#lean planning construction | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Text

Black Metal and Bourbon (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 8.1k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about.

“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes.

You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.

“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened.

“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka.

The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’

Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.

“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat.

Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense.

You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out.

“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants.

It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time.

Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again.

Over and over and over.

You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow.

This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.

This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.

You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.

The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.

Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent.

‘SOLD’

“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass.

“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!”

“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?”

Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”

“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes.

“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness.

New arrivals?

You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order.

It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were.

You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.

As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already.

But back to the current interest for the night.

“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all.

Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch.

Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up.

The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy.

Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney.

“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory.

Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head.

You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here.

Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too.

“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”

“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?”

You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone.

The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed.

Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person.

“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.

A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants.

The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy.

He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.

“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights.

Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.

“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”

Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment.

A puff of breath from his nose.

“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”

Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders.

Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.

A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’.

Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again.

“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you.

Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”

“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”

“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff.

“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.

“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”

“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava.

“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head.

“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly.

“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.

“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip.

Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?”

The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs.

Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.

Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?

“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow.

On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter.

“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”

The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth.

“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.”

Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued.

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg.

The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were.

The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for.

Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire.

And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.

But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either.

A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away.

Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up.

Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell.

She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause.

Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly.

“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted.

“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”

“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”

A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.

“...W-what?”

“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”

“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”

“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”

“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.

You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.”

The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender?

You know everyone's dirty little secrets.

You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.

“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him.

“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”

“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.”

You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face.

“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?”

His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice.

“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.”

Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless.

Who is this man?

“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated.

The glass meets the bar top.

He grunts. “Needed a drink.”

Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”

“Hm, maybe.”

“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl.

A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him.

You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window.

“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”

Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?

“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared.

Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”

“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”

But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.

—

Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath.

The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep.

Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air.

The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel.

But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.

You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly.

“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening.

“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.”

Blank stares are sent your way.

“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more.

It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though.

Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.

Biker mechanics. It fits the script.

“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”

“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile.

“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.”

Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?

The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.

“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.”

Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.

The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is.

“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.”

“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.”

“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”

“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.”

“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”

“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”

“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”

“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging.

Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”

You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”

“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”

Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings.

“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you.

A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you.

“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily.

You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names.

“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed.

“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues.

“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance.

“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”

He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.”

Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie.

“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles.

Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy.

“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort.

“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.

“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.

“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.

“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff.

Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere.

Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.

Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.

“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb.

Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path.

“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.

“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.

“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.

You’d only just met him.

The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can.

“A cold one.”

Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.

—

You hated the smell of cigarette smoke.

Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up.

But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem.

Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all.

But, the here, the now.

Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service.

The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it.

You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’

It was there that a proposal was offered.

“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out.

You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion.

“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls.

John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly.

“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.”

That was a surprise.

You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer.

“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question.

“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?”

So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind.

Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.

“Snooping, Riley?”

“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”

You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.”

Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.

“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting.

Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens.

“Thank you.”

He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat.

“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.

“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt.

“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer.

As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting.

Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service.

He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you.

“It’s—”

Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone.

Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way.

Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.

“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching.

“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”

Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm.

Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower.

“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.”

Your face pulls in with disgust.

“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.

“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.

The air gets heavy.

“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”

“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”

“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.

“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath.

Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt.

Your hand lowers from your face.

“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”

“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”

No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy.

“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”

“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”

“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.”

Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man.

“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was.

Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust.

Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm.

Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?

Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking.

A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment.

“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”

“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”

“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”

“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”

He was very passionate about this, it seemed.

You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”

“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets.

A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement.

Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer.

“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes.

“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights.

“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”

“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.”

“Getting familiar, Bartender?”

“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”

Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”

Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.

—

“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”

“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @aldis-nuts, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

1K notes · View notes

norrizzandpia · 8 months

Text

Try On! (LN4)

Summary: She thought his opinion on some new lingerie would be good. Spoiler alert, it was good. Really good.

Warnings: smut!!!!!!! it’s a quickie against the wall, language

Note: here we go yall first smut imagine with one of the requests i got from @carlossaiwag and i plan on getting through the other ones soon 💗💗

“What is Victoria’s secret though?” Lando whispered as the couple shuffled through the small corner of the store, both looking intensely at the new styles of underwear and bras.

Giggling, Y/n turned her head to the side as to catch his blue eyes, “You think I know? I only started coming here because of you.”

He gasped lightly, “What? No!”

Fully stopped in the store, the two of them stared at each other playfully as her eyes threatened to out the time he came to her and begged she would buy the set he had seen on his Instagram feed.

He was about to back down when something behind him caught her eye and she was pushing him to the side, scurrying off quickly.

“Babe! Look at this!” She called as he lingered behind, clearly excited over what she had found.

What she had found, Lando saw, was an incredibly small black two piece that had little bowties on all the corners of the intricate material. Lace being the only fabric used to construct the outfit, Lando knew it would barely contain his beautiful girlfriend in the best way. With a skimpy bottom and a belt piece, little ruffles were the only thing to slightly cover any private area.

He loved it.

“Lan? You okay?” She chuckled at her boyfriend’s jaw dropped expression.

Shaking his head, he tore his gaze away, “I think you should get it.”

She smiled at him, “I have to make sure it fits first, Lando. I have to try it on.”

He nodded his head quickly, stealing her size off the rack and shoving her toward the dressing rooms.

Because it was a slow Sunday, no workers were around except the two all the way at the front of the store. And, with no customers in sight, Lando swiftly pulled her into the nearest one and locked the door.

“Put it on.” He whispered, trying not to draw attention to the fact he was in there with her.

Y/n gave him a weird look before grabbing the item from his tight grip and shimming out of her clothes. Lando’s pants tightened when her naked body was put on display in front of him, but they threatened to tear off when she slipped the piece of fabric on.

The way it hugged her waist perfectly helped to accentuate the ass he ogled from time to time and, from what he could see in the mirror, it was just a bit too small for her boobs, which were spilling out just enough to argue if it was really doing anything at all to cover her. His mouth dried and his eyes narrowed as she turned around to get a look at the back in the reflection. With the new angle, Lando could see the darkened shades of her nipples just below the see-through lace and the blackened area that teased him on her underwear.

The lingerie did exactly what it was supposed to as Lando stalked towards her, his hands coming to grab her waist as he pulled her into him. She was quick to turn around and clock the way his gaze had shifted from adoration for the number she was wearing to pure, tortured lust. She knew what this face meant and she knew what was destined to happen, whether they were in public or not.

“This is my favorite one.” He said slowly as he peered down, her height allowing him access to stare at the skin trying to break out of the tight material.

“Lan, we can’t do this here.” She said in warning, her hands coming up to his chest and pushing lightly.

His eyes flickered to hers as if she had said something stupid, “Of course we can. You just have to be quiet.”

Any response or rebuttal to his argument died in her throat when he met his hips with hers, grinding against her.

The roll of his hips continued as he leaned down to kiss her, hard. The smacking of wet lips only heated the moment when he backed her up against the wall, grabbing her hand and pulling it up over her head.

The way he trailed his mouth down her neck and over her boobs made a small moan escape from her. At that, he pulled away, a whine from her making it known she hated the action.

However, he leaned his head down so he could whisper right in her ear, “Remember what I said, baby? Be quiet or else everyone out there will hear just how good I make you feel.”

When she didn’t respond, too dazed and aroused to comprehend his words, he continued, “Can you do that for me, Y/n? Can you be a good girl and stay quiet?”

He dipped his head to the side so he could catch her eyes, ones that pleaded with him to continue his prior movements as she nodded her head.

“Good, baby. Good.” He whispered again before she felt his hand trailing up her thigh and toward the underwear she had just been contemplating buying or not.

Careful not to rip it, even though that’s what he wanted to do, Lando pulled the lace down her legs and stuffed them in his pocket. His fingers retreating back to where they had been, he hiked her leg over his hip just before unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. He tried to make it as quiet as possible, himself being a bit worried about fucking his girlfriend who was already loud in bed in the middle of a store, but the sight of her glistening and wet had that panic being forced to the back of his brain.

With his dick out, he gave it a few strokes, looking at her and the outfit she dawned. His hand came to rest on her thigh, holding it against him, as his other returned to holding her hand against the wall.

A quick look to her, checking to make sure what they were about to do really was okay, Lando sunk into the girl he had been with for years, the tightness and warmth of her never ever getting old.

He himself had to calm down when he almost let out a loud groan, surprisingly Y/n being the one out of the two of them to just let her mouth drop open in a silent moan.

“Y/n…” He said breathlessly in her ear as she bucked her hips against him, begging for him to move.

Lando granted her wishes as he began to slowly, teasingly pull in and out of her. Thankfully, his controlled thrusts were able to stop any incriminating sounds from eliciting, although the moans both of them were trying to keep at bay were coming close to outing them.

With each snap of his hips, Y/n chanted his name with a bit more fervor in his ear and making it impossible for him to hold on for much longer.

“Lan, faster.” She pleaded, her hands gripping his hair as he stuffed his face in her neck, desperate to quiet the evidence of how good she made him feel.

