his side, life seemed brighter, the shadows dissipating whenever you were together, and he couldn't shake the feeling that you were the one sent by a higher power to fill the void within him.

"Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?" Wonwoo's question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation and hope. When you said yes, he made a silent vow to himself to be the best man you'd ever known. He listened to your concerns, ensured you never felt pressured, and held you in the highest regard, becoming your staunchest supporter whenever your movies or dramas premiered.

Of course, it wasn't all smooth sailing. Like any couple, Wonwoo and you faced their fair share of ups and downs. But each challenge served as a lesson, strengthening their bond and shaping them into better individuals for each other. If Wonwoo were to recount their biggest argument, it would likely be the time he recommended you to a director he knew.

Wonwoo happened to know a veteran noir movie director, a figure you admired deeply for his work. During a discussion between Wonwoo and the director at a premiere event, your name came up, sparking a conversation that would ultimately change the course of events.

"Your girlfriend is Ji Y/n, right? Her acting was exceptional in the last movie," the director remarked, his interest piqued.

"She's a huge fan of yours," Wonwoo replied. "I know it might be unconventional, but I was hoping you could consider casting her in your next project. It would mean a lot to her."

To Wonwoo's surprise, the director revealed that he was indeed seeking an actress for his upcoming movie and would be delighted if you were interested in joining the cast.

Initially, the news seemed like a dream come true. However, Wonwoo's excitement turned to concern when he received a series of missed calls from you while he was away on a business trip. Upon calling you back, he was met with the sound of your sobbing, instantly stirring worry within him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I never asked for your help with my career," you replied, your tone heavy with frustration.

Wonwoo's brow furrowed as you mentioned the director's name, realizing he had unwittingly stepped into a sensitive issue.

"I never asked you to secure a role for me in his movie, so why does everyone think I got it through a connection?" you inquired him, your voice trembling with emotion.

Wonwoo sighed, acknowledging his mistake. "I was talking to him that night, and he mentioned you—"

"He talked behind my back saying you begged him to put me into the cast."

"I never asked for that!" you continued, your frustration evident.

"I know," Wonwoo conceded, regret weighing heavy on his shoulders. "He didn't say what you think he did."

Feeling hurt and misunderstood, you ended the call abruptly, leaving Wonwoo with a sinking feeling in his chest. Acting swiftly, he instructed his manager to drive him to your place, determined to resolve the misunderstanding before it escalated further.

Wonwoo entered your apartment well past midnight, his fatigue from a long day's schedule overshadowed by the weight of guilt gnawing at him. Upon seeing you seated on the couch, head bowed in distress, he felt a pang of remorse pierce through him.

"What did he say to you?" Wonwoo inquired gently, his voice laden with concern as he approached you.

"It doesn't matter what he said," you replied, your tone laced with frustration. "What matters is that you overstepped by asking him to cast me in his movie! I want to build my career on my own terms, and I want people to recognize that."

Wonwoo knelt in front of you, seeking to meet your gaze. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his remorse evident. "I just thought—since you admire his work—it would be a good opportunity. I didn't anticipate this outcome."

A heavy silence hung between you before you confessed the truth. "I walked away from the role midway through filming. I couldn't bear to work with someone who talk trash their talent like that."

Wonwoo nodded understandingly, pulling you into a comforting embrace. "I understand," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled thoughts. "You did what felt right for you."

As you feared, rumors began to circulate in the weeks following the announcement of your departure from the movie. Speculations about your connections within the industry surfaced, casting a shadow over your hard-earned reputation. Yet through it all, Wonwoo stood by your side, offering unwavering support and reassurance.

He knew the truth, and that was enough for him. Together, you weathered the storm of gossip, emerging stronger and more united than ever before. For Wonwoo, there was no greater reward than seeing you stand firm in your convictions, unyielding in the face of adversity. And as long as you had each other, no amount of speculation could tarnish the bond you shared.

Years later, you and Wonwoo went public with your marriage, and he was grateful for the overwhelmingly positive feedback you both received. The wedding was an intimate affair, attended only by close family and colleagues. For Wonwoo, it marked the culmination of his journey to become the best man you'd ever known, now leveled up to become the best husband himself.

He found joy in the simple moments of life, relishing in the comfort of sleeping and waking up beside you each day. To the surprise of his fellow members, who often referred to him as the prince by his fans, Wonwoo had embraced domesticity wholeheartedly. Learning to cook, clean, give massages, and take on any task that arose became second nature to him, especially during your pregnancy with your firstborn, Jeon Jihan.

Now, at five years old, Jihan possessed a strong will of his own, often refusing to hold hands with Wonwoo when being taken to daycare. Wonwoo couldn't help but wonder whose attitude Jihan had inherited—though deep down, he knew it was undoubtedly from you. Nevertheless, it didn't dampen Wonwoo's love for you and his son. He cherished every moment spent with his family, grateful for the love and happiness they brought into his life.

One day, while Wonwoo was away on tour and Jihan was just two years old, he heard from his fellow members that the women—referred to as "their girls"—had gathered at Seungcheol's wife's place. Concerned for your well-being, Wonwoo immediately called you to check in.

"Are you joining them?" he asked, his worry palpable over the phone line.

"Will you bring Jihan?" he added, mindful of your responsibilities as a parent.

"Of course, he can't take care of himself," came your sarcastic reply.

Wonwoo chuckled at your dry humor. "But didn't you say our car broke down yesterday?"

"I'll find a solution, don't worry about it, darling!" you reassured him.

However, after the concert, Wonwoo discovered from Seungcheol himself that you had ridden his bike to their place—with Jihan in tow. Not a word of this had come from you. Frustration and disbelief churned in Wonwoo's chest as he made a call to you.

"How could you ride a bike with our child being that young?" he demanded, his tone edged with concern.

"Jihan loves it!" you countered, sending a photo taken by another woman at a traffic light, showing Jihan smiling while securely attached to your front.

Wonwoo facepalmed with his hand, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You could have endangered both of you and Jihan. You're not allowed to ride my bike again!"

It wasn't that Wonwoo doubted your skill—you had been riding bikes for years, a shared passion that had drawn you both together. However, the idea of riding a bike with your child had never crossed his mind, nor did he ever imagine you would consider it. The incident led to his members labeling him as a "gangster husband," a nickname stemming from your unconventional lifestyle and characters in the movies.

"So what's the matter now, hyung? You said you're okay, you love her, you'll support her no matter what. Then what's with the change of heart?" Mingyu confronted drunken Wonwoo.

Wonwoo clumsily put down his glass, "You're not married, Mingyu. You won't understand my pain!" he declared, slurring his words as Mingyu rolled his eyes in amusement.

Without missing a beat, Mingyu dialed your number. "Hello, Y/n! Did you miss your husband already? He's being a pain in my ass tonight. Should I take him home?"

Wonwoo's eyes widened in panic as he realized what Mingyu was up to, but his drunken attempts to grab Mingyu's phone proved futile.

"Just the usual babbling about his undying love for you and some other nonsense. I'll be there in 20, okay? Bye!" Mingyu announced cheerfully before hanging up.

"No! I don't wanna go home! I don't wanna face her like this," Wonwoo protested dramatically, his words slurred as he tried to resist Mingyu's attempts to escort him home.

Mingyu sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. "This hyung..." he muttered, resigning himself to the task of dragging a stubborn and intoxicated Wonwoo back to the safety of your arms.

"Where's Jihan?" Wonwoo groaned, nursing his pounding head while seated at the dining table, his breakfast being served by you. The mere act of opening his eyes felt like a Herculean task.

You shrugged casually, "Someone woke him up last night, and he ended up staying up late. He's still asleep."

Wonwoo's brows furrowed, knowing full well that the culprit was none other than himself. Yet, he was surprised by your nonchalant reaction to Jihan's extended slumber. "He's not going to daycare today?"

You shook your head, taking a seat across from him. "I'm free today, except for my ballet class at 4. Your mom wants to see Jihan, so I'll be taking him to your parents' place before then."

The mention of your ballet class jogged Wonwoo's memory of his conversation with Mingyu the night before. "You're still taking ballet classes?"

You set down your utensils and fixed him with a steady gaze. "Yes," you confirmed firmly. "And Mingyu filled me in on your little chat last night."

Wonwoo grumbled, "I'll punch him later," before offering a weak smile in your direction.

"I've decided to take the role no matter what, darling. It'll be my first-ever romcom movie," you declared, determination shining in your eyes.

Wonwoo sighed deeply, his headache worsening at the thought. "That's the problem, babe. I'm just not ready for that!" he confessed, his tone tinged with a hint of panic.

"What are you not ready for?" you queried, raising an eyebrow as Wonwoo stretched his hands and gestured vaguely.

"All the lovey-dovey stuff you'll have to do in the movie! Kissing, hugging, and acting all smiley with other men—I'm just not prepared for that!" Wonwoo exclaimed, his expression a mix of concern and discomfort.

You scoffed, "I thought we were done talking about this. I asked for your opinion, remember? If you don't want me to take the role, I won't. But you said your opinion doesn't matter as long as I'm happy, and I'm more than happy to challenge myself with this role."

Wonwoo nodded solemnly. "I know, but that was before I found out about the intimate scenes like kissing and hugging!"

You nodded understandingly. "You're right. And besides, you're the only man who can kiss and hug me like that."

Wonwoo sighed, relenting slightly. "Just kiss me three more times every day, and I'll pretend like nothing happened," he bargained, a hint of resignation in his voice. After all, he is your best man, right?

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edenesth · 5 months

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The Duke's Weakness

Pairing: duke!Yunho x dancer!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

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"May I have the pleasure of this dance, my lady?"

Your eyes widened when you turned around to see none other than Duke Jung Yunho, the second most eligible bachelor in Wonderland after the recently engaged crown prince.

In surprise, you quickly curtsied and replied, "But sire, you mustn't. I'm no lady—"

It was against the rules for you to dance with any lords or noblemen at the ball. After all, you were simply a hired dancer meant to entertain at such grand events.

Yunho, undeterred, smiled cheekily as he extended his hand, waiting patiently, "Not a lady, you say? You do possess the anatomy of one, though, don't you?"

Blushing, you stammered, "W-well, of course, I do, my lord. But that's not what I meant—"

Amused by your flustered response, the duke gestured towards his outstretched hand, "Then please, my lady, I wish to dance with you. Unless you refuse, I will respect your decision."

In a panicked state, you shook your head and quickly placed your hand in his, "N-no! It would be an honour, my lord."

You couldn't ignore the watchful gazes fixed upon the two of you as Yunho gracefully led you into his embrace, twirling you around the grand hall. Sensing the scrutiny, you squirmed slightly, acutely aware of the potential controversy surrounding a man of his status dancing with a peasant like yourself.

"Hey, look at me. Only me. Don't mind them; none of these people matter as long as I'm here," His reassuring words made your heart skip a beat, and you responded with a breathless, "Yes, my lord."

His words had a magical effect, diverting your attention from the envious glares of women and the judgemental stares of men.

As you locked eyes with his gentle gaze, you wondered why people labelled him as the strict and cold-hearted Duke. Yunho inherited his father's title at a young age, and he hasn't been the same ever since. Ruling with an iron fist, he defied societal expectations by refusing to marry despite the persistent stream of candidates presented to him each year.

His reputation preceded him, and your knowledge of him was limited to what most people knew. You've encountered him multiple times at events, you as the performer and him as a distinguished guest.

Tonight, however, he played the role of the ball's host, an attempt orchestrated by his mother to find him a suitable bride. But he remained steadfast in his defiance, his attention solely fixed on his favourite dancer who had captured his interest at every ball and ceremony—you.

In truth, Yunho's struggle with his identity began in earnest after his father's passing, burdening him with responsibilities far too heavy for a child. Forced into the role of a duke, he became little more than a puppet, dutifully following his mother's directives.

Beneath his seemingly detached exterior simmered a reservoir of anger, a lamentation for the childhood he had lost. Deprived of a voice in his younger years, his subsequent decisions reflected a rebellion against his constrained past, resulting in a ruling style that was borderline tyrannical.

For the longest time, he had lost hope and found it difficult to see the beauty in life. But everything changed when he first laid eyes on you. Beyond your physical beauty, the genuine joy radiating from your eyes as you indulged in your passion for dancing captivated him. He saw something ethereal and was determined to shield the childlike innocence that still sparkled in your gaze from potential harm.

Contrary to popular belief, the duke had a weakness that surfaced consistently in the presence of a mere dancer at every event. Tired of his mother's incessant prodding, he had decided to marry as she wished. But he had a very different plan in mind: he would not be choosing from the noblewomen invited to the ball.

Unable to contain the questions swirling in your mind, you mustered the courage to speak, "My lord, if I may ask a question," He nodded, "Please, just Yunho will do."

Your eyes widened at the informality, "But, my lord—" The duke gently silenced you with a finger pressed to your lips, "No 'buts.' Now, ask away."

Taking a deep breath, you cleared your throat before voicing your inquiry, "Y-Yunho, sire, you must be aware that I'm not a noblewoman of any sort, yes? Why would you want to dance with someone as humble as myself? Wouldn't this affect your reputation?"

He flashed a mischievous grin, tightening his hold on your waist and pulling you closer, your foreheads now touching, "My lady, I won't allow you to belittle yourself like that. Let it be known that I've been admiring you since your very first performance."

Your cheeks flushed at the realisation that he had been watching you from the start, "And now, I find myself admiring you even more for the genuine concern about my reputation. I could use a wife like you."

The final sentence nearly caused your heart to stop, halting your feet and leaving the two of you at the centre of the dance floor, all eyes focused on you, "This isn't funny, Yunho. You shouldn't joke about such matters—"

His hand gently cupped your cheek, interrupting your protest, "I am not joking, my lady. If I were to propose right now, would you agree to be my bride?" Despite your initial disbelief, the vulnerability and sincerity in his eyes persuaded you that he was indeed serious.

Anxiety etched his features as you remained silent; his thumb soothingly stroked your cheek, "I know you're scared and confused, but I swear on my life, I will make you happy. So, tell me, my dear, would you be mine?" Unable to trust your voice, you simply nodded, prompting an instant, wide smile to grace his face.

At that moment, he caught the familiar sound of his mother's approaching footsteps, storming over to intervene, "Yunho, my son—" With a sly smirk, he gracefully dropped to one knee in front of you, drawing gasps from the surrounding onlookers, "My lady, would you allow this duke the honour of being your husband?"

This dramatic gesture served a dual purpose: demanding respect for you as his chosen one and signalling his defiance to his mother and everyone else present.

Feeling the intensity of the penetrating glares, you hesitated momentarily, but the gentle squeeze of your hand reassured you. With a firm nod, you affirmed, "Yes, my lord. I'd be delighted to have you."

Without hesitation, he swiftly pulled you into his arms, his words a whispered promise in your ear, "I'm well aware that my reputation may not be the best, but I will be good to you, my duchess. You have my word." Your heart melted at the sincerity behind those words, and he sealed the deal with a kiss on your lips.

By the end of the night, you would come to realise that your trust in him was well-founded. In only a brief span, this man has shown you more respect than anyone ever had throughout your entire life.

It became abundantly clear that any woman thinking they stood a chance with Yunho was sorely mistaken, for the duke only has eyes for you—his one and only weakness.

Y'all, Wooyoung was initially meant to be the duke. But the more I looked at that photo of Yunho, it was almost like he was telling me this role belonged to him lmao.

Thank you for reading and as always, let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list: @aurasblue @marievllr-abg @itsvxlentine @minghaoslatina @huachengsbestie01

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #jung yunho #jeong yunho #ateez yunho #yunho x you #yunho x reader #ateez fic #yunho drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez imagines #yunho imagines

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ginnsbaker · 9 months

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In Losing Grip On Sinking Ships - Epilogue

Summary: A glimpse into the rest of your life with Wanda Maximoff.

Word count: 2.3k+ | Warnings: None; Just Fluff | Ship: Wanda x Reader

Author's note: We officially come to a close! I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and everyone of you who read, liked, commented, and reblogged this story. This is my first time completing a multi-chapter fic and I couldn't have done it without you. You guys will always have a special place in my heart. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. I'll keep writing--my request box is open :)

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Epilogue

Ten Months Later

Montauk, especially in winter, looks as if it's straight out of a postcard.

For as long as you can remember, Montauk is the only place that's felt like home. And you've shared it with the woman who's known you even before you took your first breath in this world. But now, there are days when she doesn't recognize you, days when she cries out in fear thinking you're an intruder, when she tearfully calls for her own mother or searches anxiously for her late husband.

The merciless grip of Alzheimer's is steadily robbing her from you, and time seems to draw out the process in a cruel, agonizing manner.

Wanda is there for you though, through every difficult moment. She is your rock when you feel like crumbling, your light in the darkest moments. You are both staying in Montauk for some time now, taking care of your mother. Your mother sometimes recognizes her, and she’s remarkably warmer to your ex-wife more than you can remember. You think, perhaps, it has something to do with her memories that are slowly wilting away, and all that is left is the love she’s always held back for the other woman in your life.

One evening, as snowflakes start to gently fall from the sky, Wanda gets the sudden urge to take a walk. After some persuasion, you find yourself pulled out from the inviting warmth of the bed you've been sharing, grumbling while putting your layers of clothing back on to indulge Wanda in her whimsical idea.

Hand-in-hand, you set off just as the sun begins its descent, painting the horizon with streaks of indigo and pink. Snowflakes settle on Wanda's hair, turning her fiery locks into a winter wonderland. She smiles, her green eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dimming twilight.

You soak in the sight of her, the love of your life, aglow in the beauty of the snowy evening, committing it to memory.

An old park lies ahead, its swings and benches blanketed by the fresh snowfall. Wanda leads you to the swing set, her laughter carrying through the chilly air as she plops down on one of them. You take the swing beside her, the frosty metal biting through your clothing, but you don’t mind. The sight of Wanda, her face flushed with cold yet bright with joy, is worth braving the winter chill.

As the swing set gently comes to a halt, Wanda nudges you, pointing towards a row of trees in the distance. “Look over there,” she says, “Do you see that?”