Truthfully, the hug of her walls around him stopped any kind of thinking when he began to drill into her harder, faster. His nose breathing in her scent, he hooked both of her legs around his waist so he could fondle her boobs instead of hold her up. He squeezed and played before pulling the delicate fabrics down, forcing the rest of her to fall out. He threw his head back at the sight, willing any God out there to help him keep quiet. The way they bounced with each of his determined thrusts had him edging closer to release, saying, “Baby, you look so fucking good. I could cum just at the sight of you.”

Lando was quick to shove his hand over her mouth, muffling the borderline pornographic sound that came from his words. He stayed like that, pounding into her as he silenced every noise he wanted to hear so bad.

“Y/n, holy shit.” He whispered as her walls tightened around him, the telling sign she was so close.

Kissing her ear and angling his hips in a way that reached a spot of hers she never even knew was there, Lando encouraged, “Y/n, baby, cum. Cum for me.”

With that, he kissed her, enveloping her mouth in his as she finished around him. The feeling of her release coupled with the small noises that he could only hear and the soft chants of his name, Lando came just as hard with a string of curses and praises just for her.

His hips continued to slowly lose their pace as each of them came down from their high, his kisses relentless on her skin.

“You did so good, my love.” He said as he pulled out and fucked what was threatening to spill out of her back in. Her distant eyes met his as he slipped the lingerie off her body and dressed her back in what she was wearing before. Fortunately, by the time he had gathered their stuff and the two of them no longer looked like they had just had a quickie against the wall, Y/n was back to her normal self.

Smirking at him as he opened the door for her, she made her way to the cashiers at the check out station. Smiling and pretending like Lando’s cum hadn’t just been forced back into her, she looked at the young woman across from her.

“I would like to buy this set, please.”

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #mclaren #lando norris fanfic #lando norris fluff #lando norris imagines #lando norris edit #lando norris smut #lando norris #lando norris fanfiction #lando x reader #lando norris x you

2K notes · View notes

star-sim · 4 months

Text

supermassive blackhole ☆ jay park pt. 2

☆ non-idol!jay x fem!reader

☆ summary: You and Jay Park couldn't stand each other. But after a drunk makeout session at your university's annual soccer mixer, combined with Jay's secret identity as the city's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, the two of you are pushed closer to each other than ever, challenging your long-time status as 'enemies.'

☆genre: enemies to lovers, suggestive but no nsfw/smut, angst, fluff, spiderman! au, college! au, so incredibly american HELP, reader has glasses bc it's cute and jay has a lip piercing bc i said so

☆ warning(s) ? many mentions and instances of alcohol (all characters are of age), this is very suggestive but there is no smut

☆ word count: 16.7k ☆ tag list: @sophiko22 @yenqa @kwiwin @okikinshasthehiccups @lovelickies @siyen @blackhairandbangs @pjjongsaeng @chkltmlk

part 1

The next day, exactly one week before finals week officially began, you and your friends decided to have a beach picnic to de-stress from the impending doom that was semester finals. It was your meeting place, ever since high school. Clad in a pretty yellow sundress, you entertained yourself with a sand-castle building contest between you and a few friends. Unfortunately for them, a course in urban design (which you shared with Jay Park) equipped you with just enough knowledge on how to build a killer sand-castle.

“Woah!” Isa, the one that you helped get with Jay’s friend all those years ago, exclaimed. You were crouched right next to her in the sand, using silicone molds to make sand seashells. Since junior year of high school, you and Isa have grown apart. It wasn’t the break up rift that caused the distance. In fact, you got closer because of the break up. People just grew on their own, and sometimes that growth was in opposite directions. Now that you were at the same university, you were still friends, but not as close as you used to be. “Specky, you’re really good.”

You grinned to yourself, melding the wet sand into a pillar. “I know.”

Even when your friendship thinned, there was one thing that made Isa distinct: the fact that she called you “Specky,” (short for “spectacles,” since you wore glasses) and no one else did.

“It’s what a course in urban planning and design gets ya,” you quipped, poking your friend with a sand-covered finger.

There were some things that you two disagreed about.

Like when Isa picked her major to be fashion design and apparel construction. Not the most useful or appealing to most employers unless she made it big, which was why you were so vehemently against it. Between the required courses in fashion design and political science (your own major), you argued that the latter would be much more useful.

But that was two years ago, and now you joke about it.

“Yeah?” Isa cocked a brow. “But can you make leopard print look good?”

You smiled. “No, but I know how to pass a law that makes leopard print illegal.”

Isa nudged you playfully. It was supposed to be a light nudge, and it was. Except, your heads bumped together. After a bit of laughing and a few ‘sorry’s’ Isa stopped in her tracks, nose scrunching.

You glanced at her curiously.

Isa didn’t say anything, only leaning closer to you. This time, she pressed the tip of her nose against your exposed shoulder.

“Are you sniffing me?”

Isa only laughed before pulling back. You shot your friend a suspicious look.

“You smell like someone.”

“Don’t I always smell like someone?” you molded the sand in your palm. “Like.. I dunno, myself?”

“Yes, but-” Isa leaned into you again. “You don’t smell like yourself.”

Before you could question her further, Isa called over a few more friends.

“Jake! Kazuha! Come smell Little Miss Specky!”

After having five whole people smell you, they all agreed that you smelled “un-[Name]-like” (whatever that meant).

Isa frowned, placing a thinking hand on her chin. “A-Ha!”

You watched amused as the woman jumped to her feet.

“I know who you smell like!”

Isa threw an accusatory finger your way.

“You smell like Jay!”

Jay Park knew there was something wrong when his toaster broke that morning.

Him and his (your) friends were having a beach get-together, but you went first. He told you that he “had something to do for his job.” Probably easy to guess what he was actually doing.

He arrived at the outing an hour after you did.

And the moment he stepped out of his taxi, there was an entire group of grown adults (read: his friends) charging at him. It wasn’t unnatural for this to happen, but it was what they were screaming and the person they were dragging along with them– You.

Except, when he made eye contact with her ,you looked away embarrassed.

And that was when he remembered the worst slip-up of his life.

“Yeah, I think Jay Park is in love with you. He tells me all about he’s liked you since freshman year and–”

Lying to you while being Spider-Man…. About how he, in his civilian form, liked you.

In his defense– he was panicking, okay? He didn’t know what to say! And he didn’t want to make it awkward either– ew, that would be so icky.

Apparently making his enemy think that he was madly in love with her better than making the atmosphere awkward. When he went home yesterday night (that is, after dropping you back at his place and then making another round around the city so that you wouldn't suspect him), he almost jumped off a building without shooting a web to suspend himself.

He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip.

Jay couldn’t make out any words they were shouting at him, other than your name, “fucking,” and “smell.”

“Okay, okay, shut the fuck up!” Jay finally yelled back at them. “All of you. Let me sit down first.”

When they got back to where all their other friends were, his friends sat him down, looking very serious, as if he was their teenage son who they caught drinking, or something.

“Why are you guys so serious?” he questioned suspiciously.

“You know why!” one of his friends chided.

Jay really didn’t.

In the corner of his eye, he could see another one of his friends dragging you toward them.

Dread.

He could not face you after what happened yesterday.

Eyes narrowing, he turned back to them. “What is this about?”

“How ‘bout you tell us what you’re about?” one of them quipped. “Why does [Name] smell so much like you?”

What.

“Wait, what?” Jay’s lips curled. “What do you mean?”

“Let go of me, Jake!” Jake Sim finally managed to get you, who was kicking and screaming, to come over to where Jay was. You struggled out of his grasp. “Dude, I just want to build my sand-castle, Jesus fuck-”

When your eyes met with Jay’s again, instead of a glare or disgusted expression, you simply looked away awkwardly.

“[Name] [Last Name]!” Isa proclaimed. “Are ya gonna tell us why you smell like your sworn enemy?”

“I don’t know!” you shot your friends a glare. “What do I even smell like normally?”

“Sweet, kinda like an orange,” Jake answered matter-of-factly, smiling.

I would know that, thought Jay.

“And what does Jay smell like normally?”

When Jay and you locked eyes, you knew the answer exactly. You both knew why you smelled like him, and it was an answer that was more complicated-sounding than it should be.

You slept in his bed. Not because you slept together on his bed, but because he also used to sleep in that bed, so it was only natural that his scent wore off on you. You also used his shampoo and body wash. Not because you showered together (ew!), but because you lived in his house.

But if you told them that, there was no way in hell anyone would believe that there wasn’t some sort of relationship between you two.

“He smells like wood, but like, mixed with Axe body spray.”

“I do not!”

It was a silent agreement between Jay and you.

Act stupid.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jay grumbled.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I knew you guys were stupid but I didn’t think you were that stupid.”

Jake and Isa sent each other suspicious looks, reconvening before a large grin spread across both of their faces.

“I knew it,” Jake murmured. He got louder. “I knew it!”

Everyone looked at him curiously.

“What are you talking about–”

Swinging an imperious finger at Jay and you, Jake announced loud enough for surrounding people to hear and turn their heads. “These two are fucking!”

What?

The uproar that that single statement caused was uncontrollable. In your group of friends, it was common knowledge that Jay Park and [Name] [Last Name] had nothing to do with each other. If Jay was on one end of the spectrum, you would be on the other. Even suggesting that there may be anything more than simply hate was outrageous.

“No way, man….”

“That’s insane.”

“Impossible!”

When Jay looked over at you, ready to deny everything that they were saying, instead of your characteristic scrunched nose and curled lips in disapproval, your face was plastered with nothing but an awkward and almost embarrassed expression.

“Y’know what?” one of their friends spoke up. “I saw Jay and [Name] kissing at the hockey mixer last week!”

You were completely out of commission, and uncharacteristically so, with a panicked and flustered face. Everyone else was consumed in such clamor. So Jay would have to take everything into his own hands. Taking a deep breath, he waited (while showing great disapproval) for everyone to shut up.

It wasn’t like they’d believe him if he explained the truth.

“Are you guys done…?” he finally spoke, clear dissatisfaction in his voice.

Everyone shut up.

Jay Park was generally an easygoing guy. He didn’t snap at people, and if anything, he was often the butt of jokes. Not that he minded. He was hot-headed and an asshole, but he was probably one of the easiest people to joke with.

However, his censure was not something to mess with.

He was an older brother. He was a STEM major, which was already a rigorous department to go into, no less civil and urban engineering. He was the top of his class in high school (after a certain someone, of course), and ostensibly worked, like, three jobs.

If there was anyone who was normally very patient and smart, it was him. If he’s annoyed, probably shut the fuck up.

Plus, there was nothing like pissing off a tired college student a week before finals.

Jay wet his lips. “You guys are making [Name] uncomfortable. Look at her.”

It was true. You were literally cowering into yourself, frowning deeply and playing with the hem of your yellow sundress.

“Look, I get that you’re our friends, or whatever,” Jay huffed, folding his arms. “But maybe there’s a reason that we don’t tell you certain things. Maybe because everything gets so blown out of proportion and you guys assume the worst.”

He turned over to Jake. The scariest thing about Jay was that even if he was hotheaded most of the time, he was incredibly calm and laid-back when confrontational. “You– You especially. You constantly force [Name] and I together. Some people don’t get along, and that’s okay. Stop trying to force people who don’t want to be forced together.”

Jay wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even annoyed. Just trying to set things straight. When he was done, he looked at his friends expectantly. One by one, they apologized awkwardly.

There was no real resolution, just Jay saying, “Cool,” and walking away to talk to his other friends.

To say that you felt awkward would be an understatement, and to say that you were comfortable with the fact that you were feeling awkward would be a lie.

There was a lot to unpack.

Everyone was trying to suggest that you and Jay had some sort of sexual relationship. People always joked about it, sure, but for an entire group to accuse you of it was beyond disorienting. Now sitting under the parasol with a floral-print towel beneath your sundress, drawing shapes on the sand that had gotten onto the towel, you wished you could have said something. Sure, they were probably being light-hearted, and you knew your friends had no intention to make you feel uncomfortable, but there was something else they didn’t know.

That the number one source of your discomfort was directly from Jay.

When Spider-Man detailed everything that Jay had apparently told him about you, you didn't know how to feel.

According to Spider-Man, Jay Park has had a thing for you since freshman year of high school, and he keeps the hero up until early hours of the day just talking about you. Initially, you were horrified. Could Spider-Man be messing with you? There was no way that Jay Park– the bitch-faced, uncouth, uncivilized, villain that was Jay Park– liked you.

Just the thought that someone like him saw you in a different light made you uneasy.

On the other hand, you were a bit flattered. As Spider-Man explained it, Jay had a thing for you but not necessarily a crush. Rather, he found you attractive.

“And he still does,” the hero had added. “He still thinks you’re attractive, even if he argues with you.”

Jay was the victim of some of your worst moments. You’ve screamed bloody murder at him, shed hot tears, and shrieked so hard that you’d lost your voice. He’d point out your major flaws and insecurities, ones that you didn’t even know that you had. He’d seen your true destructive, tyrannical, and malicious self.

But he still found you attractive?

That was terrifying.

Has he ever seen you with your friends? How you were you soft and kind, all affectionate and tender? How you’d take care of them, how you’d pet their heads and listen to them cry?

How could he ever find you attractive if he’d never seen you be a good person, when he’d only seen the monstrous side of you?

How could anyone find you attractive?

You got positive comments about your appearance many times before, but they were always followed up by comments about your character

You were snapped out of your thoughts when a familiar dark head of hair passed through your line of vision. You never took the time to observe what he was wearing: basketball shorts and a hoodie. It seemed like he could never dress for the occasion, regardless of where he was.

He had his earbuds jammed into his ears, an irritated expression on his face.

After years of purposefully trying to make his life miserable, you could read his face easily

Jay was hot. Physically– Wait no.

Jay was hot, as in ‘affected by the scalding weather.’ His brows always scrunched up with his bottom lip jutting out when he was feeling especially warm.

Maybe if he took off that hoodie of his for once.

You looked down at your hands.

You were under a parasol.

Which gave shade.

Which would make someone feel less ‘affected by the scalding weather.’

“Park!”

You never really thought that you would be the one to invite Jay Park to sit under a parasol with you. Especially after such events that transpired earlier.

It was silent.

Awkward.

Usually, you’d be able to look him straight in the eye, but now equipped with the knowledge that he may or may not have been attracted to you this entire time, you felt queasy.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

He had his eyes glued to the book that he was reading. Upon closer inspection, you knew that book. In fact, you had it.

It was Design of Cities: Revised Edition by Edmund Bacon. The textbook for your urban design course.

And he had the audacity to call you nerdo freak all this time!

He only looked away from his book to glance at his phone.

To change the song that he was listening to.

When you peeked at his phone screen, you noticed a familiar album cover playing.

Bright orange and blue, four men gathered around the table.

Then you noticed the white text right below it.

Supermassive Blackhole.

Before your mind could even think, your mouth moved for you.

“You listen to Muse?”

Jay took his earbud out of his ear, looking up at you slowly with a questioning look.

This scene has happened before.

“You asked me that already,” Jay said simply.

“I-I know.” Why were you stammering? “Summer of freshman year. We were at the beach then, too.”

He cocked a brow at you, and just as he was turning back to his textbook, you continued, voice meeker than usual. “I asked you if you listened to Muse because I also listen to them. But you.. You thought I was making fun of you.”

Jay looked at you slowly.

Why were you shy?

He fingered the earbud that he had removed. You seemed to notice, bracing yourself for the slight embarrassment that would come with his shoving that thing back into his ear. Except, he didn’t. Instead, he presented it in his palm before you.

Was he… offering it to you?

“If you’re just going to stare at it–”

You snatched the bud from his palm, prodding it into your ear.

When the music played, you were met with Matt Bellamy vocalizing into your ear and that iconic, yet rough, guitar rift. Weird that the very song that you listened to when working out was the one that Jay used to study urban planning and design.

You watched Jay’s focused face. The scar on his nose got lost in the divots on his skin when he scrunched his nose, presumably in reaction to something he had read. You never really noticed the birthmark on his neck either.

The next song played, but before it did, Jay paused it.

“What are you looking at?”

You recoiled.

“You were looking at me,” Jay remarked. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, there’s nothing.”

“Okay.”

He caught a glimpse of the song playing before pressing ‘play.’

“You must love this song,” he muttered.

You couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, until you were met with a distinct drum, rugged bassline, and the 4-on-the-floor beat.

Exo-Politics.

That was the name of the song.

The song that was playing was called Exo-Politics.

You were a political science major.

Was he trying to joke with you?

Was the Jay Park attempting to joke with you?

In the corner of your eye, you could see some children building sand-castles, just like you had been doing earlier. You then peered at the textbook he was reading.

Design of Cities: Revised Edition by Edmund Bacon.

You bit your lip.

“Do you…” you began. “Do you want to see who can build a better sand-castle?”

A civil and urban engineering major and a political science major.

Both were taking the same urban planning and design college course.

Who would build a better sand-city?

“What the fuck is that?”

“I’m going for a high-rise look!”

Maybe it wasn’t the greatest idea.

Especially when it was two ‘nerdo freaks’ trying to out-wit each other.

“The housing density is insane.”

“That settlement looks squatter.”

“That looks unsustainable.”

“That neighborhood is just looking to get gentrified.”

At that comment, you, who were only a few feet away from Jay, grabbed a handful of semi-wet sand and hurled it at the man. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hey!” The glob of sand had landed on one of his ‘high-rise’ buildings. “I’m trying to say that your neighborhoods look poor.”

“Poor?!”

You went for a more sustainable look. Geometric layouts, charmingly sinuous roads, mid-height buildings with only a few clustered high-rise ones, concise zones of income, and clumps of wet sand littered all across the sand-city, imitating trees.

“Is that… New Urbanism?”

You patted your hands off. “Glad that you can recognize it, Park.”

The detail really was something to marvel at. Each building had a indents into their surface to imitate windows, the sandy ‘roads’ were strategically carved with a sharp fingernail to replicate the different uses of land, and even the globs of sand that represented trees were fluffed up to look like actual trees rather than miscellaneous globs.

Jay rolled his eyes, going back to shaping the pointed tip of his building.