You squint at the snow-laden branches, trying to decipher what she's referring to. While you're absorbed in your futile search, Wanda quietly slips off the swing, her heart pounding in her chest. She swallows hard, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. As you turn back to her with a puzzled look, ready to ask what you were supposed to see, you find her on her knees in the fresh snow, looking up at you with an earnest gaze.

She reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. With a quick flick of her wrist, she pops it open to reveal a simple yet stunning ring nestled within.

“Will you marry me?”

Your heart stutters at the sight of Wanda's hopeful gaze. For a moment, everything seems to stand still. Snowflakes suspend their descent, the air holds its breath. With a lump in your throat, you utter a word you never thought you'd say in this moment.

“No.”

Shock registers on Wanda's face, her eyes wide and vulnerable. The world seems to crash around her, the word echoing ominously in her ears. But then, before she has a chance to fully comprehend what's happening, you're sinking to your knees in the snow beside her.

“Because,” you begin, laughter choking your words even as tears track down your cheeks. You fumble in your pocket, pulling out your own small box. You pry it open, revealing a gleaming ring nestled within. “Because I want you to marry me.”

The world, previously paused, starts up again in a rush of sound and color.

Laughter bubbles up from within you, filling the silence, mingling with the tears streaming down your face. Wanda stares at you, stunned into silence, her tears mirroring your own.

“Yes,” she breathes out finally, her voice choked with emotion. “Yes, yes, yes.”

In the stillness that follows, you gently take her hand, slipping the ring onto her trembling finger.

You look up at her, your heart in your eyes. “Yes, Wanda, I'll marry you,” you whisper.

Wanda's fingers are ice-cold, trembling with adrenaline, when she reaches for your hand, your ring. Her focus is so intense as she slips it onto your finger that it feels as if everything else has fallen away.

Without wasting a moment, Wanda lurches forward, lips finding yours in a kiss, full of passion and relief. The chill of the snow around you seems to dissipate as your mouths move in a rhythm perfected by time and familiarity. Every small shift, every pressure, the way she tugs at your lower lip, the way you reciprocate by pulling her closer by the waist, it all stokes a warmth that radiates from your core, spreading outwards, rendering the winter air irrelevant.

The soft moan that escapes Wanda against your lips fills you with a satisfaction, an overwhelming sense of rightness that even the best of days prior to this moment had not quite achieved.

Like all beautiful things, the kiss comes to an end. She pulls away, her breath ghosting over your lips as she whispers, “Yes,” echoing your sentiment. “Yes, you will.”

Year 2

A year later, the smell of antiseptic and the sterile white walls of a hospital room are your surroundings. You lay exhausted on the hospital bed, swaddled in a light hospital gown, holding the newest addition to your family.

A baby girl.

Yours and Wanda’s.

She is swathed in soft pink blankets, her tiny face peering curiously at the world she's just entered.

Overwhelmed, overjoyed, and slightly terrified, Wanda is darting around the room, fretting over everything and anything. Her brows are furrowed as she questions the nurses on the baby’s feeding, changing, swaddling. She's always been meticulous, but her anxiety seems to be on a whole new level today.

Meanwhile, she's constantly checking up on you too. A wet cloth to dab your sweaty forehead, a soft kiss to reassure you, a gentle squeeze of your hand. Each time she asks if you're okay, if you need anything, if you're feeling too tired or too overwhelmed.

Her voice is a touch higher than usual, her movements slightly rushed. It's all too adorable, you think. The endearing sight of Wanda fussing over you and the baby brings a soft smile to your tired face.

Wanda’s gaze alternates between you and the tiny bundle in your arms, as if she’s afraid that this is all some dream that she would wake from.

“You're doing great, love,” you reassure her in a voice hoarse with exhaustion, but filled with so much love and admiration for this woman. Your woman. You wouldn’t trade her frantic behavior for anything else.

“Do you want to hold her?” you ask Wanda, lifting the baby slightly from your chest.

Wanda freezes at your question, her eyes flickering from the tiny face peeking out from the swaddles and back to you. She seems to be calculating the risk of her holding something so precious and delicate. She bites her lip nervously, her hand absently wringing together.

“I'm... I'm afraid I might hurt her. She's so small,” Wanda murmurs, almost too softly to hear.

A soft laugh bubbles up from you, finding her concern endearing. With your free hand, you tenderly take hers, squeezing reassuringly.

“Wands, love, she's our daughter. She already knows you and she wants her mom. Come on,” you encourage her, your voice soft but confident.

With a deep breath, Wanda nods. She gingerly slips onto the bed beside you, her arm tentatively reaching out. Her hand hovers over the baby's tiny form, her fingers trembling slightly.

Seeing her hesitate, you gently place the baby into Wanda's waiting arms. The moment your daughter is cradled in her arms, Wanda's eyes fill with unshed tears. Her gaze is locked on the little face looking up at her.

She's silent for a moment, just looking down at the tiny, squirming bundle in her arms. You watch as she traces her finger lightly over your daughter's chubby cheek, her touch feather-light as though she's handling a priceless piece of art.

“She's... She's beautiful,” Wanda finally whispers, her voice choked with emotion. You watch as a single tear escapes, trailing down her cheek.

“She has your eyes,” you say softly, leaning against Wanda's shoulder.

Her response is a watery laugh, and she turns to press a kiss on your forehead. “And your nose,” she retorts, a teasing lilt to her voice. “I didn’t know it was possible to be even more in love with you,” she adds, looking into your heavy-lidded eyes.

As you look at Wanda holding your daughter, overwhelmed with love and emotion, you think that there can't be anything equally perfect as this moment.

Year 4

Something equally as perfect comes two years later.

You and Wanda return to your new apartment in Manhattan, this time with a little more noise, a lot more love, and two new family members in tow.

The eighteen arduous hours of Wanda's labor are still fresh in your mind. The anxiety and fear you felt, the helplessness, as you watched her endure the pain, fighting for every breath, are experiences you would never forget. For a moment, you feared for her life, but Wanda, as always, proved to be a force of nature. She battled through, delivering the twins normally. Your two-year-old daughter has just been promoted to big sister status, with the arrival of her twin brothers, William and Thomas.

Wanda, holding Billy, looks at you over the top of his little head. Her eyes are bright, tired but excited. You carry Tommy, his tiny hand gripping your finger, and his weight in your arms feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Despite being outnumbered by your kids, you and Wanda are no novices now. With one child already, you've learned the ropes of parenthood, even if juggling the needs of three young children is still quite the adventure.

Looking back, you can't help but wonder. If things had been smoother, easier, would you still end up here?

Sure, life has thrown you a few curveballs. But those curveballs brought you to this moment, to this feeling of complete and utter happiness.

You wouldn't change a thing.

Because this is it. This is your perfect. This is the beautiful chaos of a big family you and Wanda have created together. And you wouldn't trade it for the world.

This moment is everything you ever wanted.

Year 35

You both retire to a charming little town on the east coast, away from the relentless hum of city life. The house is a modest one, its size perfect for two people entering the golden years of their life.

It's a quiet evening when you find yourself sitting in the bathtub, the warm water soothing against your aging muscles. The bathroom door creaks open and in walks Wanda, unadorned and as beautiful as the day you met her. You watch as she undresses, each wrinkle and mark a testament to the years you've spent together. The sight of her, the raw display of strength, beauty, and age, leaves you breathless.

She eases herself into the tub, the water rising as she settles across from you. Your legs brush against each other, a touch that still sends warmth spreading through your veins. Her eyes, the same captivating pair you lost yourself in more than four decades ago, meet yours and your heart does a familiar dance.

Wanda raises an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth quirking up in a teasing smile. “You have that look again.”

“What look?” you feign innocence, though a mischievous glint gives you away.

“That look as if you're seeing a young woman, and not the one who's been trying to get a senior discount for the past few years,” she quips.

You chuckle, leaning closer, the water ripples between you two as you do. “Honestly, after all this time,” you whisper, fingers tracing the back of her hand submerged in the water, “I can't help myself.”

She playfully rolls her eyes, her cheeks tinted with a hint of a blush that reminds you of her younger self. “Ever the charmer,” she murmurs, her voice betraying the flutter of excitement she still feels from your compliments, even after all these years.

“You may have a few more lines here and there,” you whisper, your eyes taking in every beautiful detail of her face, “But to me, you're as breathtaking as the day we met. Time can't change the way I see you, Wanda.”

With deliberate slowness, you lean in, pressing a delicate kiss to her lips. As you pull back, you see the warmth in her eyes, the soft smile playing on her lips, and you feel an old, familiar urge.

Your next kiss is deeper, more insistent, and your hand finds its way to her waist, pressing her closer. Her laughter bubbles up, breaking the kiss momentarily as she playfully swats your wandering hand away.

“You really still find this,” she gestures to herself, “Desirable?”

You lean back slightly, taking in her form with a deliberate, exaggerated slowness, your gaze wandering from her face to her feet and back up again. “Every inch.”

She gives you a mock exasperated look, but the smile that's trying to break through belies her true feelings. “You and your words,” she mutters, pulling you closer by the nape of your neck, her fingers tangling in your damp hair. “Do they ever run out?”

“Not when it comes to you,” you reply earnestly, your lips hovering just above hers. “Never when it comes to you.”

Making love isn't as easy as it once was, with bodies grown old and not as supple.

But your love for Wanda—if anything, is stuck in time.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #ifiss 2 #ilgoss #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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winxanity-ii · 6 months

Text

𝐕𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

╚»★«╝ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡-𝟒𝟐/𝟏𝟔𝟏𝟎!𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╚»★«╝

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: fluff x 3

‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌: non-explicit

🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌: 2nd person; You/Your

🇩‌🇪‌🇸‌🇨‌🇷‌🇮‌🇵‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: in which, you come across the cutest tiktok confession.

🇼‌🇴‌🇷‌🇩‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌: 5.6k

🇦‌/🇳‌‌: Once again, sorry for the lack of updates, college life is no joke...don't do it y'all, jkjk 👀 but fr, just had a cute lil thought i wanted to indulge in 🥹❤️

★·.·´🇲‌🇦‌🇷‌🇻‌🇪‌🇱‌/ 🇲‌🇦‌🇷‌🇻‌🇪‌🇱‌ 🇨‌🇮‌🇳‌🇪‌🇲‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇨‌ 🇺‌🇳‌🇮‌🇻‌🇪‌🇷‌🇸‌🇪‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You're lounging in your dorm room, your phone in hand as you lazily scroll through TikTok. It's just another typical evening, filled with catchy tunes and viral dances, until you stumble upon a video that captures your attention.

It's a boy, seemingly around your age, his screen filled with the genuine warmth of someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. His profile name reads milesmorales, with the caption , "Falling without saying a word... 🥺💕," compelling enough to make you stop and watch.

The boy—Miles—in the video is undeniably cute; he's got a head of tight curls, skin a rich shade of brown, and hazel eyes that sparkle with a kind of bashful enthusiasm. But it's his smile, accompanied by the appearance of dimples, that really gets you.

He's awkwardly adorable, his words tumbling out with a mix of shyness and awe. "There's this person in my lecture hall..." he starts, his voice tinged with a nervous excitement. The apple of cheeks are a soft pink, and you find his bashfulness endearing. He talks about them as though they're the sun—bright, warm, and utterly captivating. "They're just... amazing, you know? There's something about them. I can't stop thinking about them," he stutters, looking down with a shy smile playing on his lips.

As the video progresses, Miles' cheeks turn a deeper shade of red as well as the tips of his ears. He's visibly struggling to express his feelings, yet he perseveres, driven by the strength of his emotions. "I think I might... I might be in love," he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper. It's a bold statement, especially for someone who admits, with a flustered grin, that he hasn't even spoken to them yet. "I've just seen them from across the room," he says, laughing nervously, his hand coming up to shield his eyes as if to hide from his own confession.

The video ends with him looking down for a moment before meeting the camera again. "I don't even know if they know I exist, but I just had to share this."

As the video loops back to the beginning, you're struck by the sincerity and sweetness of his confession.

"Aww," You find yourself smiling at your phone, touched by his raw, unpolished honesty. He's not playing it cool or trying to be something he's not. He's just a guy, overwhelmed by his feelings for someone he's never even talked to.

You find yourself replaying the video, drawn to his earnestness. There's something about his demeanor that's incredibly relatable and real. It's like watching a scene from a movie, except there's no script here—just a boy, a phone, and a crush that's taken him completely by surprise.

You can't help but wonder about the person he's talking about—is they aware of the lovestruck boy who adores them from afar? The thought lingers in your mind as you continue scrolling, the Miles' shy smile imprinted in your memory.

Curiosity piqued, you notice a comment pointing to another video. It's a follow-up, just as viral as the first. You click, and there he is again—with earnest eyes, now a familiar presence on your screen. Miles voice, soft and almost reverent, draws you into his world once more.

He's trying to articulate his feelings better this time, speaking of the person he's never directly spoken to, yet feels so deeply for. As he talks, his eyes shimmer with an unspoken joy. "It's weird, right? How you can feel so much for someone you've never talked to? But every time I see them, it's like my day gets a little brighter."

Miles' voice takes on a softer tone, almost reverent, as he describes them. He recounts small details—how quiet they are and how they seem isolated at first but are actually incredibly kind, always ready to help others. You find yourself drawn into his narrative, seeing this person through his eyes.

"They have this quiet strength about them," he says softly, his eyes lighting up. "It's like, they don't need to be loud to be noticed. Their kindness... it just speaks volumes."

He shifts slightly, pausing as if gathering his thoughts. "And the way they have this way of being there for people, even when they keep to themselves. It's like they don't even realize how sweet they are. It's just... part of who they are. It's amazing to watch. I admire that, I really do."

The video concludes with a moment of vulnerability, his gaze shifting off-camera, a wistful tone in his voice. "I just wish I could tell them all this, ya know? Just walk up to them and say it. Maybe someday," he murmurs, more to himself than to his audience.

You find yourself scrolling through the comments, where viewers have poured out their hearts in response to his vulnerability:

starlightdreamer This is the cutest thing ever 😭 You HAVE to talk to them! funnyguy87: Dude, if you don't tell them, I'm stealing your lines for my crush 😂 hopelessfalleesr23: Manifesting a guy like this for myself 😍💕 mysterygirl123: If it doesn't work out with them, I'm right here! comediequeenie: Plot twist: This is marketing for a netflix rom-com. jkjk can't wait for the next update 😂 sinceritiesqueaks: This is so pure. It's rare to see someone so genuine. Don't lose that spark! They're lucky ❤️

"Saammmee," You can't help but giggle softly at the comments, finding the whole situation endearingly sweet.

Curiosity leads you to Miles' TikTok profile, to devour his other videos. There were only four more since the viral one—each one a treasure in its own right. The most recent one catches your attention immediately. In it, Miles addresses the growing curiosity about his crush's identity. "So, my account's blown up way more than I expected," he starts, a mix of surprise and caution in his tone. "And to answer the question everyone's asking: no, I won't be showing what they looks like. The reasons? I don't want someone sweeping in before I get my chance to express my feelings, and I definitely don't want them getting hate from people being delusional. That's it. I hope that clears things up. Now, please stop asking."

You can't help but vocalize your admiration, "We stan an intellectual king," admiring his consideration and respect for his crush's privacy.

The second video is a delicate blend of candor and restraint, hinting at what led to his latest update. Miles appears hesitant, weighing each word as if he's trying to maintain boundaries amidst his sudden online fame. "I get that you're all curious, and I appreciate the love, but please stop flooding my DMs for updates. It's not about what they look like, it's about who they are, the person I've come to admire from a distance. I'll share more about them, sure, but I'm going to keep it vague from now on. Some things... they need to stay just between us, even in this digital world."

Each word he speaks feels like a secret shared just with you, despite the thousands of other viewers. You're drawn deeper into the story of this boy and his unseen crush; his words painting a picture of an affection that's pure and profound, leaving you eagerly anticipating the next chapter in this digital love story.

In the third video, he responds to a comment about his appearance.

budsinlighter: Why are you so afraid to confess/talk when you're this good-looking?

As you watch, you find yourself nodding agreeing—Miles really is handsome. His face, a beautiful blend of African-Latino heritage, is marked by a rich brown skin tone that glows under the camera light. His hazel eyes, fringed with curly eyelashes, are deeply expressive, radiating a mix of vulnerability and warmth.

But it's his smile that captures your heart—a boyish, charming smile that brings out small dimples at the corners of his full, two-toned lips. There's a hesitant yet genuine quality to it, like he's still getting used to being seen and appreciated.

Miles' hair adds to his distinctive look—3B curls in a stylish brown undercut, the sides neatly trimmed, making the curls on top stand out even more. His skin appears smooth, almost poreless, adding to his youthful appearance. His high cheekbones are accentuated every time he smiles or laughs, adding to the boyish charm that makes him so endearing.

Miles answers with a shy laugh, "I guess I don't really see myself like that. I mean, on campus, I try to dress nice sometimes, but mostly, it's just a big hoodie, sweats, and a beanie for me." He fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt, looking more like a boy trying to find comfort in his own skin than the confident image he's portrayed.

He continues, his voice dropping a bit as he shares something deeply personal. "Growing up, I was... different. I was lanky, had acne, pretty short. Got a lot of flak for it, from family and at school." He shrugs, his eyes drift away from the camera, as if revisiting those memories isn't easy. "So now, even when people call me attractive, it's hard to believe. I still feel like that kid sometimes, you know? It's weird getting compliments when you've spent so long seeing yourself in a completely different way."

As he speaks, there's an honesty that resonates with you. His struggles, his transformation, the dissonance between how the world sees him and how he sees himself – it all paints a picture of someone who's grown, yet still carries the scars of his past.

"Poor baby," You sigh, feeling yourself relate to him even more.

As you tap on the last video, you see that it's a six-minute Q&A of Miles answering the most liked questions from his viral video's comments. You lean in, intrigued.

The intimate setting of his dorm room, with posters adorning the walls and a soft light casting a cozy glow, makes it feel like a personal chat.

kirano-indemguts: How old are you?

Miles responds with an easy smile, "I'm 19, born in August. Makes me a Leo, if anyone's into astrology."

gimmiegimmeamaniepedi: Height?

He looks momentarily puzzled, as if the question hadn't crossed his mind before. "Oh, uh, I'm not sure how tall they are, but I don't really care, tall, short. But if you mean me, I think I'm around 6'2," he says, giving a small, almost shy laugh. He gestures to his frame, as if to offer a visual confirmation of his height.

kiranoeiw: Are u a top or bottom 😛

Miles' expression shifts to one of mild confusion and embarrassment. His voice drops to a near whisper, and he looks down, a blush coloring his cheeks. "I, um, I don't really know what that means..." He coughs slightly, regaining his composure. "Let's go to the next question."

hhhobies: your video make my whole day💗💖✴🌺 but can you make my hole weak?💞💞✌🏻

He reads it out loud, his voice tinged with amusement.

For a moment, Miles blinks, his expression one of confusion. Then, as the meaning of the words sinks in, his eyes widen slightly, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He stutters, momentarily lost for words. "You guys really just go for it, huh?" he finally manages to say, his laughter breaking through the initial shock.

Shaking his head in disbelief but still smiling, Miles quickly moves on to the next question, his laughter still echoing in the room.

samiyasosa: Have you ever been in a relationship before?

Miles hums thoughtfully, his fingers absentmindedly tousling the top of his hair. "No, I haven't," he admits with a hint of vulnerability. "I was kind of just... there, ya know? Watching everyone else navigate dating and relationships while I never really jumped in."

You find yourself nodding in agreement, his words mirroring your own experiences. Like Miles, you had always thought it smarter to wait until after high school to explore dating, a decision advised by adults around you. Now, in college, you find yourself inexperienced in the dating scene.

Your attention returns to the video as Miles falls into a moment of quiet reflection, his sigh soft and contemplative. He looks away, his gaze distant. "If they're not interested or I get rejected, it's okay," he speaks, his tone imbued with a sense of bittersweet acceptance. "I can't force anyone to like me. Everyone's their own person, right? Sure, it'll hurt, but... that's life."

You didn't need to see the question to know what was asked because his response was more then enough; his ability to accept and maturity to prepare for any potential outcomes of his crush situation earn your silent applause.

The video ends with him mustering a smile, shrugging off the sadness. "I'll keep you guys updated. Bye for now, and thanks for all the support."

As the screen goes dark, you let out a sigh, echoing his sentiment. "Same, Miles. Same," you mutter, feeling a connection to his candidness and honesty. Your thoughts briefly wander, pondering the complexities of unrequited feelings and the bravery it takes to express them.

The shrill sound of your alarm abruptly pulls you back to reality, signaling the end of your brief escape into Miles' world. With a groan and an exaggerated eye roll, you shut off the alarm and sit up, preparing to switch gears. "From crushing on a TikTok confession to deciphering ancient myths," you quip with a touch of sarcasm, reaching for your mythology textbook. "Because clearly, my academic life is as thrilling as my non-existent love life."

As you gather your study materials, a final glance at your phone screen shows Miles' TikTok account still open. Finding his entire situation and candidness on his account endearing, you can't help but press 'Follow', a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There's something about him—his vulnerability, his honesty—that resonates with you. Eager to see how his story unfolds, you make a mental note to keep up with his updates.

With a newfound sense of connection, albeit to a stranger on the internet, you turn your attention to your homework, the mythological tales waiting to be unraveled. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, the thought of Miles and his unspoken love story lingers, a sweet distraction from the mundane routine of college life.

☆

A weary groan escapes your lips as you trudge into your dorm room. Glancing to the left, you notice your roommate's side still empty, a stark reminder of her absence since Fall Break. Now, with Winter Break fast approaching and the weight of semester final exams bearing down, her continued absence feels more pronounced.

You shuffle to your side of the room, dropping your backpack with a thud onto the desk. Exhaustion overwhelms you as you collapse facedown onto your bed, letting out a muffled scream into your pillow. Your brain feels like it's been put through a blender after completing your final mythology exam.

Apsu, Hercules, Persphone, Gilgamesh,Antigone,Tiamat,Aphrodi—AHHH! So much to recall!

You're so grateful for your professor's open-notes policy. Though the only downside was that you were only allowed three-notecards to put said notes on. An award should be given for the way you managed to cram an entire semesters' of lessons onto those three cards.

Your hand lazily reached into your pocket to fetch the notecards and see if they reflected anything you recall from the exam, but it came up empty. Your face scrunched up into confusion only to relax as the memory of giving them away comes back. You can still picture the sea of stressed faces in the exam hall, the clock ticking down, TAs patrolling the room. Luckily, with your trusty cards, you managed to finish with 45-minutes to spare; you must have given it away in such a generous mood.

"Oh well, I did my good deed for the day," you muse with a resigned sigh, kicking off your shoes and burrowing into the comfort of your blankets. Your phone in hand, you prepare for a well-deserved TikTok binge session.

A few weeks have passed since you first discovered Miles' account. Today, your scrolling comes to a halt as his face appears in a new update. He's outdoors, away from the familiar confines of his dorm room, his cheeks tinted with excitement and a hint of nervousness.

As Miles begins to speak, the world around him fades into insignificance. He's sharing a story about his crush, each word pulling you deeper into the narrative. You lean in, captivated, as he recounts the events, oblivious to everything else but his story unfolding on your screen.

He describes the moment with a sense of wonder in his voice. "They were one of the first to finish the exam," he says, his eyes lighting up at the memory. "As they walked up the lecture hall, they made eye contact with me. Just for a second, they slowed down..."

You can almost see it happening—the quiet of the exam hall, the tension in the air, Miles sitting there, lost and overwhelmed. Then they appear in his story, a momentary savior with a simple question that changes everything.

Miles' voice softens, a smile creeping into his tone. "They mouthed, 'Do you need notes?' I just nodded, too stunned to speak. And then, they did the most amazing thing." He pauses, as if reliving the kindness in his mind. "They dropped the notecard near my foot, pretending to pick it up for me. Like it was mine all along."

You picture the scene: their quick thinking, the subtle exchange of the notecard, the careful glance to ensure they weren't caught. It's a scene straight out of a movie, and you're captivated by every detail.

"Their smile..." Miles continues, a dreamy quality in his voice. "It was so genuine, so kind. For a moment, my heart just... stopped. And when it started again, it was like a drum in my chest."

You can feel his confusion, his awe, the rush of emotions that must have coursed through him. The way he describes it, you're right there in that lecture hall, watching the scene unfold, feeling his heart skip and restart.

As he recounts the moment, an unexpected memory flashes through your mind. You see yourself back in the mythology exam room, finishing early. Your attention is drawn to a figure hunched over in the corner. A boy, unmistakably overwhelmed, with his hoodie drawn over his head and his leg tapping out a nervous rhythm against the floor. The scene is crystal clear in your mind—the palpable sense of his distress pulls at your heartstrings.

You recall every detail...his slouched posture, the way his hoodie shadowed his face, his leg nervously bouncing as he stared down at an exam paper, still on the first page. Your footsteps slowed as you approached, noticing his pencil tapping against the small foldable desk in a frantic tempo. When he sensed your presence, he looked up, his eyes meeting yours in a moment of silent communication.

In a hushed tone, barely above a whisper, you asked, "Do you need notes?" His nod was all the confirmation you needed. You quickly devised a plan, crouching beside him and pretending to pick up the notecard you had secretly folded in your hand. You were acutely aware of the TA's watchful eyes pausing their patrol, scrutinizing your interaction for any signs of cheating. You flashed an innocent smile to the TA, then turned back to the boy, saying softly, "Here, your notecard fell under your seat." Placing the cards gently in his hands, you offered him a reassuring smile before gathering your belongings to leave.

Snapped back to the present by Miles' voice on your phone, the pieces suddenly click together. As the realization dawns on you, the video becomes a distant drone in the background. That boy was Miles.

You were the one who helped him. He was the boy you helped.

Your heart races as everything clicks into place. The crush Miles has been talking about all this time... it's you.

In a daze, you drop your phone, the reality of the situation crashing over you like a wave. He likes you. Miles, the earnest, kind-hearted boy from TikTok, likes you.

"Hold up... HE LIKES ME!?!" The thought sends you rolling onto your stomach, screeching into your pillow in disbelief. "That hot piece of a man likes me!?"

After a moment of wild disbelief, you slowly sit up, a whirlwind of thoughts swirling in your head. What should you do? Should you reach out to him? The thought of initiating contact with Miles, knowing he has feelings for you, sends a thrill of excitement mixed with nervousness through you.

As you contemplate your next move, a sense of anticipation builds within you. This isn't just a story unfolding on your phone screen anymore; it's happening to you. And somehow, that makes it all the more exhilarating.

Gathering up courage that you didn't know you had, you decide to take a leap of faith. With a mix of nervousness and excitement, you type out a message to Miles on TikTok, your fingers hesitating slightly over the send button.

@butt-Y/N-nna Did the notecards help?

The question feels both monumental and incredibly simple.

You glance at your own TikTok profile—less than two followers, a single grainy video, a username that now seems embarrassingly childish, and an anime icon. The vulnerability of reaching out to someone like Miles, who seems so put together, suddenly hits you.

Almost an hour ticks by with no response, the silence stretching out uncomfortably. Each minute feels longer than the last, filling you with doubt.

Finally, Miles' reply comes through:

milesmorales Yeah, it did. Statistics is a tough course.

Confusion furrows your brow. You type back, trying to keep your tone light despite the mix-up:

@butt-Y/N-nna Stat? The only notes I gave out were for mythology. So, if you used it for that, sorry to say, but you failed, bud.

You hit send, and then there's nothing but silence. Miles' profile goes inactive. A heavy sigh escapes you as you berate yourself for possibly jumping to conclusions. It's a huge college, and you weren't the only one helping others during finals. Laughing at yourself for even entertaining the thought, you swipe off the app and impulsively delete it, your heart sinking just a bit.

But just before the app disappears, a new text notification from Miles appears, lost amidst your hasty decision. You don't see it, consumed by your self-doubt and the decision to move on, leaving the possibility of what might have been with Miles unanswered.

The following week, as you return to your mythology class to discuss a possible makeup exam with your professor, a hooded figure sitting near the door catches your attention. You take the empty seat next to them, unaware of their sudden tenseness and subtle shift in posture.

Lost in your own world, you mindlessly scroll through your phone, diving into the latest #fnafxreader stories. Your AirPods are in, blaring Keane's "Frog Prince." The lyrics resonate with you in the moment—"Your prince's crown...Cracks and falls down...Your castle hollow and cold."

Meanwhile, the figure next to you is engrossed in their own phone. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice a text popping up on your phone from the dorm floor group chat. It's about Miles going live. For a brief second, you consider redownloading TikTok to join in, but the gripping Michael Afton x reader fanfic you're reading—as well as lingering embarrassment—holds your attention too tightly. You make a mental note to ask your dorm-floor friends for a recap later—they're just as obsessed with this cute TikTok love story as you are, and you've spent many evenings in the lounge room discussing it. So, with a swipe, you dismiss the notification and dive back into your story, the intriguing plotline drawing you in once more.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat echoing the terror that courses through your veins. Blood trickles from the cuts scattered across your body, the result of your desperate attempts to escape. Gasping for breath, you glance at your watch: 5:25 AM. 'Just 35 minutes to go,' you tell yourself, your mind clinging to the hope of surviving until dawn. You push forward, your feet pounding against the cold, hard floor of the empty corridor. The eerie silence is punctuated only by your labored breathing and the distant, ominous hum of the pizzeria. You can almost feel the malevolent gaze of the animatronics lurking in the shadows. As you turn a corner, a chilling sound freezes you in your tracks – the unmistakable metallic thunks of someone, or something, pursuing you. Panic surges through you. 'Shit, shit, shit,' you curse under your breath, your eyes desperately searching for a haven. Spotting a room nearby, you lunge towards it, slamming the door shut behind you. From beyond the door, a hauntingly familiar voice sings out. "Y/N~" Michael's voice is taunting, playful yet sinister. "It's not nice to run away during a playdate~" Your eyes narrow, and your lips press into a thin line as his words seep into your ears, sending shivers down your spine. Memories flood back to the day you saw Michael's true nature – the day he and your brother cruelly played with little Evan, placing his head inside the mechanical Fazbear head. That moment should have been a warning sign of the madness lurking within Michael, but you never anticipated how his obsession would turn towards you. Now, trapped in your role as a security officer at the pizzeria, you find yourself not only evading the demonic animatronics but also Michael, whose fixation has morphed into a deadly game of cat and mouse. The room you've taken refuge in feels claustrophobic, the air thick with tension. You press your back against the door, listening intently to the sounds outside. Every creak and whisper heightens your fear, and you brace yourself for what might come next. This pizzeria, once a place of joy and laughter, has become a labyrinthine nightmare, and escaping unscathed feels more impossible with each passing second. BAM—the door...

The intensity of the fanfic is cut short by your notification bar going off incessantly. There are so many messages coming in from the group chat that you can hardly read a thing. With a huff, you click off the fanfic to see what all the fuss is about. "It better not be another fire drill because someone was smoking," you bitterly think, recalling the last time you all had to stand out in the cold at 3 in the morning because someone smoked in the dorms.

As you open the group chat, you're bombarded with messages, all talking about Miles' current live session. The excitement in the chat is palpable, but you can't help feeling a bit detached, still nursing the sting of your recent embarrassment. Just as the flurry of texts seems to slow down, you finally have a moment to catch up on a few messages before another wave hits.

Toni No because Miles is freaking out on live because he sees his crush and doesn't know what to do!!

Kiko Didn't he post earlier that he think he might have gotten in contact with them recently???

The chat erupts again before you can process this.

Kyi The live is BOOOMING! AHHHH! WAIT HE SAID HE'S LOGGING OFF AND FINNA SPEAK AJUSHGSBSBHSA

Your curiosity piques, but before you can delve deeper, a deluge of new messages floods the chat, making it nearly impossible to keep up.

You start to type a message, asking for more details, but you're interrupted by a throat-clearing sound. You look up, wide-eyed, half-expecting to see your professor giving you a disapproving look. It wouldn't be the first time you've been caught off-guard while reading. Instead, the source of the interruption isn't your professor at all. It's the figure seated to your left.

Turning your head, your lips are pulled into a slight pout, a mixture of frustration from the incessant chatter in the chat and the unexpected disturbance. As your gaze settles on the person next to you, your brain takes a moment to register who it is.

It's Miles.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. There, in the flesh, is Miles, the same guy you've been reading about, discussing with friends, and watching from afar on TikTok. He's right beside you, the subject of the flurry of messages on your phone. Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you're speechless, the line between the virtual world and reality blurring strikingly.

Miles' eyes roam over your face, as if he can't quite believe you're real. He clears his throat again, looking away briefly as his ears and the apples of his cheeks flush a light pink. "I-..." He pauses, collecting his thoughts, then meets your eyes again, his expression morphing into a half-cute, boyish smile. "Thanks for the notecards. I still don't get why our professor thought it was realistic to remember the birthplace of Odysseus's fake alias, Quintus Metellus, from 'The Odyssey.' I mean, who actually remembers he claimed to be from Crete?" he jokes.

You return his smile, feeling a sense of ease. "Heh, I try. As you could see from those cards, I really didn't want to fail."

Miles chuckles, sitting up straighter, a newfound confidence in his voice. "Hey, I don't blame you. Honestly, if it wasn't for you, I would've had to repeat this class, no joke."

Rolling your eyes playfully, you wave off his compliment. "Please," you giggle, "I've heard about you from my doormmates; you're practically a genius in chemistry. Acing exams, breezing through lectures, even correcting the professor once or twice."

At your words, Miles looks bashfully at you, his lips curling into a sweet smile, his head tilting slightly as he gazes at you, almost as if he's seeing you for the first time. His eyes wander over your features—from your eyes to your nose, then your lips—as if trying to memorize every detail. In his look, there's a sense of yearning and awe, reminiscent of how Hippolytus might have gazed upon the goddess Artemis in his final moments, a look filled with admiration for something pure and unattainable, his expression tinged with the bittersweet understanding of beauty admired under the shadow of an unjust fate. This gaze, filled with a mix of reverence and a hint of sadness, seems to say you are his Artemis, a figure of innocent wonderment amidst the complexities of his world.

"What?" you ask teasingly, raising an eyebrow to mask your growing fluster.

"It's just… you're really cool," His voice carries a soft tone, mixed with endermeant.

You smile and shrug lightly, a playful tone in your voice. "What can I say? I'm awesome."

A soft smile spreads across Miles' face, his eyes softening in a way that leaves you momentarily breathless. The usual intensity that lingers in his gaze transforms into something tender, a warmth that seems to reach out and touch you. "Yeah... you are," he says, his voice low and filled with a gentle observation that seems to see not just you, but into you.

The way he says it, with such earnestness and a hint of awe, makes your heart flutter in a way you hadn't anticipated. It's as if his words carry more than just a simple affirmation; they are laced with an unspoken admiration.

It's your turn to clear your throat and look away to try and compose yourself. Your thoughts are interrupted as the professor's office door swings open, and out walks a blonde-haired girl.

"Now Gwen, I want this to be the last year you retake my course—" Professor Osborn starts, but Gwen cuts him off with an exasperated sigh.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," she says dismissively. "But be real, Mr. Osborn. I wouldn't have to retake your course for the third time if the other subjects in your department were competent to teach their subjects."

"Yes, but focusing solely on mythological romances isn't going to get you very far, Gwen. You need to balance it out with another course," the professor retorts.

Gwen sighs and waves a hand dismissively as she walks away. "Yeah, got it," she mumbles, her gaze briefly landing on you and Miles. There's a momentary linger in her eyes, especially on Miles, before she continues on her way.

Professor Osborn clears his throat, calling up Miles and apologizing for the delay. "No problem, sir," Miles reassures him, getting up to follow. He slows his steps as he reaches you, leaning in slightly. "I'll wait for you after your appointment, yeah?"

You can only muster a nod, still finding everything surreal. As Miles walks into the professor's office, you're left alone with your thoughts, the weight of the moment settling around you. You realize that this isn't just a fleeting encounter; it feels like the beginning of something new, something real.

As you wait for your turn with the professor, your mind races with possibilities. The unexpected twist of fate that brought you and Miles together in this academic setting, away from the screens and chats, feels like something out of a story. Yet, here you are, living it.