Whereas your city was terribly idealistic, he went for a more true-to-life replica. After all, it was his job to study and create infrastructural pieces for real-life cities. High-rise buildings, strong geometric structures, high-density housing, narrow spaces between structures, and little open space. They were built with incredible precision: all the lines were perfectly straight, all the shapes were beautifully even on all sides, and it genuinely looked true-to-life.

“Your city looks like something that would need protection from Spider-Man.”

Ironic.

Jay sighed to hide the slightly-amused grin that you had elicited from him.

“You like Spider-Man?”

Your face contorted, eyes squinting. “In what way?”

“Whaddya mean ‘in what way’?”

You frowned. “I mean, economically and politically speaking, he’s kind of a disturbance, dontcha think?”

Do you even like Spider-Man? Has Jay been misconstruing everything?

Did he technically kidnap you?

“He’s, like, more effective than other law enforcement, but that’s really a testament to him as a protector and how shit current law enforcement is,” you thought aloud. “I think he’s good.”

“Just good?

You frowned again.

“Aren’t you his friend?” you changed the subject. Even in your strange uneasiness, you didn’t find it hard to maintain steady eye-contact with the man. Given the fact that you’d cussed him out using all swears under the sun while looking him straight in the eye.

Jay feigned surprise. “Yeah, he is. How do you know that?”

The man watched as your bottom lip was taken under your teeth. “He came by last night.”

Jay quirked a brow.

There was a pulse of silence between you two.

Not quite comfortable, but not exactly hostile.

Other than the sound of soft breathing, seagulls squawking and people laughing in the distance, and sea waves crashing against the sandy shore, it was completely silent.

Dare Jay say, a nice moment.

“Jay, come play football with us!”

That’s right.

Every time they’d go to the beach, Jay would play football with the boys.

He wanted to play.

But he also wanted to show you up in your sand-city competition.

As he constructed another sand skyscraper, Jay slowly looked up. His eyes met with yours. You gave him a sharp nod, as if to say, ‘Go ahead.’

The man sighed.

Dusting his sandy hands off, Jay rose to his feet.

“I’m not done here, by the way,” he remarked as he passed your crouched form. “I can still make a better city than you.”

Jay felt a glob of sand flicked at his leg, he knew that the feeling was mutual.

Jay lost control of his spider-like abilities sometimes.

His fingers would stick implacably to papers if he wasn’t careful, he’d turn a door handle mindlessly and break it with his inhuman strength, or be acutely aware of the most miniscule of all dust specks flying close to someone’s face.

Sometimes, he’d use those abilities to his advantage.

Like right now.

Jay wasn’t cheating!

Just making use of what his body can do.

Fast reflexes to dodge those that would charge at him head-on, incredible (in a human way) running speed, and probably the greatest throws, like, ever.

When Jake Sim passed the red-brown ball in his direction, who was he to not use those spider reflexes and catch it with larger-than-life precision? As his eyes scoped around for who to pass to, he found the perfect person. Preparing, he raised his arm, squinting for accuracy. At once, he hurled the football.

Except, he found that he’d lost control of just how much strength he was putting into the throw.

At top speed, it began shooting through the air, its pointed tip charging like a missile. As if it was in slow motion, gravity dragged the leathery ball toward the sandy ground. Like a rocket torpedo, the football flung straight into the elaborate city of sand sculpted by your very hands.

If it was any normal, human-strength throw, only a portion of the sand-city would be destroyed.

But because Jay had an obscene amount of strength, the ball not only destroyed the entire city, but dug so harshly into the sand that it exploded it– debris-like chunks of sand just bursting everywhere. And especially all over you and your pretty yellow sundress.

The earth must have stopped spinning, the sun shedding a single ray like a stagelight in a theater over your now frozen figure. It wasn’t just Jay’s super hearing senses. It was like all sound at this bustling beach died out in an instant, zeroing in you.

You turned your head slowly. Your expression was completely vacant, but that spoke volumes. There was sand all over your face, so with a willful arm, you wiped all of it in a sharp swipe.

Even though he was several meters away from you across the beach, and even though there was no way of telling who threw the ball, Jay could feel your stone gaze right at him. You took a deep breath.

Jay ran to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathed, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “I didn’t realize that it– the ball– was going your way– I–”

Everyone was ready to hear you shout your lungs out at Jay. In fact, Jay braced himself for the onslaught of profanities and obscenities that would be rightfully spewed at him.

But there was no yelling.

You breathed through your nose before rising to your feet and dusting off your sandy dress.

You looked at him.

“Thanks a lot, Jay.” There was a sliver of a smile spreading on your lips, but the way your teeth so clearly clenched together told a different story. You squeezed your eyes shut to conceal your bubbling anger, but you simply couldn’t take it. “It always seems like you ‘didn’t realize’ something all the time. But I’m not really surprised anymore.”

With that, flicked a piece of sand off your shoulder before snatching up your tote bag that was perched against the parasol and turning on your heel.

All Jay could do was watch your retreating back, football in hand, as you walked in the opposite direction away from him to the parking lot.

He dug his nails into the leathery ball. Tearing his eyes away from you, Jay was about to turn back to his friends.

Except, a massive crash erupted through the air.

With his spider-like reflexes, Jay snapped his head up. From behind the high-rise buildings and tall structures emerged a giant shadow.

Almost immediately, in the distance, Jay heard cars honking, wheels screeching against the road, and screaming. There were mini fires in the distance from cars crashing.

As people scurried for their lives, the car smoke cleared, revealing a greater shadow in the distance.

Six claws, seemingly mechanical and woven together with many tiny wires. Two antennas extending from the crown of the figure. Metallic body, with red and flashing accents.

Shit.

He knew exactly who that was.

Doctor Discotheque.

Didn’t he fight him a week ago?

“Where’s Spider-Man?!”

Jay clenched his fist.

He had to find a way to get into his hero suit without anyone seeing. Speaking of…

The man whipped his head around to where his friends were. Like everyone else, they were running for their lives. At least they were going in the opposite direction.

Clenching his fist again, Jay was ready to charge straight up to the supervillain, but his dark eyes incidentally caught onto the frozen figure of none other than you. You were completely frozen in your spot, unmoving as you gawked at the incredible size of the villain.

Damnit, [Name], Jay sucked in a sharp breath. It wasn’t abnormal for people to freeze in the face of danger, but he never thought it would be you.

Shooting a web from his wrist, Jay retrieved a stray towel. In what was only a fraction of a second, he threw the towel over him before he changed into his Spider-Man suit. Fixing his mask, he discarded the towel.

The ground rumbled under his feet as Doctor Discotheque’s gigantic body terrorized the streets.

Jay’s feet immediately began moving, running toward your direction. As he approached her, he shot a sticky white web, sticking to your clothes back and effectively yanking you right into him. The hero threw you over his shoulder with an arm around your waist, and began running the other direction.

When you didn’t react, Jay gave a pat to your ass, the way a parent would do to their infant.

“Oi, [Name]!” Jay propelled himself off the sandy ground, discharging a few webs to allow him to swing.

“S-Spider-Man?!” Finally, you snapped out of your dazed state. “What’s– What was that?!”

Jay tightened his grasp around you as he began climbing up a building. By now, he was far from where Doctor Discotheque was. Good for your safety, but not good for his own crime-fighting.

“What, that big thing?” He felt you nod. “That’s just my good pal Doctor Discotheque.”

His tone was far too easygoing, and you audibly gulped.

“Relaaaaax, Angel,” Jay swung to another building. “He’s just a little villain. I beat him twice already. Nothin’ for ya to worry yer pretty head about about.”

“But he’s huge! And, you’re–”

Jay gave your ass another pat. “Just trust me on this, Baby.”

Finally, you reached the destination Jay had planned for you– the underground subway station. It was far enough from all the commotion for it to be calm, but just safe enough.

Jay placed you down. Despite all his reassurance, your face was twisted with concern.

You squeezed his shoulder, lips jutting out into a frown.

“I told ya already,” Jay knocked on your head. “Don’t worry about me.”

When you wouldn’t stop frowning, Jay flexed his bicep, placing your hand on it. With his hand over you, he squeezed his firm bicep.

“Ya feel that muscle?” you nodded slowly. “I’m strong. Spider-Man is strong.”

You stared at him.

“So you don’t hafta worry about me.”

Granted, Jay was talking to you the same way that he would talk to a crying six-year-old, but hey, it’s the principle of it!

“Just…” you took a deep breath. “Be careful.”

Jay unknowingly grinned. “Yeah, yeah.”

There was a pulse of silence between you two.

You looked up at him, with nearly glossy and wide eyes. You bit your lip.

“Before you go…” you murmured something under your breath. Abruptly, you grabbed Jay’s masked face, bringing it down so that he was eye-level to you. You pressed a quick peck to his cheek, before pulling back immediately. “Just… Don’t do anything dumb.”

Jay stared at you, blinking a few times to absorb everything. He swallowed on his dry throat, licking his lips. Another wide grin spread over his face.

“Of course, Gorgeous.”

Okkkayyy….

So maybe Jay was a bit of a liar.

According to the supervillain himself, Doctor Discotheque got access to some high-tech science shit and now had this supermassive mechanical body to control.

Just great.