When your appointment with the professor ends, you step out, finding Miles waiting as promised. His smile is warm, inviting, and for the first time, you feel a sense of excitement about what lies ahead. "Wanna grab lunch in the U-Center?" he asks, and you can't help but smile back, nodding in agreement.

As you walk alongside Miles, chatting about mythology, classes, and everything in between, you realize that sometimes, life has a way of bringing stories off the screen and into reality. And perhaps, just maybe, this is the start of your own real-life story.

ahahaahah. not me indulging in college romance. y'all im just out here being delusional and need and outlet 💀💀

#mcu #marvel cinematic universe #miles morales x reader #earth 1610 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #kisses #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x you #earth 42 miles #miles morales #prowler miles #atsv #atsv miles #atsv fluff #miles 42 x reader #miles x reader

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attapullman · 6 months

Text

Step Into Christmas | Robert "Bob" Floyd

POV: It’s the first Christmas with your husband Bob in your new (to you) home. He pulls out all the stops to make it special.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings & Notes: gn! reader. no warnings except mentions of food and excessive Christmas fluffiness! Happy December 1st! I was thrilled when @lewmagoo announced their Christmas celebration because Christmas is the best time of year! Tried something different with a little mood board and then doing clips of scenes paired with the song (listen to it here). And then basically indulged myself in imagining living in an old house with Bob at Christmas where he made me dinner (I wish!) I hope you enjoy and happy holidays!

Welcome to my Christmas song I'd like to thank you for the year So I'm sending you this Christmas card To say it's nice to have you here

The whistling creaks of this old house echo. Its charm and unique coziness you both fell in love with disappears without the lamp normally in the corner of the living room. And now a tall tree looms over the furniture, grim.

There's a rustle, and Bob’s smiling earnest face peaks out from behind a few branches, eager to see your expression at what he does next. He slots the plug into the outlet and bundles of warm lights come to life, filling the room with seasonal delight. The house is suddenly so alive, not a relic at all! He is delighted by the wide grin that splits your face in two.

As he bends over the ornament boxes - matte, glitter, pendants, glossy, oversized, metallic, his broad shoulders shrugging as he decides which ornaments deserve top spot - he is bathed in the tree lights like a bespectacled angel, frames glimmering in the light as his forehead scrunches. The slightly scratchy sweater his great aunt knit him during his first deployment sits a little lopsided on his collarbone. His hair messy from crawling under the branches. A Christmas angel in your midst.

Your husband - husband, you were still adjusting to that - comes to stand beside you, hips kissing with the perfect ornament in hand. His lips brush your cheek discreetly. “Would you like to put on the first ornament?”

Together, you string on the first ornament to a prime spot - in the center, a little higher than the middle. Just Married sits among the pine needles, and it brings a fresh joy to your heart. You glance at your husband again, and smile. Celebrating your first Christmas freshly married in your new home. It’s so good to be here.

I'd like to sing about all the things Your eyes and mind can see So hop aboard the turntable Oh step into Christmas with me

The house casts a cheery glow, the decorated tree lighting up even the most desolate of corners. The star on top twinkles with its shimmering surface. The Christmas spirit is alive and well in this room and will quickly flood the rest of the Floyd homestead.

Behind you, Bob puts on a record, the upbeat sounds of his favorite Christmas tunes creating the playlist for the beautiful night. He catches your eye across the room, blue eyes sparkling in the low light.

He holds out his hand to you, a small smile curling at the corners of his mouth. You haven’t danced together since your wedding. Enveloped in his grasp, he immediately begins twirling you around the room giddily. The air is light, frivolity directing your movements. He dips you slightly during the downbeats, and wiggles your hips at the crescendos. Giggles escape as he brings you to his chest, softly swaying one beat off.

A slower song rounds out the side, sweet harpsichord ringing out. Eyes close as your foreheads connect, grounding you to each other. Small puffs of air against your lips as he softly sings the lyrics to you. The universe existing only in this song you share.

Let's join together We can watch the snow fall forever and ever

Coats scrape against hooks. Boots thump against the hardwood. Laughter fills the mudroom as you watch Bob wrap his scarf a few too many times. From the window, fat, lazy snowflakes swim down from the inky sky. Bob rests himself against your back, watching the flakes float down softly onto the ground. Fluffy and inviting.

Before either of you can brace yourselves, the door is swung open and the cold air attacks your uncovered cheeks. You’re dragging him out into the snow, endearingly watching how his breath fogs his glasses as he finds his footing. He sticks out his tongue as you mimic him trying not to slip on the icy pavement.

Neither of you are sure who started it, but soon you’re both ducking behind trees in the neighborhood, packed snow in your mittened hands. Bob’s gotten you once - on the shoulder - and you’ve done nothing but grow his ego with how quick he is.

“You can’t catch me, sweetheart!” He jokingly taunts, wiggling his fingers at you. Your quiet, reserved man dissolved into giggles and childish gestures the second snow falls. Your breathless laughs disrupt the night air as you trudge after him. A second look at a new car on the street distracts him, and you catch up to him, finally in better firing range. The densely packed snowball makes contact with the side of his chest and he turns to you, all wide cobalt eyes. Big hands snap up to clutch the lapels of his jacket. He mimics a slow, dramatic death silently in the snow, clutching at where your snowball has annihilated him.

As you stand over his still form, he blinks open one eyes. “Best two out of three?”

By the end of the afternoon you are both soaked in melted snow, cheeks drenched in deep pink. Your husband takes your hand, threading your mittened hands together, and you watch the fresh powder fall as he walks you home.

Eat, drink and be merry Come along with me

There’s a tinkling in the kitchen. You follow the sounds of Elton John and the scent of alfredo sauce. Pushing open the door, there’s Bob humming along as he stirs this and salts that. Not wanting to disturb him, you slip onto one of the stools at the counter, leaning on your elbows as you watch him nod his head along to the beat.

He glances over his shoulder to check the recipe and jumps at your unexpected, but welcome, company. “Didn’t hear you come in, sweets. You want something to drink?”

You shrug a shoulder and stretch your neck to see what he’s making. But your husband shakes his head and shields your view with his broad frame. He’s been excited to surprise you all day. Leaning over the counter to place a short peck to your lips, he busies himself with pouring you both a beverage, cheersing over the salad bowl.

“Thank you for making dinner.” You’re still trying to steal peeks over his shoulder, where he’s putting on the finishing touches. He glances back at you grinning, acts of service his love language. Those metal frames gleaming in the stovetop light.

After making sure you’re fully settled at the counter - albeit impatiently - he finally brings the pot over to serve up.

“Christmas fettuccine!” The glossy off-white noodles freckled with bits of pepper shine as he twirls the fork above your plate. The nests of noodles on your plates are stunning as he garnishes with a bit of parsley, asking if you’d like extra parmesan. The joyous grin on your face makes his surprise worth every moment over that hot stove.

Taking the stool beside you, elbows just inches from each other, Bob tips his glass to yours. “Merry Christmas, my darling.”

And keep smiling through the days If we can help to entertain you Oh we will find the ways

Bob stokes the fireplace and adds a new log, keeping up the cozy atmosphere. The sound of crackling fire soothing over the natural creaks of the ancient house. He hands you a mug of cocoa and leads you to the sofa, resting your backs against the soft fabric as you sit on the floor, legs tangled. He grabs the new Boeing manual he’s been working his way through and flips it open, semi-reading aloud as he explains trajectory and basic mechanics.

His voice is soothing, the soft vibrations of his chest against your back making your eyes sleepy.

“Am I boring you?” His voice is worried. “Sorry, sweets, not doing a good job entertaining you, am I?”

You shake your head, assuring him you are fine looking through the manual. But he’s already tucking it into the magazine rack on the side, his fingers going through what else is available. He huffs that it’s mostly old copies of Consumer Digest and a random Skymall catalog. But your husband refuses to let the moment go to waste and pulls out his phone, internet searching with the screen tilted away from you.

When he finally settles, his temple pressed to yours, one hand caressing your skin caringly, you see he’s looked up Christmas stories for children. You watch familiar characters taking over the screen, a round-headed boy and his canine friend finding the real meaning of Christmas. Bob’s voice crackles like the fire, and you are safe.

So merry Christmas one and all There's no place I'd rather be Than asking you if you'd oblige Stepping into Christmas with me

Cocoa is brewing and the record player is alive with another festive record. The jaunty Santa hat on Bob’s head threatens to fall off as he perfectly arranges the presents in the order he would like you to open them. The scents of the room fight to be noticed - rosemary, peppermint, and the cinnamon-y sugar of the rolls you just put in the oven.

You join your husband by the tree, letting him wrap his arms around you like a big human bow. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Claus.”

He laugh is infectious, and quickly you’re both giggling as he walks you through his gift madness. He’s spoiled you as usual, always thoughtfully selecting a gift only to find something even better after he’s arrived home. With a flourish, Bob places a package into your waiting hands, instantly eager to see your reaction.

“Thank you, Santa,” you tease. As your fingers untwine the bow, you look up at him. “Thank you for making this holiday so special.”

His cheeks match his hat as he accepts your gratitude. His hand strokes your knee as he praises you. “Thanks for stepping into Christmas with me, honey, I wanted it to be big. First year in the house and all.”

Your smile conveys all your thanks, gooey warmth inside your chest. He impatiently gestures to the gift in your lap again, he’s ready to see your reaction!

Step into Christmas The admission's free

The late afternoon sun streams through the aging windows, bright light bouncing off the freshly fallen snow. A quieter record plays and Bob is snoozing on your shoulder, a little cinnamon sugar still on his lip. This first Christmas in this old house with the big windows that show off the tree is perfect. Your husband is perfect from where he wraps his arm around your waist, curling into you sleepily with his floppy red hat.

And this memory? This memory will be like stepping into Christmas every time it passes your mind.

#a lew magoo christmas #bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd fan fiction #bob floyd fan fiction #top gun maverick fan fiction #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd x you #gn!reader #robert bob floyd fluff #bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #christmas!bob #moodboards by mo

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hollyoongs · 22 days

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

"Nothing will ever come between us 'Cause i'll be standing right next to you"

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: non idol boyfriend!jay and fem!reader 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: SURPRISE MY POOKIE (a.k.a @glitterjay)! This is a little late, but some of your moots decide to surprise you with this gift...

💌 𝗠𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝗴𝗲𝘀 [𝟓] @st4rwon: congrats on hitting 1k c!! you definitely deserve it 🤍 i absolutely love all your works and am so proud to see that they are being appreciated ! keep up the amazing work :) @hollyoongs: this drabble is for… jupi! I'm so glad I can have such a nice and lovely friendship with you and to be present in this big milestone, you deserve it so much and tbh I can't wait to see what the future holds to you, such an amazing, wonderful and incredible human being, congrats my 5'7 jupi! 💟 @kwiwin: Hey C! Congrats on reaching 1k, it's freaking awesome how so many people recognize real talent out there. Even if we've been moots for just a little time I am proud of you and what you have achieved! Keep stunning the world with your (beautifully written) stories ♡ @heeslut4life: hi c! congrats on hitting 1k!! i’m so proud of you<3 you’ve done so goddamn well, you have amazing fics and you are an amazing person:) i know we don’t really interact a lot but i hope you know that i wish nothing but the best for you💗 keep going, you’re such beautiful and wonderful person<33

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 2: this is also a short drabble and you will definitly find some stuff here ;), HAPPY MILESTONE! 𝘄.𝗰: +1.8k

"And the first place, being voted on by 1128 judges, goes to..."

And then your name was announced with your university, making you stand up after a few seconds of shock.

As you walked up to the podium, the weight of the moment settled on your shoulders like a comforting embrace. You couldn't believe it—your name, your university, Decelis Academy, being called out as the winner. It felt surreal, like a dream you never dared to have. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring the faces of the cheering crowd into a colorful mosaic of joy and pride.

Glancing at your friends, their beaming faces illuminated by the glow of their phones capturing this momentous occasion, you felt a surge of gratitude. They had been with you through it all—the late nights, the doubts, and the struggles. And now, here you were, basking in the spotlight of recognition.

"Jay, look at your girl!" one of your friends shouted amidst the cheers, drawing your attention to the sea of faces. You couldn't help but smile and offer a small wave to the camera, feeling a rush of affection for your supportive circle. They had been your pillars of strength, propelling you forward even when you felt like giving up.

Reaching the podium, you accepted the prize with trembling hands, the weight of it sinking in with each passing moment. More than a thousand people had chosen your work and had seen its value and its impact. It was a humbling realization, one that filled you with a sense of purpose and determination to continue pushing the boundaries of your craft and enjoying it while doing it.

After the ceremony, the celebrations began in earnest.

The celebrations continued long into the night, transitioning seamlessly from the pulsating energy of the dance floor to the intimate ambiance of a lavish dinner party. Your friends, ever the consummate hosts, had spared no expense in creating a feast fit for royalty. The dining table, adorned with flickering candles and delicate floral arrangements, beckoned you and your friends to indulge in a culinary symphony of flavors.

As you settled into your seats, the clinking of glasses and the gentle hum of conversation filled the air, setting the stage for an evening of heartfelt camaraderie and celebration.

"So, my dear," one of your friends began with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Tell us, what's next for the illustrious winner of the Decelis Academy? Any plans to conquer the world?"

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from deep within you like a spring of joy. "Oh, you know me," you replied with a playful grin. "I've always been a dreamer. And now, with this recognition, who knows what the future holds? The world might just have to brace itself for what's to come."

The table erupted into laughter, each of your friends offering words of encouragement and excitement for the journey ahead. They had seen you weather the storms, witnessed the unwavering determination in your eyes, and now they reveled in the triumph of your success.

"I have no doubt that you'll conquer whatever comes your way," another one of your friends chimed in, her voice laced with genuine admiration. "You're a force to be reckoned with, my dear, and I couldn't be prouder to call you my friend."

Touched by their words, you raised your glass in a silent toast, the clinking sound echoing through the room like a symphony of celebration. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of friendship and the promise of tomorrow, you felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you.

"To dreams realized and journeys yet to unfold," you declared, your voice tinged with emotion. "Thank you, all of you, for being a part of this incredible journey. I couldn't have done it without each and every one of you by my side."

The sentiment was met with nods of agreement and murmurs of affection, a tangible reminder of the bond that held you all together. As the evening wore on and the laughter flowed freely, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment settle in your heart—a feeling that, no matter what the future held, you would always have these cherished moments and these cherished friends to light the way.

As the night wound down and the last revelers bid their farewells, your friends exchanged knowing glances and shared secretive smiles. "Come on, let's take you home," they said, linking arms with you as they guided you towards your apartment.

The car trip to your apartment was a whole carpool karaoke, playing your favorite songs and making the night more magical than it already was. There was only one thing missing, and it was your boyfriend.

Jay and you were a couple for three years already, both meeting at university by a mutual friend, who clicked almost immediately. From the moment your eyes met, there was an undeniable spark, a magnetic pull drawing you closer together. His presence illuminated your world, and his smile lit up even the darkest of days. In his arms, you found solace, warmth, and an unwavering sense of belonging. Jay was not just handsome and intelligent; he was the embodiment of kindness, his gestures tender and sincere, and his words a soothing melody that danced through your soul. With him, you felt like you had won the grandest of lotteries, for in his embrace, you found not just love but the truest essence of romance.

But the only problem was his usual business trips with his dad to help the company that owns Mr. Park, which you understood. You were okay with him not being there because he was always present, but it was hard not to feel sad about it.

As you stepped out of the car and approached your apartment building, a wave of exhaustion washed over you, mingling with the residual excitement of the evening's festivities. You bid your friends goodnight with hugs and promises to meet up again soon, feeling grateful for their unwavering support and the unforgettable memories you had shared, but being slightly weirded out by their suspicious smiley faces.

As you entered your apartment, the familiar surroundings enveloped you like a warm embrace, wrapping you in a cocoon of comfort. The gentle glow of lamplight cast soft shadows across the room, imbuing the space with a sense of tranquility that was both soothing and welcoming.

With a contented sigh, you kicked off your shoes and made your way towards your bedroom, eager to sink into the welcoming embrace of your bed and let the events of the day wash over you like a gentle tide. But as you pushed open the door, a gasp escaped your lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

There, standing in the center of the room, was Jay, your boyfriend, looking every bit the epitome of charm and sophistication in his sleek black suit. His eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and adoration as he held out a big bouquet of white tulips, their delicate petals swaying gently in the air. No wonder your friends were smiling like that.

"Jay? What are you doing here?" You exclaimed, your voice a mixture of surprise and delight. You couldn't believe your eyes—just moments ago, you had resigned yourself to the fact that he was miles away, attending to his father's business affairs. And yet, here he was, standing before you like a vision come to life.

With a smile that melted your heart, Jay stepped forward, his eyes alight with warmth and affection. "I couldn't stay away any longer," he confessed, his voice a soft whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "I wanted to be here to celebrate with you, to share in this moment of joy and triumph."

Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you struggled to find the words to express the overwhelming rush of emotion coursing through you. "But I thought you were..."

"Surprise," Jay interjected, his smile widening into a grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. "I wanted to make this night even more special for my sunshine, to show you just how much you mean to me."

With trembling hands, he offered you the bouquet of tulips, their sweet fragrance filling the air with a heady perfume that made your head spin. "To the sun I rotate to," he said, his voice filled with tenderness as you laugh. "To celebrate your incredible achievement and to remind you of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life every single day."

Overwhelmed by his gesture, you reached out and took the flowers, holding them close to your heart as if they were the most precious treasure in the world. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "Thank you for being here and for being a part of this moment with me."

But Jay wasn't done yet. With a playful twinkle in his eye, he gestured towards the bed, where a small pile of gifts lay waiting, wrapped in elegant paper and adorned with ribbons and bows.

"I couldn't come empty-handed," he said with a grin. "I wanted to shower you with tokens of my love and admiration, to show you just how proud I am of everything you've accomplished."

With trembling fingers, you reached for the nearest gift and began to unwrap it, your heart pounding in anticipation of what lay hidden beneath the layers of paper. And as you peeled back the wrapping, revealing the contents within, your breath caught in your throat, and tears of joy welled up in your eyes once more.

Inside was a beautiful necklace, delicate and intricate in design, its sparkling gems catching the light and casting a mesmerizing rainbow of colors across the room. It was a work of art, a testament to Jay's impeccable taste and his unwavering devotion to you.