Spider-Man was no wimp. He fought with all his might and was actually quite effective. Effective enough to damage Doctor Discotheque to the point that he ran away and yelled, “Damn you, Spider-Man!”

The only issue was that Doctor Discotheque was a little too strong for Jay to handle unprepared.

The night was completely silent now. That is, if you didn’t count the police sirens and helicopters flying overhead, reporting on the incident.

There was an undoubted hush that fell over the city. The supervillain hadn’t done anything that was crisis-causing, but he was an unequivocal threat. According to the police reports, three people had died, while an entire block and a half of important infrastructure, including parts of the beach, had been subject to damage. The news, after collecting data, reported that quantitatively, 67% of citizens felt unsafe and were fearful of what was to come. Indeed, there was a threat.

And even worse, Spider-Man was injured.

Doctor Discotheque wasn’t lying when he said that he had “some high-tech science shit,” because one of his tentacle-like claws managed to stab Jay’s thigh. It was nothing fatal, but it was certainly debilitating.

“Ah– Shit.” Jay had to resort to climbing the walls instead of swinging around buildings. Before he entered his apartment complex, he made sure to tie a piece of cloth around his bleeding wound and change back to his civilian clothes.

When he cracked open his apartment door, he was surprised when you bombarded him with questions.

“Where the hell were you?” The you that Spider-Man knew was vastly different from the you that Jay Park knew. “We were all so worried– Shit– No one saw you, like, at all, at the beach– and you weren’t responding to any texts or calls– and–”

Jay blinked.

“What were you doing all this time? You could have been killed, or injured!-- or– It doesn’t matter– Where have you been all this time and why haven’t you been responding to any of us, or–”

You dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Look! Even your brother’s worried sick!”

Jay looked over at Wonnie, who was eating chips (and getting crumbs all over) and watching TV, completely unbothered.

“I, um,” Jay stared at you. Quick! How was he going to get out of this one? “I was– I was at my internship. We.. uh, We were studying infrastructure… as a result of the… Incident.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Was the studying so interesting that you couldn’t respond to any texts or calls?”

Jay fumbled with his phone that was deeply squashed in his pants pocket. “It was dead.”

It was now that he noticed the way that you were circling him, inspecting him like a hawk. It was a good thing that he changed into his civilian-wear, or else you'd see the cuts and bruises all over his arms, as well as the dirt and debris that had gotten into and onto his hero suit.

“Oh my god, are you bleeding?!”

Jay looked down, and lo and behold, there’s blood dripping down his thigh, creating a puddle of dark red below him.

Maybe next time, he shouldn’t use a tiny piece of cloth to tie up such an absurd wound like that.

“Oh. I am.”

“?!”

And that’s how Jay found himself sprawled across the bathroom floor with one ear pressed against the bathroom door, listening to your voice on the other side.

“Is it bad?”

“Yeah, there’s blood everywhere.”

“?!”

He finally fessed up and admitted that he got stabbed in the thigh (with an appropriate excuse, of course). You were just going to leave it at that, snarkily saying, “Hope you know how to fix up a stab wound,” but when he responded with, “I don’t,” you grumbled under your breath and forced him to take a shower. You weren't exactly excited to see him naked and so bare (his thigh!) and neither was he, so your direction was all told behind a bathroom door.

It was a tedious task having to listen to you.

But you were a tedious person.

Look for things in the wound like glass shards, disinfect it with alcohol, patch it up.

Except he couldn’t get past the second step.

“Shit, shit, shiiiiit,” Jay hissed. Rubbing alcohol burned.

“Park?” your voice resounded behind the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there?”

He fumbled with the various medical equipment. “Y-Yeah– It just kinda hurts.”

There was a silence.

“I’m fine.”

Behind the door, he heard you sigh.

“Put on some clothes, Park.”

“W-What?”

“You’re so fuckin’ incompetent that I need to help you. Put on some clothes so I can get in there, will ya?”

Now the two of you were sitting on the floor.

“Ow! That really hur–”

“Stay still then!” “I can’t when it’s burni– Ah.. Agh! It hurts!”

The wound was a lot worse than you had thought. Jay said that one of the interns dropped a saw knife on his lap, causing it to stab him. Honestly, you did not buy that story but it was the best he had so you just accepted it.

Unfortunately, this stab wound looked a lot worse than someone just accidentally dropping a sharp object onto his lap.

The two of you were now sitting on the cold bathroom floor, you in between his legs. Jay had shorts rolled all the way up, revealing his injured thigh. Other than the occasional hiss of pain, annoyed murmur, and sound of Wonnie’s TV channel in the background, it was completely silent. The early-summer night was only beginning to darken. If the night of the party was discounted, then this may have been the closest that you two have ever been.

Your delicate fingers against his skin, Jay sunk his teeth into his lip. Your glasses were at the very tip of your nose, almost falling off your face. He wanted to push them up badly, but decided against it. After all, you and him were not friends. Barely even acquaintances.

Well, you and him, a.k.a. you and his civilian form, a.k.a. you Jay Park.

You and Spider-Man seemed to be great friends.

He wondered why you hated him so much. You got along well with Spider-Man just fine, and Spider-Man was probably the most free version of Jay there was. Was it just the very essence of Jay Park?

Thinking back to what happened earlier at the subway station, you were sweet. Too sweet. The sweetest that he’d ever seen.

Jay never thought that he’d look into your eyes and see genuine worry, concern.

The way you held onto him, those pouty lips, gleaming eyes that looked up at him like he was some god.

Jay’s lips parted unconsciously as he watched the way you were currently working between his legs.

It would be a lie to say that Jay wasn’t, to some degree, attracted to you. He’s always been. Your [H/C] hair, those glasses that would delicately lay on your nose. Your mean words, nasty glares, critical eyes, and most strikingly, your wicked intelligence– they should have made him completely terrified of you, but for some reason, it only made him more attracted to you.

Too many guilty nights were spent thinking about you, contemplating what he should say to you the next day to elicit a reaction.

Sometimes, at night, his mind would wander about what would have happened that night at the soccer mixer if Wonnie hadn’t called him. What would have happened between him and you?

And when you kissed him earlier, he felt like a little schoolboy talking to a girl for the first time. Why was he so giddy?

He bit his tongue as you finished off your bandaging job.

He was going crazy.

Yes, you did indeed need to ask Jay Park for help again. Normally that would be embarrassing enough. But now it was another level of embarrassment.

A few days had passed since the incident at the beach, and someone had the wonderful idea to have a frat party. In the middle of the week. Which was what you (and by association, Jay) were getting ready for.

You and Jay agreed that you both would be taking your car to the party, but under the condition that you went in at appropriately-spaced times to avoid misunderstandings.

Jay’s version of “getting ready” was literally nothing. He wore what he always wore to parties. On the other hand, you actually dressed up.

The only issue was you didn’t have your friends with you, who would usually help you get ready.

Which was why you were now embarrassingly asking Jay Park to zip up your tiny red dress.

“C-Can you– just–” you had to cross your arms to keep the thin spaghetti straps from falling off your shoulders. Even so, in front of him, you felt like you were practically spilling out of the dress. “Can you just zip up my dress?”

How embarrassing.

Jay agreed to it with a silent nod, but you could feel his judgment boring into the back of your head.

You felt his large hands ghost over your lower back before stopping.

“Move your hair.”

When you didn’t respond, Jay repeated himself. “Move your hair. I can’t zip it up if your hair’s in the way.”

“O-Oh.”

How embarrassing.

When he was done, you instinctively turned around to face him. When you were with your friends and they zipped up your dress, you’d turn around and ask, “How do I look?”

Unfortunately, Jay wasn’t one of those friends.

Your cheeks burned in embarrassment when Jay gave a questioning look, ready to turn around and scurry off. However, you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes clung to your dress-clad body, and especially the way that he gulped harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

You couldn’t stop the self-satisfied curve forming on your lips.

“What?!” was the simultaneous reaction of Jay and you.

Inevitably, when you arrived at the party, you parted ways to go to your own friends.

“I don’t know how you could hate him,” a friend chuckled into your ear as you hung out in the billiard area, drinks in hand.

“Hate who?”

Another friend nudged you. “Y’know.. Jay.”

You grimaced. “What about him?”

The friend laughed. “Have you seen his arms?”

“No, I haven’t.” You frowned.

Your friends shrieked, giving you a slap on the arm. “Christ, he’s, like, fine as fuck– oh my god, the lip piercing–”

The bespectacled you frowned again, taking a sip of your canned beer. “If you like him so much, you should tell him. His big ass head might like the attention.”

Your friends exchanged looks.

“Nah, I can’t do that.”

At that point, you weren't even paying attention, too focused on the pool game happening in the room. “Why not?”

“Because everyone knows that Jay Park is yours.”

“WHAT?”

Jay Park?

Yours?

?????

“He’s not-”

Your friend threw an arm around your shoulder. “Look, babe, we all understand. It’s pretty much an unwritten rule that Jay Park is reserved for you and you are reserved for Jay Park.”

You scowled, taking another long sip of your beer, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Your neck felt uncharacteristically warm. “But, we’ve never even shown interest in each other!”

Another friend put a hand on your shoulder. “Everyone sees the way he looks at you.”