"Oh, Jay!" you exclaimed, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's…it's beautiful."

But he wasn't finished yet. With a smile that made your heart skip a beat, he reached for another gift, presenting it to you with a flourish that made you giggle like a schoolgirl.

"And there's more where that came from," he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief. "But you'll have to wait and see."

"I need to kiss you so bad." You didn't wait too much; Jay did that for you. His hand being placed on his waist and the other one moving some strings of hair from your face, lips connecting with yours in a tender kiss, you missed each other so badly that you could feel other hearts from that simple action.

As you separate, he touches your forehead softly with his eyes close as you feel the warmth of his love.

"Remember that I don't care about how far I am or what I'm doing; I'll drop anything for you, darling."

And as you stayed there, surrounded by the warmth and love of the man who meant more to you than words could ever express, you knew that this night would be one you would cherish forever—a night of love that knew no bounds.

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angelofsmalldeaath · 1 day

Note

If i could be extremely indulgent i’d love to request a fic.

Reader in in the last few weeks of her internship (nursing) and also graduating. Mentally and physically so tired but a lot left to do. Andrew starts making her food to take with her, when she falls asleep on the couch in the evening takes her upstairs or just listens to her rant about the horrible assignments left.

ps. I love your stories they bring me such joy

okay so i'll be really honest, i have no idea how nursing internships work. i've tried my best to look it up but i'm sure this is riddled with factual errors. regardless... i hope you enjoy ♡︎

cw: nothing i can think of apart from brief mentions of food, fem!reader

“can i come in, darling?” he knocks on the door softly, peeking in first to make sure she’s awake. she is. barely. trying to shield herself from the sunlight streaming in by hiding her face in the pillow. the sight makes him smile. “i got you something to eat.”

a lump shuffles under the blanket, a head peeks out followed by a soft hmph.

“come on, darling, it’s four already,” he closes the door behind him and walks up to her. then he sets the bowl on the table and sits on the bed.

“fuck, already?!” she grumbles, and moves away from the pillow only to squish her face in the side of his thigh.

“can i have five more minutes?”

“are you sure you can afford that?”

she groans again, louder than the last time. “i hate this internship!”

“no, you don’t.” he laughs and slides some of her hair off her face until he can see at least a bit of it. “come on, now. if you get up now you can eat in peace before you have to leave.”

with great effort, she peels an eye open and looks at him, blinking against the sunlight. “what did you get me?”

“why don’t you get up and see?”

“ugh,” she pouts, “traitor.”

he waits patiently after that, stifling a giggle when she hisses against the direct sunlight on her face and stretches like a cat before propping herself up against the pillows. his heart aches a little too—there are bags under her eyes and tired lines etched onto her face. the last few weeks really have been the hardest on her.

“gorgeous,” he smiles, and kisses her head softly.

she grins at him, toothy and infections and looks to the nightstand for food. her eyes fall on the bowl, a gasp echoes in the room.

“you peeled me a pomegranate?!”

“two pomegranates,” he corrects proudly. “they were quite small.”

“awww,” she grabs his face, kissing him sweetly, “you’re a mother hen!”

he watches her when she pops a few seeds in her mouth—six, just like persephone. even though it’s not enough to make her stay. “good?”

“delicious…”

for a while, she’s quiet, eating spoonfuls of the pomegranate seeds. he declines when she offers him some. these are for her, he’s just content watching.

“when will you be back?” he traces a circle on her knee and takes the bowl from her once she’s done eating.

she pouts again, this time in earnest. “not until tomorrow. 8 am i think.”

“oh…”

“you have to sleep alone tonight. and…what was that? the birds—”

“don’t chirp,” he finishes for her, laughing. “the colours dim. it’s a proper tundra.”

in the quiet of the room she buries her face in his chest. he can even hear a little sniff, but he doesn’t tease her about it—for one he’s busy burying his nose in her hair until all the air in his lungs smells like her shampoo.

“thank you,” she whispers.

“for the fruit?”

she snorts and nods. “sure. and everything else. for carrying me to bed when i fell asleep on the settee, for letting my cry out my frustrations.” she pulls back a little and cradles his cheek. “for taking care of everything in the house so i’d have time to rest. seriously—”

he tuts when she chokes a little and swallows roughly. “you’d do the same for me. you have done the same for me. when i’m so close to album deadlines i don’t even have the time to breathe, when i’m so tired from being on the road i can’t even lift my head. we are a team, sweet girl.”

she nods, lets him steal a kiss. her skin is sun-warmed by now, gorgeous and glowing in the golden light. she need to get up and start getting ready if she has to leave on time. but the thought of letting her out of this bed breaks his heart.

“a few more weeks,” he whispers in her hair and kisses her head again. a few more weeks. it’s for him just as much as it is for her.

“and then it’s over.”

“you’ll miss it when it’s done,” he teases. “i know you.”

“i can still complain about it now though!”

he laughs at that, kissing her knuckles one last time when she finally gets out of bed, groaning and stretching, on her way to get ready. “as much as you want,” he smiles. “i’ll sit here and listen.”

#requests #hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #writblr #writeblr #writers on tumblr #andrew hozier byrne x reader

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percheduphere · 5 months

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So...Thoughts on the whole people thinking Sylvie is Aro-Ace? I can kinda see her being Aromantic, but with her mentioning she's more "hedonistic" than Loki and silently hinting that she's Bi too, can't really see her as Asexual. But what do you think?

LET'S TALK ABOUT SYLVIE'S SEXUALITY, HER RELATIONSHIPS WITH LOKI AND MOBIUS, & HER CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE SERIES NARRATIVE

Before I answer this, I think it's important to acknowledge that fictional characters exist for people's comfort and pleasure. I write original fiction, and I would hope that most artists believe in the right of the audience to interpret character to meet their personal needs. To me, canon is a sandbox. Everyone should play with it as they please and not hate on each other. There are more important things in life to worry about. Therefore, if Sylvie reads as Aro-Ace to you and that reading brings you joy, then she is.

This question inherently requires the need to talk about Sylki in this post. I predominantly analyze Lokius, so please, no hate! My number one rule is never yucking someone's yum. Furthermore, Sylvie plays a critical role in Loki's development and the philosophical thrust of the series, of which Mobius also contributes to as the other half of Loki's character arc equation (selflessness and sparing life [Mobius] + free will and revolution [Sylvie]). It would be biased and disingenuous to not acknowledge her contributions to the overarching narrative.

ARO-ACE INTERPRETATION

All right, your question! I can definitely can see Sylvie as being aro-ace. That's a legitimate interpretation based on how she responds to Loki's flirtation and romantic advances. It is also possible that she's an aromantic bisexual. This second possibility is more likely based on the text the audience is given.

THE CANON TEXT

Having said that, I think you're curious about what the source material is trying to say about Sylvie's character and how that influences her sexuality. I believe it's important to remember that external behavior doesn't dictate how someone defines themselves. Closeting and disengagement from intimacy because of trauma are prime examples of this.

The train scene in S1E4 reads as earnest. Loki and Sylvie are both very lonely characters. In this moment, both are trying to connect with someone who finally understands them because they are the same. It's actually a lovely nod to the queer experience.

The dialogue, lighting, and costuming (blue, purple, pink) in this scene communicates they are both queer, specifically bisexual. The lighting and costuming combining to represent the bisexual pride flag is an example of queer subtext in film. The dialogue, while direct, is also written in such a way that it avoids explicitly stating "men and women." Sylvie later comments that the brief flings she indulges in during apocalypses helped her "keep going". She even specifies that apocalypses make people desperate. This suggests that Sylvie likely didn't need to do much wooing or charming like Loki would to obtain a sexual partner. Finally, the way Tom and Sophie play this scene is vulnerable. I therefore believe we can take this on-screen admission at face value.

So the question becomes, why does Sylvie respond to Loki's flirtations the way she does?

SYLVIE'S BACKGROUND

Sylvie was orphaned and forced to run all her life from a very young age. Her backstory is deeply tragic. To live in such a way means that she never had the opportunity to experience adolescence.

NOTE: This is honestly my favorite gif of Sylvie. She's so sweet and cute when she's happy. I can't get over the 5 stars on her employee badge. "Sylvie, can you refill the straws?" "Already did it!" The sweetheart.

Sylvie working at McDonald's accomplishes two things: it allows Disney to fulfill their advertising sponsorship agreement for the fast-food franchise, and it subtly alludes to Sylvie's need to live the adolescence she didn't get to. The TVA forced her into arrested development. She never had the chance to make friends and safely socialize on her own terms. The centuries of trauma have made trust, let alone romance, completely foreign to her.

Which is why, when Loki and Sylvie have romantic scenes, she is often awkward or, if not unreceptive, wary. Her previous flings, as she agrees with Loki, were "never real". Physical intimacy without emotional intimacy is a familiar dynamic for both characters. Their relationship with one another is their first experience of emotional intimacy (or at least attempt at it) outside of their families. The pursuit of this emotional intimacy feels safe to them because they are the same entity and thus they know each other's base nature (versus nurture!) to some degree.

The difference between them is that Sylvie has not experienced social rejection in the way Loki has (nurture!). She recognizes the wrongness with which the TVA has treated her. She knows the absolute atrocities the TVA has committed. She is determined to destroy them to free herself and all timelines. Sylvie is consequently more self-assured, more confident in what she wants and believes in, than Loki. In S2, Sylvie's clarity on desire is what allows her to help Loki articulate what he wants: his friends back, most especially Mobius.

In S1E1, Loki, still posturing before Mobius, describes himself as a "liberator". At this point in the story, we know that isn't true, but it will become true by the finale. This line of dialogue foreshadows Loki's trajectory as well as Sylvie's revealed motivation in S1E4: to liberate.

THE NEXUS EVENT

There are a variety of ways for viewers to interpret what exactly the Nexus Event was. The canon, within the text of Mobius's dialogue and verbal confirmation from the creators, is that Loki and Sylvie fell in love. Now, I'm not going to spend time arguing over other interpretations here, but I will say that regardless of whatever pairing or OT3 a viewer ships, the Nexus Event was ALSO definitively this: two Lokis in the same place, at the same time, not feeling lonely together.

And Sylvie, who had confessed to Loki she has no friends and has never really experienced joy, answers Renslayer with the number of positive memories she has:

Sylvie doesn't state it outright, but the subtext is clear that her one positive memory was her time with Loki on Lamentis. Indeed, moments later, Sylvie prunes herself in an effort to find and rescue him.

SYLVIE & MOBIUS

But being the harshly pragmatic individual she is, upon arrival and encountering Alioth, Sylvie assumes Loki didn't make it. I don't think Sylvie means what she says in a cruel way. I think she believes this because she is accustomed to disappointment and accordingly guards herself with cynicism. Sylvie's traumas, her difficulty with trust, her inexperience with intimate relationships, and her cynicism all combine to create an individual who may appear aro-ace when that may not necessarily be the case. Please note, however, that Sylvie being aro-ace or aro-bisexual may still be a possibility. My analysis here is based on what the text and subtext seem to be telling us about her character.

Notably, it is Mobius who is more optimistic about Loki's survival, wondering if Sylvie truly believes that Loki is dead.

This moment is brief, but it is significant because Mobius's optimism implies that not only does he believe in Loki, he also wants Loki to be alive. Sylvie is intelligent. She can read between the lines. We can also assume an off-screen conversation took place between them that confirmed for Sylvie Mobius's genuine care for Loki. When Sylvie informs Loki of this fact, I believe we get this:

Mobius was conservative in how Loki might interpret their relationship, extending a handshake before their goodbyes. Loki, on the heels of his conversation with Sylvie, chooses to hug him instead. The result: Mobius is delighted!

I've long pondered on why Mobius would say, "You're my favorite" to Sylvie. I believe this is why: she helped along their friendship and opened the gates for physical affection between them. This demonstrates that Sylvie cares enough for Loki to ensure he is secure in his bond with Mobius. It likely helped that Mobius did not deny the TVA's evil when she pointed it out to him, and that he did not hesitate to apologize to her for it.

Ironically, it is Mobius's optimism, especially in the potential of broken things to become something better (whether it is Loki himself or the TVA), that creates the fraught philosophical divide between Sylvie and Mobius (and Loki) with regards to the TVA in S2.

THE S1 FINALE

The S2 finale is where the narrative between Loki and Sylvie turns, and the plot pivots to the deepening relationship between Loki and Mobius. Triggering this event is Loki's desire to slow down and think about the consequences of killing HWR in the Citadel at The End of Time.

This may seem out-of-character at first glance. S1E1-E4 have demonstrated that Loki's decision making is sometimes chaotic by virtue of impulse. What was the last impulsive decision he made with heavy consequences?

He ran off after Sylvie. A good decision ultimately, as Loki learns the truth about the TVA through Sylvie, but only by luck. This decision very nearly cost Loki a friendship, one he didn't even realize he had until Mobius called him a "bad friend."

Despite the fallout, Mobius recovers relatively quickly once he confirms Loki's claims and views Ravonna's recording of C-20. He reestablishes trust with Loki as soon as possible to help Loki be with the one he loves. Why? Because Mobius is ultimately selfless and wants Loki's happiness regardless of his own feelings of jealousy.

Which circles us back to the theme of trust and Sylvie's challenges with it.

Loki and Sylvie's relationship falls apart not because of lack of mutual interest, but because Sylvie loses trust in Loki and with good reason: HWR (and thus the TVA) is the cause of all her suffering.

It is not Sylvie's fault she is this way. She hasn't had enough time to develop meaningful relationships, and the one relationship that was meaningful to her (Loki's) became, in her eyes, a profound betrayal. This experience only adds to the other traumas Sylvie carries with her, making encounters with Loki in S2 emotionally difficult if not triggering.

The relationships of Loki & Sylvie and Loki & Mobius are intentionally set side-by-side for 3 critical reasons:

1.) To demonstrate Loki's growth by developing trust and thus emotional intimacy with others.

2.) To create the Plot B emotional source of conflict in S2.

3.) To set-up Mobius and Sylvie's individual beliefs and values (selflessness and sparing life [Mobius] + free will and revolution [Sylvie]), which Loki combines into his own system of beliefs and values. This combination gives Loki the strength and wisdom to ascend the throne and become the God of Stories (and Time).

THE S2 FINALE

Loki comes to his final decision after speaking with the two halves of his character arc equation. Loki first seeks out Mobius, who shares with him the distinction between himself and Ravonna. Now, this is brainwashed Mobius. Brainwashed Mobius believed Ravonna could do the impossible while he couldn't. But Loki knows Ravonna's corruption.

Beneath Mobius's wisdom that "most purpose is more burden than glory" is also Mobius's heart: he could not prune children and that instinct was the right decision. His "failure" was not a failure of duty but rather his humanity succeeding despite the brainwashing. It's this same intrinsic compassion that drove Mobius to convince Ravonna to spare Loki. Loki articulates this to Don as such. He therefore takes the message of selflessness and sparing life from Mobius to Sylvie.

Sylvie, in turn, challenges Loki, stating they should have the freedom and right to fight whatever comes on their own terms.

She also stresses that it is all right to destroy things. Upon hearing this, Loki comes to the conclusion that what is destroyed must be replaced with something better. What needs to be destroyed? Not the TVA and the people in it (not Mobius, Verity, OB, and Casey), but the Loom.

Loki sacrificed himself (selflessness + sparing life [Mobius]) in order to save all timelines (free will + revolution [Sylvie]). Loki sparing Sylvie's life is a direct consequence of Mobius having fought to spare his.

Through this sacrifice, Loki gifts Sylvie the chance to get the type of positive experiences she wants and needs, which includes future romance, if she so chooses. That is canon and is a genuinely romantic gesture regardless of anyone's interpretation of mutual reciprocation or lack thereof.

It is also canon that Loki loves Mobius and Mobius loves Loki. Their actions for one another across both seasons demonstrate this to be true. Is it also romantic? Absolutely. Is it sexual? On screen, no, and it doesn't have to be. Romance does not require sex, let alone physical contact, to exist.

Loki loves them both.

#loki #sylvie #loki series #loki meta #my meta #loki season 2 #lokius #mobius #loki spoilers

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eoieopda · 11 months

Text

menace (pjm) — pt. iv

Pairing: Park Jimin x Kim!Reader Type: 4/6 (Mini Series) ⇢ Previous Chapter | Masterlist Rating: M (18+) Word Count: 6k Summary: Every villain has an origin story. This is yours. AUs: Older brother’s best friend; fuck buddies that hate each other CW: Reader is AFAB & queer; sort of an omniscient POV?; angst; very self-indulgent reference to Foresight (can you spot it? 👀); and — oh, hey! some of the other tannie boys are here. A/N: We love a flashback moment :') This takes place about a year prior to the first part, fyi. Major thanks to @ressjeon & @mimikookie for fireman carrying me out of a plot spiral 💕 ⚠️ 18+ only ⚠️ minors and ageless blogs will be blocked, on sight. my content is not for you. i do not want to interact with you. please respect my boundaries.

Jeon Jungkook was half-asleep with his face propped up a slack fist when you came through the front door of the book shop like a wrecking ball in a peacoat.

The chime of the bell above the door was no match for the way you sang out to him, and neither were his unsuspecting ears. He snapped to attention so suddenly that he knocked a pile of first editions clear off the counter. He didn’t even try to catch them as they hurtled towards the floor; they’d join the other casualties he’d dropped half an hour earlier.

Namjoon could kill him for his carelessness later, if he was so inclined. Jungkook just hoped that Namjoon remembered he was helping for free — and not at all because losing a bet meant assisting his senior in preparing the soft-launch of his business. Forced altruism should result in him being cut a bit of slack, he’d decided.

“Guess what?”

The last word of your question was held like a whole note as you walked — skipped, rather — towards him. Your giddy smile was starkly contrasted by the muted, wool coat that fluttered limply as you moved. Eyeing the counter, now free of any obstacles, you hopped onto it and sat cross-legged. When Jungkook was too stunned by your sudden energy to respond, you raised your eyebrow expectantly.

Hoseok’s head poked out from the back room. Unlike Jungkook, Hoseok was present and accounted for simply because he was a good person. He wiggled his eyebrows as he asked, “Did it finally happen?”

Since you’d met him earlier that year, Hoseok had wholeheartedly subscribed to this new chapter of your love life. He’d gotten bored of your decidedly unremarkable ex-boyfriend from a few months back, and now eagerly awaited any updates that followed your break-up. You couldn’t blame him because you seemed to be hooked on the plot, too.

Jungkook was lost, but that was news to no one. Hoseok dropped the name of the unknown subject like a bomb, and now his ears were ringing. His eyes widened far enough that he feared they’d fall right out of his skull.

Before you could answer Hoseok’s initial question, Jungkook interjected, “Park Jimin? You’re joking, right?”

Dumbstruck, he glanced between you and Hoseok, like blinking rapidly enough would make his brain process the information any faster. Like repeating himself will make what he said true — what Hoseok said impossible.

“This is a joke?”

Jungkook’s expression might’ve looked firm, but his statement was far from declaratory. The unintentional, upwards inflection at the tail end of his sentence came across as judgmental as it was disbelieving. It sounded a lot like, Are you stupid?

You shrugged. Either you didn’t want to answer in earnest, or you didn’t know how to.

And yes, Jungkook did think you were being an idiot. He wasn’t necessarily wrong for looking at you that way, nudging you back towards reality. But maybe he should’ve given you a five-minute head start before he swallowed your joy whole and shat it back out. So, he swallowed the rest of his words instead.

Hoseok emerged from the back and crossed over to you and Jungkook. Once he did, he flicked the side of the youngest’s skull with a painted — albeit chipped — fingernail. Jungkook accepted it, knowing he deserved it, and he only grunted a little bit in response.

“I’m always shocked not to hear an echo when I do that, Jungkookie.” Hoseok shot you a smirk, and then immediately stuck his tongue out at Jungkook, who was glowering at him. He pressed on, “If you utilized that brain to its full potential, you’d have learned a long time ago that the heart wants what it wants.”

Ah, there’s that hopelessly romantic enabler. It was no longer any wonder why you’d swung by the shop, which was a significant distance outside the bounds of your usual commute home from your office.

“I’m just saying —” Jungkook raised his hands defensively before swatting at Hoseok, who tugged playfully at Jungkook’s ear.

The elder danced out of the younger's line of fire with a whoop. Jungkook rolled his eyes and swallowed the frustrated grumble building up in his throat.

“— That maybe getting involved with Seokjin-hyung’s best friend is a truly garbage-tier idea. Am I not allowed to point that out?”

You and Hoseok blinked back at him, then simultaneously, you both scoffed, “No.”

Hoseok smiled and scratched at your shoulder in a silent show of support before returning to whatever task he’d been working on when you came in. Jungkook was left deflated where he sat. The two of you joining forces against him had popped him like a balloon. Poor baby, the voice in his head said, sounding a lot like you.

His tone softened, and his eyes crinkled into his best attempt at a smile. He caved, as usual. “Got a hot date tonight, then, noona?”

In lieu of a verbal response, you nodded furiously, beaming. He reached up and squeezed your knee as it bounced excitedly within centimeters of his face. Then, without commenting further, he bent over to re-categorize the same novels he’d alphabetized four times already that morning.

“You’re supposed to ask for details!” Hoseok’s voice called out from the other room. “Honestly, Jungkook-ah, you need to get better at having female friends!”

With an arm full of books, Jungkook sank back down onto the wooden stool he’d previously occupied. Truly, he didn’t know why he expected anyone to ever let him live.

“I’m asking for details,” He rolled his eyes and yelled over his shoulder. When he turned back around, you were trying not to giggle. “So, uh, how the hell did this come about?”

You leaned forward and landed a smack on his shoulder, which, for the record, Jungkook did not enjoy. He didn’t enjoy what he knew of Jimin’s reputation, either.

“Could you at least try to give him a chance?” You pleaded, hands clasped in front of you in prayer. “You don’t even know him, Jungkook.”

You were right. Jungkook had never actually interacted with Jimin directly, certainly didn’t have the history with him that you did, but he’d heard a lot about him. The information itself painted a bad enough picture, but it got worse when he considered his source.

Sources, plural.

The backstory came to him through hook-ups of his that, unbeknownst to Jungkook at the outset, were rebounding off of Jimin’s rejection. Park was patient zero, Jungkook’s study had concluded, and for reasons still unknown to the younger man, Jimin left everyone in worse shape than he found them.

Don’t get him wrong, though. The unhealed part of Jungkook was at least a little grateful for the influx of needy, emotionally unavailable girls in his orbit. He was fine batting clean-up, so long as no one stuck around to call him oppa the next day.

The rest of him — the evolved part — was wary, especially when it came to you. Jungkook was a few months’ younger than you and nowhere near the helicopter sibling that your actual brother was, but he still felt protective of you. Still feared what damage Jimin could do, intentionally or otherwise; and the way your brother would make it worse.

Jungkook pulled a face that said he wasn’t likely to buy whatever you attempted to sell him. Still, he did what good dongsaengs are supposed to do: kept his fucking mouth shut and listened.

That clearly wasn’t your specialty, but hey, at least you were endearing.

“He’s sweet, Jungkookie,” you defended. “Honestly, I think my parents like him more than me and Seokjin combined.”

For a second, you smiled sheepishly. Then, you quieted for even longer. When you picked up again, your brows furrowed; and Jungkook could tell by the tone of your voice how deeply you had to dig to say any of the things you were.

They came out heavy, dropped with a thud between you like all the obscure, antique shit he’d knocked over so far that day.

“I’ve always felt like a shadow around Seokjin, you know? Everyone looks right past me; they always have. Teachers did, friends did, our parents still do.” You looked down at the fingers that fidgeted in your lap. “Jimin’s never been like that. When he’s around, I know I’m not just cellophane.”

Jungkook was well-accustomed to the way you romanticized people, like they were figures of your life’s mythology and not simply assholes off the street. That was one of the things he admired most about you, and hoped to be a little better at himself. It’s also why he continued to bite his tongue when you said:

“I have a really good feeling about this one, Jungkook.”

There was no point in arguing with you when you looked like that, all starry-eyed and hopeful. So, Jungkook demurred, “At least tell me he’s taking you somewhere nice. If you say you’re going to that dumpster bar —”

Hoseok unhelpfully interjected, “Oh, Yang Daehyun’s place? I think that’s where Yoongi-hyung met —”

“I will barf right on this counter,” Jungkook finished, punctuating his warning by rapping his knuckles against the wood below.

Jimin was pacing.

He stopped knowing what to do with his hands a few hundred steps ago, so he gave up and shoved them into the back pockets of his jeans. As he circled, he shot Taehyung a panicked look that went nowhere fast. Whatever Webtoon he was reading was, apparently, far more important than his friend’s mental health and well-being.

Even without a captive audience, Jimin couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been on a thousand dates —”

Taehyung interjected with a roll of his eyes, “That’s an egregious mischaracterization.”

Jimin pulled one hand out of his pocket and held it up, silently begging his friend to save the slut-shaming for later. Though the tone of his voice indicated that he was getting there, Taehyung still wasn’t annoyed enough to pull his eyes off the screen of his phone. He missed Jimin’s plea entirely, stayed unbothered.

Still pacing, Jimin rambled, “And I’ve never gotten nervous. I’ve had to make speeches at massive conferences —”

For the first time, Taehyung glanced up over the top of his phone. A shit-eating grin tugged at his mouth. With a flexed eyebrow, his words nudged Jimin right in the ribs. “Remind me again how wearing a suit and getting day-drunk in a hotel ballroom is a conference?”

Jimin’s raised hand folded so that his middle finger was on full display. He didn’t stop his movements, though, insistent on soliloquizing despite the interruption: “— and none of that shit has ever bothered me, but now my fucking palms are sweating, and I don’t know how to —”

With a put-upon sigh, Taehyung poured himself from the couch to his feet and stood directly in Jimin’s well-worn path. Assuming his typecast role as obstacle, he gripped Jimin’s shoulders and — without any resistance, whatsoever — backed his friend towards the couch.

“You’re giving me anxiety,” He scolded, earning a disgruntled sigh from Jimin as he forced him to sit. “You wanted my attention; now, you have it. Just — give the pedometer a fucking rest, and listen, alright?”

It was microscopic, but Jimin’s nod in response was enough of a green light for Taehyung. The former knew the latter was no good at pep talks, and yet, there they both were. Taehyung had to wonder if it was too early for a stiff drink.

“Mechanically, it’s simple. You’ve done the hard part in asking this girl out,” Taehyung conceded calmly. Then, he cracked wide open; he couldn’t help it. He snorted, “Which — I’m sorry — is still wild to me. I didn’t even know you knew how to do that, for real. Did you get body-snatched or something? Who the fuck are you?”

He almost dodged the hand that flew out to smack him.

“Jesus — okay! Don’t blame me for leaving Monogamous Jimin off my bingo card.” Taehyung threw his hands up, signaling a ceasefire. “Just go, buy her dinner, and make googly eyes at her. This is not a crisis.”

This gave Jimin pause. His brows furrowed as he chewed his cheek, working to digest Taehyung’s words. With an uncharacteristically small voice, he eventually asked, “What if she doesn’t like the food?”

This was the straw that broke Taehyung’s back. He had to pause for a moment, talk himself out of walking out that fucking door and never coming back. Sure, it was his apartment, but that was irrelevant. If Jimin was intent on being this much of a baby, he could keep it.

“Would this girl have suggested the restaurant if she didn’t?” Taheyung challenged.

He crossed his arms indignantly, waiting on an answer he knew — on some level — he’d never get. Jimin shrunk more with every second that passed in silence.

“Would she have agreed to go anywhere with you if she didn’t want to?” Then, with a smirk, Taehyung amended, “Well, maybe she wouldn’t have if she knew you were going to spiral like this.”

“I’m not spiraling,” Jimin countered meekly. Then, he thought better of it. There was no other way to describe it, and he knew it, as much as he hated it whenever Taehyung proved himself right. “Okay, fine. I’m mildly unzipped, but I walked into a minefield on purpose, so… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything, but his eyebrow raised quizzically.

It was, frankly, impossible to try and keep up with Jimin’s calendar of dick appointments. While Jimin didn’t make it a point to kiss and tell, he didn’t keep secrets, either — not from Taehyung, at least. He normally folded like laundry when pressed.

This time, for whatever reason, he’d kept his mouth shut. It was the most tight-lipped Taehyung had ever seen him be, and that hint was the closest thing to a reveal he’d gotten so far. Which, for the record, was a terrible sign.

A sign of the apocalypse, as far as Taehyung could guess.

Jimin whined and slapped his hands over his face. As he dragged them upwards, he pushed his hair back, paused with his fingers still tangled in his strands. His elbows dug into his thighs while he stared absently at the rug, as if he was waiting for it to swallow him whole.

Oh, so, this is bad bad, huh?

“This is not a thing I want to fuck up. I can’t fuck this up,” he admitted, more to himself than Taehyung. Another beat. “And I know I’m going to. Honestly, I think I already have.”

Jimin looked so beaten down that Taehyung could feel it in his own bones. Lead-laced quiet settled on his shoulders, forced him to drop onto the cushion next to Jimin, whose unblinking stare still stuck to the floor.

And they stayed that way, neither one of them moving, until Jimin dragged his hands back down from his hair. Rubbing harshly at his face, he did the best he could to physically scrub that nagging, needling feeling off his skin.

“Is there any good way to tell Seokjin that I asked out his sister?”

Oh, fuck.

Taehyung swallowed hard. “Doubt it. Maybe pick out a burial plot first?”

You’d tried on four different versions of the same outfit and wondered how you’d acquired so many fucking turtlenecks.

After too much time deliberating, you opted for outfit number five — one of four (4) black sweaters hanging in your closet — and tucked the hem into your high-waisted skirt. As you snaked a belt around your waist, you assessed yourself in the mirror, frowning at your hair.

Of the two hours you’d spent getting ready, half that time was spent toiling over the state of it. Over and over, you asked yourself: down and limp, or up and messy? Neither option was good enough, but the face of your watch whispered that you were running out of time.

In fact, it screamed that you should’ve taken the time to wash your hair earlier, instead of relying on half a can of dry shampoo to carry you through yet another day.

You heaved a sigh and stepped even closer to the mirror to check for any lingering imperfections. The pimple on your chin was, thankfully, invisible under the layers of concealer you’d applied. The tinted lip balm had stayed where it was supposed to, too, which was a miracle, given the number of nervous sips you’d taken from your nearby wine glass.

Unfortunately, your hair was doing a lot of things, and none of them were good.

You grimaced.

If this was as good as it was going to get, why couldn’t it be just a little bit better?

You glanced down at your watch again and saw that it was 6:45 PM.

Shit.

During your sprint to your front door, you made sure to thank yourself for telling Jimin you’d meet him at the restaurant; one of few responsible choices you’d deigned to make lately. If you’d agreed to be picked up as he originally offered, he’d have been sitting in his car outside, dying of boredom and regret, while you turned your closet inside out.

Black tights caused you to slide across the hardwood when you neared your front entrance. By sheer force of will alone, you stayed standing, every muscle in your body tensing. Huffing out a relieved breath, you wasted no time in choosing between near-identical pairs of Chelsea boots — seriously, why are you like this? — before shoving your feet into them and grabbing your coat from the hook near the door.

With force, you snaked your arms into the holes, jerked the front door open, and stepped face-first into a cold so cruel, it bit your cheeks without mercy.

“Motherfucker,” you hissed, hands already frigid and aching as you struggled to lock the door behind you.

Winters in the city were mild, more often than not; but this cold snap was making you snap, and part of you regretted agreeing to leave the house in the first place. Was anybody worth braving this frozen hellscape?

Don’t do that, you admonished yourself. Don’t act like you don’t want this.

The tears forming in your wind-whipped eyes would soon be the least of your worries, thanks to the boot heel that failed to find purchase on the slick surface of your driveway. Instead of your stinging cheeks, it was your tailbone that demanded immediate attention, having taken the full impact of your fall.

You yelped, more so out of surprise than pain, “Motherfucker.”

Colder than before and with a wet spot soaking through the fabric of your skirt, you rubbed gingerly at your aching ass and scrambled to your feet.

It certainly didn’t help, but it didn’t hurt, either: You growled at the ground, “Get absolutely fucking fucked,” as if it might animate and apologize to you.

The scowl didn’t leave your face as you penguin-walked carefully to your car, ripped the driver’s side door open, and dumped yourself unceremoniously behind the wheel. The weight of your body against the seat only meant that the chilly dampness of your outfit intensified. Worse, you had the sneaking suspicion that your clumsiness had caused the back of your tights to run.

Caving to self-indulgence, you threw your head back against the seat and permitted yourself one (1) petulant, childish whine before re-committing to acting your age.

“Motherfucker!”

The drive wasn’t as treacherous as your walk to the car had been, though the city’s recent rainy spell left enough ice in its wake to keep those far smarter than you off the roads. To your surprise, the streets were clear once you made it downtown, with very few people meandering the sidewalks. It all felt ominous, parking in a ghost town, but you ignored that apprehension long enough to score a metered spot directly outside the restaurant.

Maybe the universe is making it up to me, you thought as you slipped out of your seatbelt, out the door, and off the street. Maybe good things do happen to mediocre people.

Stepping inside the restaurant, the warmth enveloped you so sweetly, you nearly moaned. The fireplace crackling off to the side was meant to create ambiance, but it nudged the primal part of your brain that yearned to curl up in front of it. Shaking your head to clear those feral thoughts, your narrowed eyes scanned the room for any sign of Jimin.

It didn’t strike you as odd when you didn’t spot him. Jimin was a lot of things, but punctual had never — ever — been one of them. You couldn’t have reasonably expected to find him, anyways, not at your usual, early arrival.

After being informed of your party of two, the host led you to a small bistro table in the far corner. They bowed before leaving you to your own devices, giving you the space to fuss blindly with your appearance before Jimin would eventually walk in. No matter how many times you smoothed your fingers over your flyaways, you still felt their abject refusal to play along.

He’s seen you with braces, you reminded yourself. He was there for your tragic, dresses-over-jeans phase in the mid-aughts. He knows what your yearbook photos looked like, and he still wants to take you out.

You turned ever so slightly toward the door and crossed one leg over the other. Then, you placed one elbow on the white tablecloth, rested that hand delicately in the space below your jaw. It was your best approximation of desirable nonchalance, and you were sure you either looked ridiculous or extremely chic. Internally, you crossed your fingers and prayed it was the latter.

Jimin made plans with one Kim and wound up burdened by the other.

Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t a problem when Seokjin showed up on Jimin’s doorstep without warning, or let himself inside. It wasn’t uncommon for Jimin to come home from somewhere and find Seokjin already there, sitting on his couch and shouting at the television. Jimin’s life had always looked like that, for as long as he could remember. Like being an only child didn’t mean he lacked a brother.

That thought made nausea swirl in his stomach as he glanced between his watch, his couch, and the person lounging on it.

For once, Jimin was committed to being where he needed to at the time he was supposed to. A part of that promise was based on the fact that he was too eager to wait; but the majority of his dedication ran deeper than that. He was dead-set on proving to you that he could honor plans — that, when it came to you, he was a person that would show up.

And then your brother’s car blocked him in his driveway and kept him from leaving an hour early, like he’d told himself he would. Just in case.

Trapped, Jimin told himself he still had time. He could still beat you to the restaurant, still be there to pull out your chair the way your father always did for your mother.

Jimin knew that, outwardly, you always rolled your eyes at gestures like that — what’s the implication, that I can’t do it myself? — but he registered the way fondness twitched at the corner of your mouth. He caught all of those micro-expressions, studied them quietly from the other side of your family’s dining room table for — shit, two decades?

You never caught him staring, though, not once.

He suspected that you’d gotten used to being overlooked. Maybe, he figured, you stopped bothering to check if anyone glanced your way in the rare moments where you piped up. Jimin stayed quiet, for the most part, because the older boy sitting next to him picked up the slack your parents had dropped when they dropped you.

Seokjin saw everything, was everything — to everyone. Jimin owed him more than anyone else for the way he dragged Jimin through school by the scruff of his neck. Seokjin’s nagging forced Jimin to buckle down and graduate, and once he did, Seokjin kept pushing. He hooked Jimin up with a job at his consulting firm, kept his toes in line long enough for Jimin to grow the fuck up.