“But that’s just him!” you crossed your arms. “I do not like him!”

There’s cheering in the other room, which you momentarily poked your head out of the room to take a look at. Meanwhile, your friends shared a look.

“[Name], Sweetie,” they smiled when you came back. “Remember when he got his first girlfriend? You were glaring daggers at her.”

“Because she was an objectively bad person!”

“Then why were you crying into my shoulder for hours because you randomly ‘felt sad’?”

“Because I was randomly feeling sad!”

“Right…”

Your friend sighed. “You guys are crazily oblivious.”

You spluttered.

Likewise, Jay was having a similar dilemma.

“Dude, I don’t care if you think [Name] is hot,” the dark-haired man crossed his arms.

His friends stared at him. “Uh. I think you do.”

Jay’s nose scrunched. “I don’t.”

“She always looks like she’s gonna eat you up–”

Jay leaned back on the sofa, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Yeah, which is why–”

“And you always look like you want her to eat you up.”

“That’s not true.” Okay, so maybe Jay Park knew that it was true. When you called him stupid or cursed at him, it may or may not have been a turn-on. He’s not weird. “She doesn’t even call me by my name.”

“Right, [Name] exclusively calls you Park.”

Another friend chimed in. “She wants your last name!”

“Wha–”

Another one spoke up. “She calls you by your last name because she’s waayy into taking it.”

“Okay, okay,” Jay muttered. “But even if I did like her, I don’t think she’s like me back.”

“We never said anything about you liking her…”

“I’m leaving.”

He didn’t end up leaving. In fact, he and his friends ended up in the hallway bedroom along with an entire group of other people. Including you and your own friends.

“Let’s play truth or dare!”

The moment that that fuck-faced, son of a bitch Jake Sim reached for the glass Heineken bottle and gave it a spin, Jay knew he was doomed. Because the bottle landed on you yourself. And the mischievous look on his face told the room everything they had to know.

“[Name], I dare you to play 7 Minutes in Heaven with Jay!”

That’s how Jay Park found himself sitting face-to-face with you in a stuffy closet.

Awkward.

Outside, you could hear the muffled voices of your friends, giggling amongst themselves. It was deathly silent in the closet, so quiet that Jay’s ears rung with static. Despite this, your eyes were not shy; steady and unwavering eye-contact was always the way for Jay and you, no matter the situation.

“Are they gonna kiss?!” someone whispered not-so-loudly on the other side of the door. You, staring dead into his eyes, cocked a brow, your lip twitching.

“Six minutes!” someone shouted outside.

Jay was uncomfortable. You probably were, too.

How could he lighten up the mood?

Well, he’s comfortable with you when he’s Spider-Man, and vice versa. What’s something Spider-Man would say?

“You look great tonight.”

Good one, Spider-Man.

Your brows furrowed together, your entire face scrunching. Just as Jay was about to pray to the sky for the ground to swallow him up, you opened your mouth.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, and for the first time since you got into the closet, averted your gaze from his. Your eyes dropped, before using your foot to nudge him. “Nice socks, Park.”

That’s right, tonight he was wearing… Spider-Man socks.

Oh man, he looked like a weirdo.

Jay chewed on his bottom lip.

When he glanced over at you, for the first time ever, instead of feeling indignation or irritation, he felt something adjacent to admiration.

Jay had seen you for every one of your embarrassing phases. And when he looked at you now, those dark and curly mascara-laden lashes, glossy pink lips, and shimmery eyeshadow lining your eyes, he only realized then how gorgeous you were. You had always been attractive to him, and he’d always known that. But now you were seriously beautiful.

There was no doubt that you put effort into your appearance. He was stupid, and he knew he was, to indulge in the idea that, perhaps, you dressed up for him.

On your end, your heart was hammering in your chest. Which was weird. Because that only happened when you were nervous. And what was there to be nervous about when it came to Jay Park?

“Five minutes!”

Your friends’ words rang in your head.

Was Jay Park really that attractive?

He had honey-gold skin, strong and sharp features, tousled dark hair, and a pierced lip. If you looked past his smug expression when he got what he wanted or that slightly-pathetic look in his eyes when he didn’t, you supposed that he could be attractive.

You glanced at him. His distracted gaze, pointed at the carpeted floor below their feet, was almost daunting.

Was there something between you and Jay, something that neither of you knew about?

If someone asked you that question years ago, you would have punched them square in the face for asking such a dumb question.

But now you didn’t know.

You would be lying if you said that you never thought of Jay Park in a different light. As much as you hated to admit it, there were times where you questioned your attraction to him. It wasn’t like he was going around charming you with physical affection.

Instead, it was small actions.

Rolling his sleeves up, his large hands littered with rings, the bruises along his knuckles and splinters and cuts along his fingers because of his engineering workshops, licking his lips, that little side smirk he’d do when satisfied with himself, when he’d quirk his brow at you, when he’d correct people, when he’d speak academically, when he’d help people in class.

You were so immersed in thoughts that you didn't notice the way Jay was outright staring at you.

You were only pulled out of it when you felt a finger push up your glasses.

Surprised, you jerked back, eyes looking up at a just-as-surprised Jay.

“I’m sorry,” Jay blurted almost immediately. “Your glasses– they were falling down your nose, so I–”

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling your ears prickle with heat. Sheepishly, you pushed up your glasses, holding onto the rims as a way to hide your embarrassed face.

“I’m so sorry,” Jay rambled. “That’s so weird and I shouldn’t have and–”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. You pushed up your glasses again.

Another silence fell over you, this time, even more tense. Until Jay broke the silence.

“How did we even start hating each other?”

You cracked a small smile. “You don’t remember?

“No, I do,” Jay said. “I just feel like there were so many opportunities for us to become friends. We just never did.”

“I guess.”

There’s another pulse of silence.

“I don’t hate you, by the way,” you mumbled.

“You don’t?”

“I mean, at least I don’t think so.”

“Then I don’t think I hate you either.”

“Thanks.”

Jay almost laughed. “‘Thanks?’”

You shrugged.

Your eyes met, staring into each other’s eyes for a few moments before a bashful expression spread across Jay’s face. “Y’know, I stopped talking to Taehyun after you yelled at me.”

Your lips parted. “Why?”

Jay scoffed, his brows knitting together in an attempt to explain himself.

“I dunno. I guess you..” he trailed off. Again, those wide and glossy eyes that looked at him. This time, though, instead of gazing at him as if he was some god, you watched him as if he was a book, trying to read him. “You beat some sense into me.”

“Three minutes!” someone shouted. From outside, there were giggling and fake kissing noises.

You two shared a small laugh at your friends.

The remaining 3 minutes were quiet.

College student stress was no joke. That coupled with a pinch of sexual and housing frustration, and the result is a drunk you.

You really didn’t mean to drink so much tonight, but everything seemed to become a much bigger problem when on a dance floor next to a whole bunch of sweaty bodies, so why not drink your problems away?

Currently, you were on top of a guy, who was equally as drunk as you, in the guest bedroom of the frat house. Tangling your hands in his hair, you smashed your lips against his. Whoever you were kissing was a messy kisser– He shoved his tongue into your mouth, aggressively exploring every crevice. His kisses left your lips swollen and pouty, pink lip gloss leaving pretty residue at the corner of his lips. Cold metal pressed into your bottom lip– it must have been a piercing. It should have hurt, and it did, but the foreign and cold pain only made the kiss even better.

Meanwhile, his hands roamed.

Would it be a good time now to mention that the guy was Jay Park-- just that both of you were too drunk to even notice each other? For the second time.

Jay's large, ring-covered fingers gripped your hips, hard enough to leave bruises. With each passionate kiss, he pulled your hips against his, before sliding his hands down to your ass and giving it a squeeze, earning a squeal from you.

You finally pulled away from each other only to catch a breath of air. You, with puffy lips and blown-out eyes, shifted in the man’s lap; you shoved your knee between his thighs, while your hands grasped his hair to tilt his head, giving you access to his neck.

Pressing wet kisses along his honey-gold skin, you took in his woody scent. Your fingers, laced harshly in his soft locks, pulled on his hair.

“Fuuuuuck,” Jay groaned.

You gave his hair another harsh tug, pressing your lip directly against his neck– right at the crook where his jaw met his neck. You swiped your tongue over his skin. Grinning to yourself, you graze your teeth against him, before sinking them in and giving his plush skin a soft suck. He gasped.

“You like that?” you breathed in his ear. He shuddered, nodding quickly.

Unsatisfied, you sank your teeth into his skin again, sucking harshly this time. “I wanna hear you fuckin’ say it.”

“Yes– shiiit–” your lips moved to the crook of his neck. Jay threw his head back, sighing loudly. “Fuck, I like that.”

Even under the dim bedroom light, when you pulled away,you could admire the red-purple marks left on his skin, along with the slight shimmery sheen of lip gloss left. Just when he thought it was over, you ran your tongue along the bruises that you left, pressing the sensitive skin.

You ran a pedicured hand up his chest, before pushing him down so that he was lying flat on the soft bed. Currently, you were completely straddling his thigh, so you threw a leg around him so that you would be straddling his hips.