Shit.

Would he have gotten anywhere in life without your brother?

Your brother spoke for the first time in a minute, and the sudden addition of his voice made Jimin stop fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.

“You look nice,” Seokjin said, having finally, actually perceived his friend on the other side of the living room.

He sounded surprised to find Jimin there — or maybe, he was just surprised to see him dressed up for once. Suspicion caused his eyes to narrow, but it was peak shithead behavior that made him smirk. “Big plans tonight, Jiminie?”

Jimin was this close to throwing up all over his lap. He clamped his jaw shut, offering a nod instead of a verbal response.

He needed to spit it out. He needed to rip the bandage off and deal with the situation on the front end because he knew how fucked it would be to try to fix it in the aftermath. If he could float the idea now — ease Seokin into it, give him fair warning — then they’d likely be fine, right?

Jimin picked at his cuticles. He was unable to stop himself, even when he remembered you — years ago, after elbowing him in the ribs — telling him it was a bad habit. His heart did a stupid little somersault at the memory, though his anxiety squeezed his lungs with a lot more force. He swallowed, throat gravelly.

“Yeah, actually.”

It surprised him when the words slipped out, so much so that he blinked in stunned silence for a beat.

Seokjin capitalized on the quiet without knowing what he’d derailed. He scoffed, “I hope they’re not with Chan’s sister. From what I heard, you’re lucky he didn’t make you swallow your teeth.”

Oh.

“What exactly did you hear?”

Jimin did his best to keep the anger out of his tone, but he wasn’t confident that he succeeded. What he was, was sick of that goddamn narrative. It spilled over each sphere of his life, and the stain it left was ugly, even if it wasn’t deserved. Still, he maintained that a person doesn’t need to be a saint to be a decent human being.

Didn’t that count for anything?

Every single person he’d ever fucked around with was a placeholder; and every single one of them was told, right out of the gate, that nothing was coming out of whatever it was they did together. He made his position clear from the beginning — every time — and he didn’t let a single person get closer to him until they confirmed that they had no expectations.

Didn’t grab drinks, didn’t share meals, didn’t spare a touch unless they knew what they were signing up for: A dead-end, ultimately, but a nice trip.

They all said they understood, but they never actually did. Hurt their own feelings by exaggerating their place in his life, cried and talked shit about him when he tried to remind them where they stood. He wasn’t responsible for their reaction; he was transparent. Cellophane.

Reality notwithstanding, everyone looked at Jimin like he was intentionally leaving a trail of casualties behind him. And, really, what was he supposed to do about it, if he’d only ever been honest?

If he didn’t find somewhere to be — someone to be with — his twenties would look just like his teens: him, holed up in his room alone; him, with his fingers itching to call you up; him, chickening out the second he felt brave enough to pick up the phone.

He reached the big age of twenty-seven before he stopped running away from you.

Seokjin said it lightly and with a smirk, but it hit Jimin square in the chest. “I heard that you’re a menace.”

This wasn’t the first time you’d shown up unannounced on Jungkook’s doorstep. In fact, you’d done it so many times, you’d both lost count.

When he answered the door all those times before, you never looked like you did now — like you’d spent half an hour crying in your car but were pretending you hadn’t. He immediately clocked the way your mascara had clumped ever so slightly on your bottom lashes, but he followed your lead and pretended he hadn’t. Instead, he ushered you inside while the corners of his lips pulled down into a frown.

You expected to find Hoseok on his couch, and you were faintly disappointed when his usual spot was empty.

Oh, you remembered, it’s only 8:00.

Every Friday night was movie night for the three of you, but it never started until Hoseok’s studio hours ended at 9:30. Part of you was relieved to have beaten him here, though you felt guilty about it. He may have been more excited about your budding relationship with Jimin than you were, and you knew you couldn’t handle the disappointed look he’d try and fail to hide.

You could, however, handle whatever “I told you so” Jungkook was likely to hit you with.

You let Jungkook guide you into the corner of the sectional that you normally occupied on nights like this. Well, on the nights you didn’t have plans — or, more specifically, the ones where your plans actually came to fruition.

Slumping dejectedly into the plush cushions, you tugged at the throw blanket that was draped over the back of the couch. The heavy fabric hit your lap with a muffled thump, but within seconds, it was draped over the back half of your head and both your shoulders.

Jungkook blinked at you as if he was trying not to laugh. “You — uh,” He missed his objective by a mile and snorted slightly, “You look like a little wizard with the —” He gestured over at you, and when he couldn’t recall the final word of his joke, he began snapping his fingers. “The — umm —”

“Cloak,” You mumbled with a sniff.

He snapped his fingers one last time, then brandished a single finger-gun at you. “That’s the one.”

You wanted to give him the laugh he’d earned, but you felt too crushed to be light-hearted. The amused twinkle in his eyes disappeared, and instead, they creased with concern. His voice was gentle, careful.

“Didn’t go as well as you hoped, huh?”

“It didn’t go at all,” You wiped roughly at your cheek with the back of your blanket-coated hand, but it was no use. You’d been caught red-eyed and red-handed.

“He didn’t show. I waited an hour, but then the host said he needed the table. All those people watched me wait there, alone — only to get up, alone — because people with actual dates had to sit down. Don’t think I’ve ever been so fucking humiliated in my life.”

Jungkook’s jaw was clenched so tightly, you could see the emerging vein twinge in his neck. He was wracking his brain for something soft to say to you, you knew, but all he could come up with was:

“Give me his address. He and I need to have a chat.”

You sniffled again and shook your head; he pressed further. “Seriously, I’m going to knock him on his ass. What the fuck is wrong with this kid?”

“Jungkook,” you started, though he cut you off before you could finish.

“Don’t Jungkook me. That’s bullshit, and you didn’t deserve it.” He snapped. When your eyes widened at his terseness, he gave your knee an affectionate squeeze and sighed, “I’m sorry. I just —”

The more he mulled it over, the angrier he got. His tone switched mid-sentence.

“— He didn’t even call?”

You shook your head before dropping it to rest against Jungkook’s shoulder. Quietly, you admitted, “Left me on read when I started asking what was happening. Screened my calls, too, I think.”

Thankfully, you were only aware of how pathetic you sounded; you didn’t have to see how pathetic you looked. You could see Jungkook, though, out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t spend much time around Seokjin, but the identical way anger made their eyes go dark was uncanny.

“I’m choosing violence, I swear to God,” he said through gritted teeth.

You offered, “The unhealed part of me left a pretty cruel voicemail, if that does anything for you.”

His eyes flicked over to the corner, where he’d dumped his gear after his recreational team’s hockey game earlier that week. He joined in the first place to let off steam, he’d told you, but it clearly wasn’t enough. His anger rolled off of him in waves, warmed you next to him from the outside in.

You rolled your eyes half-heartedly. “Violence isn’t the answer, Jungkook. What do you want me to do, take that stick and beat him with it until he apologizes?”

He didn’t answer, and that didn’t sit well with you. You were about to call him out on his alarming behavior, but he shook off whatever took hold of him, and looked back at you. Noting the way his jaw still clenched, you nudged him with your elbow until his posture relaxed; and he rested his cheek on the top of your head.

The two of you sat like that, silently, for several minutes before his grand plan came to him so suddenly that he jolted. The unexpected movement caused your heart to skip, caused his hand squeeze yours excitedly.

“You know what’ll hurt more than a hockey stick?”

You scoffed, confident that you’d guessed where his train of thought had sped off to, “Chaining him to the back of your motorcycle and driving off into the sunset?”

For a brief second, you saw Jungkook’s eyes light up. To your surprise, he didn’t stop to consider your absurd proposal, instead flying right past it.

“The only thing I can think of that hurts more than being stood up, is getting strung along.”

His explanation came at a frantic pace, but you visibly struggled to keep up with his genius. He patted the back of your hand eagerly, as if to say, check this shit out.

“How many times have you complained to me that the dudes you fuck don’t give a shit about you? That everything’s always about sex, and it makes you feel like garbage?”

Jesus Christ.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “When you said you were choosing violence, I didn’t think you meant me.”

Jungkook breezed past you with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Revenge is best served cold, right? So, be cold.”

You looked pointedly at him, sharp enough to stab him, but he beat you to the punch: “I know, it’s straight from Jeon Jungkook’s asshole playbook. I know. It’s an objectively, unquestionably horrible thing to do to someone, but nothing gets someone’s attention like ignoring them completely.”

Clearly, he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted from you. He shifted away from your side to sit up on his knees, facing you. From there, he gestured wildly with his hands, as if additional emphasis was what you needed to buy in.

“You can get his attention, have him trailing after you like a stray dog, and then you can slam the door in his face.” Jungkook wiggled his eyebrows, beyond pleased with himself. “Ouch.”

You chewed thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you processed Jungkook’s master plan. It was diabolical and, more importantly, the complete antithesis of how you’d decided to move through the world.

Your heart was always pinned to the cuff of your sleeve because you chose to put it there, to let people in, let them see you. For as long as you’d known Jimin, you wanted to let him in. Wrote it in your fucking diary as a kid, praying that neon, gel ink could manifest it. Wasted wishes on it every year when you blew out your birthday candles, while he was off in the next room with Seokjin. Hoped that, eventually — someday — he’d see you looking up at him.

And then it happened.

Everything you wanted fell right where you could reach it. Your casual texts back and forth turned into late night phone calls. In turn, those turned to video chats, into plans. Then, he asked you to dinner, and you gushed to all your friends that he was nothing like what they’d heard about him.

How fucking stupid you must have sounded.

The anger churned in your stomach like acid, and it threatened to burn a hole right through you.

Jungkook was right.

You’d always been committed to being whole-hearted, and it was exhausting to keep gluing yourself back together every time you broke. So, if someone was going to fall to pieces this time, it wasn’t going to be you.

“You have to be careful, though. If you get in too deep, you’ll just end up hurting yourself.”

Jungkook’s voice crashed through the maelstrom in your mind, startling you.

He continued his warning, “You cannot catch feelings while executing this kind of operation — trust me.”

“And how do I go about avoiding that?” You asked.

“You have to have rules.”

likes are always appreciated, but it's feedback that means the most — whether that's in a comment below, PM, reblog, tags, etc. tysm for reading ✨

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cremeriie · 1 year

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i do not have any more funny osvald art to post right now (or any, like, serious art either.) BUT i have been rotating him and the other 8pathies in my mind for a month now and i must ramble about him + them or i will explode!!!!

so anyways, here are some various osvald being a Dad™ to the travelers headcanons, bc i have. many. (under the cut for your convenience.)

osvald isn't very a "touchy-feely" guy. but, on a particularily anxious day for the group, when agnea asks him so sweetly if she can braid his hair, he can't say anything but yes. how could he deny her, when the earnest joy that lit up her face reminded him so much of his daughter? when evening came and the travelers returned to the inn, it took everyone much internal strength to not mention the flowers woven thoughout his, surprisingly luscious, locks. they knew if they said anything he would pluck them out, and it was rare to see him indulge in something so openly beautiful.

in a similar vein, every one of the travelers has slept on his shoulder at least once, much to temenos' chagrin, who would kill deal with anyone that dared mention the time he drooled all over the only decent coat osvald owned. not like osvald cared, anyways. his clothes were simply a means to an end. temenos felt bad regardless and made sure to scrub extra dutifully when it was his turn to do the laundering.

ochette takes this a step further and jumps into his lap whenever she can. she always wants to hear about the books he's reading, the theories he's thinking up, or just about his day. castti finds them asleep like this, once, with osvald's arms wrapped protectively around ochette and her cheek smushed against his chest. the sight makes her smile warmly, but she cant help but feel sad at how he never looks at peace, even when at rest.

throné is prone to indulging in self-destructive habits. most of the time this manifests as reckless pick-pocketing but sometimes, on worse nights, she takes to the tavern. osvald finds her one night, already three deep, and sits beside her. he leans close and speaks quietly, but intently. the tavern keeper couldn't hear their conversation, but he was glad to see the two order only coffees for the rest of his shift, and the girl with a much more content expression.

hikari, fresh on the run from his kingdom, secretly confides to osvald during a night watch shift together that he doesn't truly believe he is worthy to be king. that anybody else could, should, do it, but not him. osvald is quiet for a moment. he suddenly begins to explain the basics of fire magic. how it's an element that anybody can tap into, but only few who are gifted with its blessing can fully master. since anybody can do it, there should be no need for these masters, and yet, who else do the people trust to warm their homes and light their streets? hikari takes in the information before letting out a small grateful smile. he thanks osvald for the lesson and they lapse into comfortable silence.

one eventful day, in the ever opulent merry hills, partitio and osvald found themselves trouncing (well, parti trounced, osvald stalked) through the town, stopping at any stall they crossed to try and find some rare herb castti had heard of. finally, after an hour of searching, partitio laid eyes on a single bundle of greens for sale, and at the very last stall too. he put on his winningest smile and approached the vendor. osvald watched, disinterested, from a distance. crowds were bothersome, and he was thinking how much he'd like to be back at the inn when he heard a sudden offended spluttering coming from the stall. it seemed like the vendor had offered her, frankly offensive, price and refused to budge on it. osvald was sure partitio could have handled it himself, but the thought of a haggle session exhausted him and he decided to end things before they started, by taking a long stride behind his fellow traveler and looming over them both. all he had to do was raise an eyebrow, before the vendor crumbled and offered the herbs for half off.

#*ochette to osvald* u are my daaad ur my dad! boogie woogie woogie #octopath traveler 2 #octopath traveler #osvald v. vanstein #octopath traveler 2 spoilers #i mean i thiiink it's pretty spoiler free aside from like #hikari chapter one #but jic #maddy talks #not art

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see-arcane · 2 years

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Clarimonde, the Parisian Party Vampire You Never Read About

Quick, without touching Google, what gothic vampire tale came before Dracula, had a first-person narrator, involved a romantic/sensual undertone between the vampire and the victim, and some knowledgeable older man who revealed the nature of said vampire?

Did you guess Sheridan le Fanu’s, “Carmilla?” You’re close! The lesbian vampire escapade did predate (and surely influence) Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Carmilla went around nibbling her girlfriends in 1872 while the Count started his bloody spree in 1897. But before both of them we had the French short story, “La Morte Amoureuse,” (The Dead Woman in Love) by Théophile Gautier, translated into English alternately as, “Clarimonde,” “The Dead Leman,” or simply, “The Vampire.” But our girl Clarimonde often doesn’t get her Ye Olde Classic Bloodsucker badge as she’s owed, because her English translation only came out in 1908. But her original publication year was a dusty old 1836.

So. Who is Clarimonde? Clarimonde is, in essence, the most fun way to die and/or join the undead you could ask for in any era. Without giving everything away, she and her story, as narrated by the now-elderly priest she once seduced, are one of the most startlingly religion-risqué pieces of work ever dared in the 19th century. Hell, it would push some buttons today.

The gist for Clarimonde’s character is that she’s a beautiful prince’s consort with her own gifted castle to throw lavish bacchanals in. Her traits reveal she’s seemingly psychic, possibly Fae, and a combo of vampire and succubus. She sets her sights on the priest, Romuald, when he’s a handsome and earnest young man just about to undertake his final rites and become an official priest. Their eyes lock, minds connect, and bam, instant fairy tale Love at First Sight. Romuald doesn’t shy away from describing his adoration of her beauty, but also his pining for the potential of genuine romance with a soulmate; the fulfilling life and family he’s just now realizing he’s throwing away for the priesthood.

This undercurrent of bitterness, doubt, and disappointment with the austere nature of a clergyman’s life follows him from that moment onward. Even the old abbé who suspects what foul female evil is afoot can’t soothe him by saying, ‘hey, just pray about it.’ In fact, in all the old abbé’s appearances, Gautier/the Narrator Priest manages to sneak in a lot of stealthy “Young Goodman Brown”-esque hypocrisy. Like when the old abbé scoffs and sneers about Clarimonde’s latest bawdy party and all that went on in it…

(What were you doing at Clarimonde’s revelry, sir? Or are you just parroting bullshit you don’t actually know about??)

The love story between Clarimonde and Romuald is split between the priest’s increasingly exhausted daylit hours, while his dreaming self (if it is just a dream?) seems to run away to live with Clarimonde where they indulge in all the joys and heady vices they feel like, but each other most of all. It’s all as raunchy in its detail as was allowed at the time, but made more so for the fact that Romuald—who is, again, a priest—revels in the memory. Any shame is vaporous if it’s there at all. And then, blood comes into it.

Clarimonde (in the dream) takes to pricking him with a needle so she may keep herself alive on less than a thimble of blood. Romuald declares he would have given her all his veins if she’d asked. Clarimonde likely knows so. But no. Just a drop.

I’ll leave the exact details of the climax murky. But the last lines…

I returned to my presbytery, and the noble Lord Romuald, the lover of Clarimonde, separated himself from the poor priest with whom he had kept such strange company so long. But once only, the following night, I saw Clarimonde. She said to me, as she had said the first time at the portals of the church: ‘Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What hast thou done? Wherefore have hearkened to that imbecile priest? Wert thou not happy? And what harm had I ever done thee that thou shouldst violate my poor tomb, and lay bare the miseries of my nothingness? All communication between our souls and our bodies is henceforth forever broken. Adieu! Thou wilt yet regret me!’ She vanished in air as smoke, and I never saw her more.

Alas! she spoke truly indeed. I have regretted her more than once, and I regret her still. My soul’s peace has been very dearly bought. The love of God was not too much to replace such a love as hers. And this, brother, is the story of my youth. Never gaze upon a woman, and walk abroad only with eyes ever fixed upon the ground; for however chaste and watchful one may be, the error of a single moment is enough to make one lose eternity.

From. A. Priest.

A priest, so old and grey and—we can almost hear—choking with a young man’s mourning tears over the loss of a woman who in any other context would be painted as a vile Lilith archetype, a sexy-evil demoness embodying the temptation of the Devil (a ploy the old abbé uses, of course). Romuald only let the ‘separation’ happen for the sake of clarity in the end—his brain was being sawed in half by the waking VS sleeping worlds he lived in. That and lack of coherent thought are likely all that allowed [REDACTED] to happen, and that with him utterly miserable once the work was done.