In your drunken stupor, you couldn't make out his features, other than a sharp nose and dark hair. Jay's hands came up to grip your hips once again, rocking yours against his just slightly and letting out a desperate cry.

You ran your nail along Jay's neck, admiring the marks you left. You grasped his chin, shaking it side-to-side. “Uh-uh. Not until I say so.”

Yanking the hem of his hoodie, you pulled it up, revealing a toned and tanned stomach. You graze your nails against his skin, biting your lip.

“Raise your arms,” you slurred. He sat up and complied, so you pulled his hoodie over his head. With him still sat up, you pulled Jay close so that your chests were pressed right against each other.

Once again, you smashed your lips against his, engaging in another heated make-out session. Your nails dug into Jay's biceps, while his hands roamed your body– squeezing your ass, grazing your thighs, and tugging at the thin spaghetti straps of your dress.

“Take it off,” he whined against your lips, pawing at your dress. “Take it off, please.”

You chuckled, amused. You grabbed his chin. “What did I say earlier?”

“Please, please, please,” he begged, completely ignoring what you said.

You slammed your lips against each other, pulling him by his face. The room was filled with the sound of lips colliding with one another, and occasional whines and pleas.

Both far too intoxicated to focus on anything other than your desire, you didn’t notice the sound of footsteps and laughter approaching the guest bedroom.

“And I was like–” the door clicked open. “OH MY GOD–”

Why does this keep happening?

The last time Jay went to a frat party, he nearly hooked up with you and got cockblocked one way or another. Last time, it was his kid brother. And now his friends.

As he ran out of the frat house (of course grabbing a water bottle and chugging it to sober up), searching for you, Jay couldn’t help but feel a harboring sense of disappointment and shame. His cheeks burned against the cool night air, his eyes glossy and watery with the initial surprise and now, shame. He tried to blink back the tears that were beginning to line his eyes, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

When two of your friends bursted through the doorway, the two of you were completely frozen. Jay was too drunk to even comprehend what was happening, but when he heard “[Name],” everything came back to him.

You didn’t seem to realize it was him either until you heard his name.

And the moment that you did, your face grew red, morphing and twisting. As crystal tears began to fill your eyes, you began hitting and punching Jay. Maybe he was too drunk to understand, or you were too drunk to generate coherent words. But he couldn’t understand anything that you said.

Not until you let out a loud sob, yelling, “I hate you, Jay Park.”

You jumped off of him, running out of the room, pushing past the group of friends that had formed a mini-crowd around the doorway.

You must be disgusted with him. He was a fool to think that he could even have a chance with you.

Humiliated and disgusted with himself, Jay watched as you ran off into the night. His heart sank to his knees, an uneasy and nauseating feeling settling in his stomach. As his heart calmed down, Jay lowered his head in humiliation, unable to even face himself.

You said that you didn't hate him, but you surely must now.

Just as he was about to run back into that frat house and drink himself dead, he realized one very crucial thing: where the fuck was you going?

You were drunk. And crying. Even if you hailed a taxi, there was no way of knowing that you'll be safe.

Sucking in a sharp breath from his heavy breath, Jay looked down at his hands.

God, he was so ashamed of himself. He would love– and truly, love– to go drink until he was shitfaced drunk again. There’s no way that he could look anyone, and especially you, in the eye after this. He felt disgusting. Nasty. He must be a repulsive person.

But there was no way in hell that he was going to let a drunk and vulnerable woman run around the city late at night.

Which was why Jay found himself pulling the very woman that crushed his soul close under a street lamp.

Of course, as Spider-Man.

Luckily, you hadn’t gotten in a taxi yet. He found you sitting under a street light, crying. His heart ached, wrenching in his chest.

Standing over you, he extended a hand.

“Let me take you home, Angel.”

Even with all the shame that befell over him, Jay was gentle with you. Even though you were the source of all his troubles, he couldn’t bring himself to treat you as anything less. In his heart, you were still the you that he knew (and loved).

Crouching down, he pushed your hair out of your face, running a thumb over your wet cheek to wipe away your tears. Patting your head, he couldn’t help but coo at your pouty face.

He didn’t like to see you cry like this.

When Jay cupped your face, you grabbed his wrist, nuzzling your cheek into his warm palm.

“Please,” you whispered.

And who was he to refuse you?

You cried into his neck the whole way home. In a way, Jay felt like a fraud. The same person that ran you away from was the one holding you. If you knew who Spider-Man was, you’d run, too.

“Don’t wanna go inside,” you murmured into his ear once they arrived at his apartment.

Jay stroked your hair gently. “Why not?”

“Because,” you sobbed. “Because— it’ll r-remind me of him.”

The hero frowned. “Of who?”

You cried harder. “Jay—“ you stopped yourself, only holding onto him tighter.

“[Name],” Jay whispered against the shell of your ear. “How ‘bout I stay with you out here?”

You sniffled, glassy eyes shining in the bluish moonlight. You nodded your head profusely. Much to your surprise, Jay launched the two of you up onto the roof of the apartment complex. When you looked at him sheepishly, he simply muttered, “I go here when I want to clear my head.”

Ten minutes later, all of which were just filled with you sobbing in your drunken glory, neither of you wanted to leave your current position: Jay sitting cross-legged and you on his thigh so that he could see your face. The whole time, as you cried, Jay stroked your hair, occasionally whispering a few words of reassurance in your ear.

As you calmed down, Jay cupped your cheek. You must have been beginning to sober up, because you resisted his touch, pulling away to hide your face.

“[Name],” he said against the shell of your ear, delicate fingers grasping your chin. “[Name], look at me.”

Rich from someone who could barely look you in the eyes right now.

“Nooo,” you whined, bringing a stray strand of hair to cover your eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

Jay cracked a grin under his mask. “What’s there to be embarrassed about?” you didn't respond. “Yer embarrassed about crying in front of Spider-Man?”

“Am not!” you shot at him, but the way you continued to hide your face told Jay everything he had to know. “H-Hey!”

Jay forced your face to turn to his. He ran his thumb across your cheek, caressing your puffy and tear-stained skin. “Talk to me, Gorgeous.” Your lips pursed into a pout. “What happened? Did someone do something to make you cry? Do I gotta fight someone?”

Yeah, yourself.

He knew the answer to that.you were going to cry again, wail about how much you hated Jay Park, how disgusted and horrified you were with Jay Park, how it was him, that bastard of a man, that made you cry. Jay knew he wasn’t emotionally prepared for what you were going to say, but he wanted to hear it from your lips for some reason. He would at least gain some closure, even if it meant rubbing salt into the wound before he was going to inevitably beat himself up over it later.

But to his surprise, you shook your head.

“No one did anything,” you sniffled.

“B-But–”

You looked down at your hands sadly. “It was my fault.”

How could it be your fault? Jay was certain that it was his.

“I’m such a bitch,” you breathed. “He… H-He didn’t even do anything– I– I wanted him– so bad– But I pushed him away…”

Jay tightened his hold around you. “What… What are you talking about?”

“If I talk about it, I’ll start crying again,” you murmured. When Jay gave your head a soft pat, whispering, “I won’t make fun of ya if you do,” into your ear, you took a deep breath. You turned over your shoulder to gaze at him. “But you have to promise not to tell anyone though.”

It wasn’t like Jay heard you say that though.

Because he might have been too fucking enraptured by you.

The yellow-marble moon shone behind her, giving you an ethereal backlit glow. Even so, the lights of the bustling city reflected off the sparkling luster of tears collecting in your wide eyes. Your hair was endearingly disheveled, and your nose and ears were getting sensitive from the cold night air. You were probably the loveliest person he ever-

No. He should stop.

Jay extended a pinky finger. “Promise.”

You sucked in another deep breath, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

“Me and Park… We got drunk and almost…” you trailed off, hoping that he would get what you were trying to say. He hummed, signaling that he did. You opened your mouth to continue, but frustrated, shove your face into your hands, letting out a whimper. “And then… our friends walked in on us– And– I just– Felt so embarrassed.”

Embarrassed.

That word stung.

Your eyes began to quell, and the wet sniffles started again. “I got angry, I got so– Fucking angry– and I just began yelling and h-hitting him–” you cut yourself off with a sob, to which Jay squeezed your hand.

He let you cry into his shoulder.

“He– He–” you sobbed. “He looked so hur– hurt. A-And that’s why I-I’m crying!”

Jay sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He urged you on, rubbing circles on your back.

You used the back of your hand to wipe your tears. “J-Jay–” His ears perked up at the sound of his name. You almost never called him by his first name. “Jay-fucking-Park makes me feel so-”

Jay braced himself.

“-weird. I-I thought I hated him… B-But–” you squeezed Jay’s hand– “I…. I think I.. I…Ugh!”

You smashed your wet face into Jay’s shoulder in frustration. In his complete and utter bewilderment (you truly didn’t hate him?) Jay let out an airy chuckle. Feeling his chest rumble, you groaned, giving him a smack.

“Y-You said you wouldn’t l-laugh!”

Jay stopped, giving your head another pat. “Sorry, sorry. Ya said that Jay makes you feel weird? Whaddya mean by that?”

You ran a hand through your hair. “Tha- That’s the problem: I don’t know!”