It all plays out less like a horror story and more like a romantic tragedy wrapped in commentary so cutting against the stringent dogma of the Church you’d think it was a modern-day subversion of an older story. But no. Gautier churned this thing out, again, in 1836. “La Morte Amoureuse,”/ “Clarimonde” is free to read on Project Gutenberg and I sincerely recommend giving it a look if you want a taste of one of the earliest depictions of vampires (or any monster) as something other than the 110% Evil Demonic Threat Here to Sully Your Virtuous Soul with Impure Goings-On, and something almost Guillermo del Toroish in the daringly loving greys it plays with.

tl;dr: Clarimonde deserves more love and her own turn in the classic vampire spotlight. In the meantime, she’ll go on partying into the night and breaking hearts.

#tagging this as #dracula daily #because everybody's in a mood for some classic vampire lit to chew on while Dracula snacks his way through the Demeter #please go read about my girl Clarimonde #she deserves more love #she's one of the only raucous and unabashedly fun babes in classic literature who really gets away with being herself #even post-dramatic breakup #if only because the narrative paints her as flawed--but explicitly Not Evil #just not the norm and with only a vampire's method of engaging in a relationship with a mortal paramour #anyway #Clarimonde #La Morte Amoureuse #vampire #horror #love #dracula #carmilla #theophile gautier #literature

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gooddaysmeanwritingdays · 2 years

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I Have ADHD

Fandom: Daredevil (MCU) Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (gender neutral) Warnings: none? Bit of swearing and dangerous driving, basically just author indulging in self-indulgent writing Word Count: 1643 words Summary: You're late to an ADHD consultation appointment and you're terrifying the shit out of your boyfriend Matt by driving like a maniac.

A/N: So this is 100% a self-indulgent fanfic. I just got diagnosed with ADHD and it was genuinely one of the happiest moments of my life. So I decided to share this joy with anyone who wants to read it. I couldn’t stop smiling when I wrote this, just like I couldn’t stop smiling (and crying and laughing) when I got my diagnosis.

A/N 2: This has no relation to the show Daredevil at all (besides Matt being there) so you don’t need to have watched it to enjoy this fic. I honestly don’t expect many people to read it because this is pure indulgence, but if any of you do, I hope you enjoy 💖

A/N 3: I’d like to give a huge shoutout to my wonderful friend and beta-reader @221birl1823 for reading this and for being a huge support in this journey for me. Thank you for everything; this one’s for you.

“I’m late. I’m late. I’m fucking late.” You swerved through the traffic and flapped your hand at the car behind you when they slammed on their brakes and leaned on their horn. “Shit sorry sorry.”

“Killing us isn’t going to get you there any earlier,” Matt remarked dryly.

“Not helping.” But when you turned to glare at him, you noticed the death grip your boyfriend has on the dashboard and the slight green tinge to his cheeks. You eased up on the accelerator a bit and sighed. “Sorry, baby. I’m just stressed. I’ve been waiting for this appointment for six months and I’m late.”

You glanced at the clock again. 11:58. Your appointment was at midday, and you were still ten minutes away.

“I know.” He reached over to grip your hand in his, before ripping away to grip the dash again as you sped through a yellow light. “Just please get us there alive.”

Reluctantly, you did as he asked. Anyone else you probably would have told them to suck it up, but for Matt you’d do anything. Even be later than you already were. Plus, you couldn’t imagine it was fun being blind and being at the mercy of a speeding maniac. There was a reason he rarely let you drive—and it had nothing to do with living in New York.

When you were finally at a sensible pace again, Matt reached over to slide his fingers between yours. “Hey.”

You glanced over, squeezing his hand to let him know you were paying attention.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

You furrowed your brow. You’d expected some kind and loving words, not him asking you to dredge up all your anxieties. But he had that earnest look on his face you never could say no to.

“Well, they could tell me I’ll have to wait longer which will only make me stress more. Or they’ll cancel my appointment for being late without notice. Or they’ll kick me out for good saying I should have gotten there earlier because they’re a fancy private fucking practice and they could do that!” As you listed all the worst-case scenarios you could, your anxiety started rising once more. You slammed on the brakes to avoid running up someone’s arse and flicked them the finger when they beeped at you.

“Okay. Well, if you have to wait longer, I’ll be with you to calm you down. If they cancel your appointment for being—” he checked the time “—six minutes late, then we’ll book it for the very next time we can, or demand to see someone else.” He tugged on your hand for your attention again. “And if they throw you out permanently, we’ll sue them.”

You snorted, leaning into him as you waited for the lights to turn green. “It’s a good thing I happen to know two great lawyers.”

He kissed your forehead. “Definitely a good thing. But I don’t think you’ll have to worry about it at all. You’ll be okay. It’ll go perfectly.”

You didn’t let go of him as you slammed on the accelerator and overtook a truck, and he gripped your hand tighter as you did.

You glanced at the clock again. 12:07. Anxiety stirred in your throat at the sight, but you took a deep breath and focused on the circles Matt was drawing on the inside of your wrist.

Everything’s going to be okay, you reassured yourself. It doesn’t matter that I’m late. It’s not the end of the world. If I have to wait longer that’s okay, and if they try to kick me out, I’ll glue my ass to that seat until someone’s free.

You took another breath, calming down before a car suddenly swerved in front of you. You tore your hand from Matt’s with a curse and swerved to the other lane, narrowly missing a motorcycle.

“You fucking asshole!” You glared at the other driver as you passed her. “Where’d you learn to drive? The fucking moon?”

She flipped you off without looking and you snarled as you rounded a corner.

“Are you talking about yourself?” Matt asked faintly.

You snorted, your mood rising instantly, and you pried his hand from the dash and wrapping it in yours. You pressed a kiss to the back of it, only smiling a little. “What are you saying about my driving, Murdock?”

“That you’re a menace.”

You grinned. Turning into the driveway, you slipped into a free park. “We’re here.”

“Next time we’re taking a cab.”

“A cab can’t make up for lost time like I can. If we’d gotten a cab, we’d have been late.”

“Later than we already are?”

You poked him in the chest, outraged. “Too soon.” You locked the car behind you and headed in.

Before you got to the door and your nerves could rise anymore, Matt grabbed your hand. “Hey, you’ll be okay. This is an ADHD clinic. They’re used to dealing with people with poor time management.”

You let out a shaky breath. “So I guess it’s a point in my favour that I’m late to a consultation where one guy decides if I meet the criteria another guy made up?”

His smile was a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Come find me when you’re done.”

With that he headed towards the coffee shop two doors down and you headed inside to face the music.

~~~

“We’ll start you off slowly, half a tablet today, two halves tomorrow, one and a half on day 3 and then two from then on. Try not to take them after midday as they could keep you awake later in the night.” The doctor folded his notebook. “Any questions?”

“Ah yeah, one.” You rubbed your fingers, squeezing the tension out of them. “So when I walk out of that door—” you gestured at the closed door to his office “—I have ADHD? Like I’m officially diagnosed with ADHD?”

He smiled. “Yes. You have ADHD.”

The air left you in a rush. “Okay. Right. Thank you.”

He nodded, turning back to his computer, and started typing up your script. You pressed you hand to you mouth to cover your laugh as you replayed the words in your head. You have ADHD. You have ADHD.

You blinked the tears from your eyes, dabbing at the corners. Holy shit. I have ADHD.

You grabbed a tissue from the box beside you, dabbing the corner of your eyes before you could make a fool of yourself.

The doctor glanced at you. “Are you alright?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Yeah. I’m just so relieved.”

He smiled kindly. “It’s often a relief to finally get a diagnosis.”

“So much.” You squeezed the tissue in your hands and sat back in the chair like your muscles couldn’t hold you up.

“Here’s your script.” He handed it to you. “You can get this filled at any pharmacy, and you can start taking it this afternoon, if you like. Just remember to follow the schedule I gave you.”

You nodded quickly. “Of course. Yes. Thank you so much.”

He stood up and you followed him to the door. “You do look relieved. And lighter than when you walked in.”

“So damn relieved.” You laughed a little. “Thank you so much.”

“Have a good day.”

When asked later, you couldn’t remember much of what followed, of paying, of booking a follow up appointment, of anything but the thoughts: I have ADHD.

It wasn’t until you were outside that it finally hit you emotionally and you couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your cheeks. You stumbled blindly to your car, tears pouring down your cheeks and laughter spilling from you.

“Hey.” Twin familiar arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “How’d it go?”

You spun around to face your boyfriend. “You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. I wasn’t listening. I didn’t want to intrude on that.” Matt reached up to cup your cheeks. “You’re crying…and you’re laughing. What’d he say?”

“I have ADHD!” You threw your hands up in the air, smiling the biggest smile you ever had.

“Yeah?” Matt pulled you close and a grin bloomed on his face to match yours before he spun you in a circle. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations, sweetheart! I’m so happy for you!”

“Me too!” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck when he didn’t put you down. “I have ADHD! Officially! Actually! It’s not in my head! I’m not lazy! I’m not making this up! I have ADHD!”

“I never doubted you for a second.” Matt pressed his forehead to yours, smiling so hard his cheeks must have ached. “I can’t believe you finally got it!”

You laughed, biting your lip. “I finally got it! After all these years and all the assholes saying I didn’t, I finally got it. The confirmation I needed!”

He spun you in another circle and you let out a shrieking laugh before you stopped. “Wait. I have to tell Megan!” You pushed at his shoulders until he let you go. “They’ve been with me every step of the way! I have to tell them the good news! Ahh! They’re going to be so happy for me!”

Matt let you go with a laugh as you ran into the car park, your phone out and your smile so wide your cheeks ached. He blinked when you stopped and spun around to face him again.

“Almost forgot.” You leapt into his arms, knowing he’d catch you as he always did. Being in his arms always felt like the safest place on earth. And right now, it was the happiest too. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him in for a soft kiss. Pulling away, you rested your head against his, smiling like mad as you said, “Thank you, baby. Thank you for helping me through this and being there for me whenever I needed it.”

His eyes crinkled in the corners, and he leaned into your touch. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

You have ADHD. The words ran through your head, and you felt so giddy you wanted to scream and laugh and leap for joy. “I have ADHD!” you whispered.

“Yeah, you do, baby. You have ADHD.”

A/N: Like I said, purely self-indulgent. I just want to add, my experience of ADHD and diagnosis isn’t universal. This fic is purely about me expressing my relief and happiness over finally getting a diagnosis that has been slowly wrecking me for far too long. I honestly still can’t believe it. And I can’t stop smiling!

Comments and reblogs are much loved 💖💖💖

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chaotic-nick · 1 year

Text

Worth the time: Jushiro Ukitake x reader

Here's the second instalment for my '400 follower milestone fic specials' with the theme '[Un]learning' where my favourite life lessons in twenty years of living are used for fics!

Plot: Jushiro is still learning so much about you even after marriage.

wc: 1479

Lesson learnt: my achievements are worth the time to be celebrated and appreciated, and I should not let my past affect how I celebrate my milestones in life.

note: Established relationship - Modern AU where the 13 court guard squads are doing other stuff to build the community - reader is southeast Asian coded - interracial marriage - unedited & self-indulgent

Two months of being newlyweds who moved into their first home together, and going into the third month, Jushiro was only sure that he didn’t know everything about his wife. There was still so much he needed to learn about her— her life before Japan or her life before she met him, and worked harder to learn his language.

Cultural preferences and practices are at the top of it.

“We keep our feet tucked under.” He explained when she looked at his posture when he sat on the floor of their dining area. “Is that what you do?”

Joining him in her place across the table, he noticed that she ate on a banana leaf she impulsive bought for . . . looking beautifully fresh. The only bowl was for her share of the soup. “Left leg’s to balance you, right leg’s. . .” of course not everything was a lesson in culture when she always said the most laughable things in an earnest tone to see him sigh, “. . . something to hug when you’re eating alone.”

Cultural differences aside, there was so much of her that he was noting down in his brain. He needed all the time in the world to learn what made her. Only for that time to be consumed entirely by his duty as a captain in the thirteen court guard squads. She liked being buried under a mountain of pillows when she slept alone in their shared room— it almost recreated the feel of his warmth when they cuddled.

“I always buy extra groceries so I don’t have to go out—” Or, “There’s hot water in the thermos.” So it wouldn’t interrupt the little free time she has to write what her heart wanted to.

. . .

It was in the sixth month of their marriage when he came home after being put on duty in Tsuken Island with Shunsui and Unohana, Jushiro had learnt something about his beloved wife that left his mind with more confusion.

“If I start the machine now then we can relax together . . .” she murmured, taking his duffle bag right after he set it down at the entryway and disappearing into their laundry room.

She scurried in as she quickly as she put the washing machine to work to set plates for his welcome home meal down, beaming with joy as she said, “Ooh! Also iced tea in the freezer, you just eat.”

“Have you eaten?” Catching his eye on the western dining table in the kitchen was an invitation to an award ceremony within the company she worked for.

The invitation still in his hand and its envelope under it Jushiro’s eyebrows were raised, “What about you?” He asked while allowing himself to sit in the chair she pulled.

“Already ate before going to the airport.” He leaned into the steam from the steam coming from the rice she scooped into his plate, inhaling one of the scents that lingered in his home. Followed by his favourite dish. “And then the onigiris at the airport— amazing!”

“Marry a Japanese man for endless onigiri.” Laughed Jushiro. ‘And I’ll marry you again for endless Caldereta.’

“It’s funnier in English— rice balls. Balls. He- he- he,” he set the invitation in front of her to hold his spoon.

Through a mouthful, he asked with a tilt of his chin, “Are you hosting that?”

Hosting was na extra job she picked up at college— “Hard to let it go, extra money’s helpful for emergencies.” She proudly replied after he told her that she shouldn’t worry about medical expenses if he got sick again.

“It’s an award ceremony.” He nodded for her to continue, lifting his plate up for another scoop.

Her tone was more nonchalant than how she scooped rice into his plate, “I’m nominated in a few categories, but I dunno.”

His mind didn’t comprehend the indifference in her tone, going straight to the feel of his heart swelling and how it warmed with joy. Pride even. “That’s my wife.” Exclaimed Jushior, ar,s shooting up to hug her as she tried to set his plate down without making a mess on the table.

“That’s incredible!” A small smile on his face as hers stayed the same.

“It’s a hassle, Jushiro.”

“Why so—” cut off by a fit of coughs when a stray grain of rice got lost in his windpipe. “Hassle? Why’s that?”

“My clothes are still at Hanataro’s for dry cleaning. It feels so overtop to wear it when my friends assured me that I looked casual. In fact, more casual than my usual casual.“ Drinking from his glass, she held up another finger. ”And then I’m not sure if I should tie my hair back or curl it,”

“Do the one when we got married!”

Washing the dishes after he insisted that she sit, Jushior kept to himself even when he wanted to ask why she was so nonchalant about it. Not even asking if he wanted to attend it. Not a sliver of excitement when she told him the categories she was nominated in. A kiss on his cheek brought him out of the train of thought, “Night.” She held on to his arm.

“That level of beauty is only for you, I don’t like anyone else seeing it, Jushiro.”

“I’ll join you soon.”

He wasn’t sure what to wear after Shunsui told him their uniforms would attract unwanted attention the moment he set foot in her company’s building, a white shirt and jeans would be too casual. So he stood at the reception in his kimono, haori draped over his shoulders.

“Good Afternoon,” greeted an employee at the floor. “Are you here for the award ceremony?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Family member or . . .”

“Wife,” he smiled, jumping in the inside. “(Y/n) (L/n),”

“I see,” keeping the door wide open for him to enter the audience, “I think it’s her turn to receive an award. Please let me know if you have any concerns.”

“Thank you I will,” angling his head in search of a ponytail that swung at every turn.

“And now— I’m sorry for my voice,” spoke the man into the mic, sporting a grin as he ignored his colleagues sitting at the seats below the stage. “But being up here only means that the next category is,” a silent clap of his hands with the blue envelope between his fingers. “Voice talent of the year.”

Other than the new addition of her toothy grin in every angle and place in the office, Jushiro nodded his head the more he realised that attending the event was a good decision even when she didn’t tell him anything. One, he never thought that it was possible to see a bright smile become brighter because of his presence alone.

And two, “Oh my legs are about to fall off.” She wouldn’t be able to carry all of the paper bags and bouquets alone on her way home.

“I should’ve borrowed captain Yamamoto’s service car.”

“You can use it for yourself?”

He nodded into the bouquet of carnations, “Shunsui and I are allowed to use it.” Seeing that they stood in front of a pizza shop, Jushior tilted his chin. “How about a break, (Y/n)?”

“Spicy chicken . . .” across her, Jushiro’s eyes held so much love that the menu’s colour scheme couldn’t even tear his eyes away. “Ranch! Oh my god, I miss this. I’m having this.”

Lifting her head up she asked, “What about you?”

“Uhm,” his brain turned to a pile that suddenly forgot how to read. “Hmm, I’m not sure . . .”

“That’s a first.” Peaking over it, “What do you have in mind? Something spicy or—”

“I really can’t decide,” he sighed, “this is probably the lack of sleep or . . .” looking up at her. “You.”

“Ha?”

“Me? I should blame you— I didn’t excerpt you would just be there sitting!”

“Surprised?”

“It was a special event!”

“An understatement but yes, very very surprised. It wasn’t that special but I appreciate it.” Drumming her fingers along the table, “C’mon what are you ordering?”

“Eh, no one really came to my other events when I was growing up so maybe I downplay big things.”

“Oh, Right, your dad was a pilot . . .”

“Still is.”

“Did that affect a lot of things?”

“Most of my life until I was old enough to move out— he always made it clear that I should make his time worth it when there was something school related. So I never knew which was which in all of the events I was a part of.”

Closing the menu, he asked her, “Why don’t we get a bigger size of yours.”

“Spicy chicken ranch?” She repeated slowly, in a tone that he used when she wanted to try a new dish.

“It’s worth a try,” he said, avoiding her wide-eyed look with no trace of hurt in it, ‘and you’re worth the time.’

#nick writes fics #jushiro ukitake x reader #bleach x y/n #bleach x you #bleach x reader #bleach fanfiction

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