You looked up at him helplessly, grappling onto his wrist. “Help me, Spider-Man!”

Jay let out another airy chuckle. “I mean, how do ya feel around him?”

You glared at him incredulously. “H-He– I normally d-don’t feel anything!-- But re-recently I feel… Hot.”

“Hot?”

“Like, like I’m about to b-burst!”

Jay studied your face. “Do… Do you just hate him?”

“I-It’s not hate!”

“Then I don’t know!”

“Spiiiider-Maaaan!”

He didn’t want to say it. Even suggesting it was probably too emotionally-wrecking for the two of you.

“Do you… have a crush on him then?”

You flopped over him.

“?!”

With your body thrown over his shoulder, you shoved your face into your hands, letting out a drawn-out groan. There’s a pulse of silence.

Jay clenched his fists. There was a lot to take in. It could be the alcohol lingering in his system, or the overwhelming emotions he felt, but he genuinely could not process anything right now. He’ll sleep on it. All he knew was that he was on-edge.

You responded to his question with an inaudible, muffled, mumble.

From the way that you stilled against him, not even uttering a sound, it must have been an utterance to yourself, something that he wasn’t supposed to hear.

You clearly didn’t want to confront it, so he won’t force you to.

With little thought, Jay frowned while he traced shapes against your thigh, while you were still sniffling away. You two sat in a comfortable silence, soaking in the moonlight.

“Did you just draw a poop?” you blurted.

“Yeah,” Jay replied. His gloved finger, laced with mischief, traced another figure– consisting of two circles and a long tube.

“I don’t even want to say what you just drew!”

Jay snorted. Wrapping his arms around your hips, the hero hoisted you up momentarily, before lifting you off his shoulder and onto his lap. It was only when you let out a short squeak when he realized that your legs were now draped on either side of his hips.

He deadpanned.

This scene has happened before.

But instead of you pushing him away and punching his chest, you simply giggled, cold hands coming up to grab his masked face. Jay was startled when you pulled his face closer to yours.

“[Na–”

You tried to squeeze his cheek under the mask. When you felt plush, warm skin, your face lit up. “Woahhh!”

“Why’re you so surprised?”

You squished his masked cheek again. “You’re real!”

Another thing about you that enamored him: your naïvete and nearly innocent nature (but only sometimes, when you weren’t trying to kick his ass).

Jay chuckled. “Of course I am. Didja think that I was fake?”

You hummed. Then ,you cupped his cheek, before pedicured fingers slithered toward the juncture between his ear and neck. You fingered the cloth there. Jay’s breath caught in his throat.

“I’ve always wondered who’s behind this mask,” you thought aloud, caressing his neck. Your voice was low and light, like a whisper.

Jay felt like a middle school boy; he was getting nervous just by how close you were to him. He could smell your perfume, and even your breath against his neck. His heart hammered in his chest.

“You…” he rasped, voice deep. “You don’t wanna know.”

“But I do!” you giggled. “Do I know you in real life?”

“Err… I can’t answer that.”

“Awwww.”

You stared at him, before cracking another grin. “I don’t care who you are in real life. I’d still be your friend.”

Jay quirked a brow. He slunk his arm back around your waist, pulling you in closer.

“What if I was someone you hated?” he murmured. His dark eyes locked onto yours. Such an indulgent question. He was opening himself up to get hurt, but for some reason, he didn’t care.

“I wouldn’t care,” you breathed. “I’d love you either way.”

He knew that was a lie.

That night, you fell asleep in his arms up on the rooftop.

When he snuck back into his apartment, he placed you down on his bed, tucked you in, and whispered, “Good night, Pretty.”

The moment that he shut that bedroom door, Jay felt weak to his knees. His heart rate was picking up, nose suddenly becoming runny. He was in the middle of chanting, “Don’t cry,” to himself when the first tear rolled down his face.

A hand reached up to clasp his mouth tightly as he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t wake you or Wonnie up.

Jay didn’t know how long he cried sitting with his back against the bedroom door, but when he was done, he felt dizzy.

Jay went on an early morning patrol.

He didn’t get much sleep, but that sleep was indeed helpful in clearing his mind.

As he swung from building to building, occasionally scaring off criminals and sketchy people alike, his mind was occupied with thoughts about last night. It was hard to rationalize last night, and while it still was hard, the cool morning air kissed his cheeks just enough to give him the calm to think.

Okay, so, she doesn't think I’m disgusting, I didn’t actually do anything wrong, she was just embarrassed. I make her feel weird, and she might actually hate me. She says that she would still love me if I was… me, but like, “me” as in “Spider-Man” and the other “me” as me, Jay Park, and–

God, this was frustrating.

Even if you didn’t blame him, there was no way he could face you or any of your friends as Jay. His friends were blabbermouths. Everyone and their mothers probably knew by now the events that transpired.

His anguish built up. So much so that even when Jay was disarming a knife-bearing mugger, he couldn’t bring himself to make a few snarky remarks. His body was moving on its own, jumping around and soaring through the air. His mind was in a world of its own, running and drilling with little break, just mulling over all the possibilities.

He didn’t notice the time (three hours later) until all the delis and flower stores began opening up for the day. Plopping down onto one of the hedges on top of a building, Jay only realized how out-of-it he was; his legs were plagued with an abnormal ache, and his chest pushed out air using labored lungs.

Jay pulled off his mask, letting the cool air hit his face. He took a deep breath, peering down at the quiet bustle beginning to spread throughout the city.

He was about to sit there and contemplate, probably reflect on himself or simply relax.

However, an ear-splitting ringing sound cut through the air.

Beep beep!

“Shit,” he muttered, slipping his phone out of the seamless pocket attached to his suit’s leg. “Whaddya need, Wonnie?”

“Mayday, mayday!” his brother whisper-yelled into his ear. “Code red! I repeat: code red!”

“Why’re you whispering?” Jay jumped to his feet. He sensed the urgency in Wonnie’s voice on the other line, slipping back into his mask. “What happened?”

“I’m at school right now,” Wonnie hissed. “It’s your girlfriend!”

The man prepared for mobility, rubbing his wrists. “I don’t have a girlfrie– And why are you calling me at school right now?”

“Aghh!” Wonnie cried. “It’s [Name]!”

“Did something happen to her?” Jay’s voice immediately switched to a serious tone. He flexed his muscles, suddenly becoming hyper-alert of his surroundings. His eyes scanned the surrounding area.

Jay heard fumbling on the other side of the phone, presumably Wonnie almost getting caught by a teacher or something. “Okay, okay. Downtown– the skyscraper along the greenbelt– yes, that one! Doctor Discotheque; I think he’s hanging her!”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jay grumbled.

He was on top of a retail store. If Jay’s urban design professor was correct, then there should be a big stretch of apartments in the next few hundred kilometers. In the center should be the CBD. The only issue was that those apartments were dense. If he wants to drill past them in time, then he would need to be quick.

With just his enhanced spider-sight, Jay could see all those hundred kilometers ahead, straight to the central business district. Doctor Discotheque was standing at the top of the downtown skyscraper, and apparently he ditched the massive mechanical body that the “high-tech science shit” gifted him. Instead, the supervillain wore a sleek spandex suit. Doctor Discotheque was laughing villainously, because next to him was a crane hanging right at the edge of the building. The silhouette that was dangling from the crane was you yourself.

Jay heaved.

Let’s fucking do this.

“Spider-Man did it better, by the way.”

“If you keep talking, I will drop you off the side of this building.”

You couldn’t even be surprised anymore. Somehow getting kidnapped by a supervillain was less outlandish than making out with you enemy twice.

This morning, when you were just starting to leave for class, the window shot open, revealing a goofy-looking villain in purple spandex that he totally didn’t rip off of Spider-Man. Seriously, it was the tackiest outfit ever. He had a sparkly panel as a recurring design motif and it seriously was not good.

Nowy ou were suspended 400 meters in the air, with your feet fastened to the lift of a construction crane. You crossed your arms over your chest.

You should be scared. You really should. For God’s sake, you were dangling upside down over a busy road from an unsteady crane on top of a building that was 400 meters tall.

But the sight of a supervillain wearing a sparkly suit was too unserious. If there was anything to be afraid of, it would be Doctor Discotheque’s little villain costume.

“Nice outfit, Sparkle Boy.”

And besides, you knew that Spider-Man would save you.

Doctor Discotheque ignored your not-so-subtle jab at his suit, too busy scanning the sky for a certain red and blue - clad superhero.

In fact, that really pissed you off.

How dare he, a sloppily-dressed, dilapidated-looking, old geezer, kidnap you and threaten your life? And when you tried to talk to him, he just ignored you? Such a poorly-designed supervillain. 2/10 from you.

“Hey!” you yelled from where you were dangling. “Hey, you! Purple Wurple!”

Doctor Discotheque ignored you again.

You huffed. “You motherfucker! How dare you ignore me!”

Nothing from him.

“Hey, answer me! Doctor Disgusting!”

Finally, the supervillain snapped his head at you.

“It’s Doctor Discotheque, not Doctor Disgusting,” he spat.

You snorted. “It’s a good thing you became a supervillain, and not a villain-namer, because wow, ‘Doctor Discotheque’ might be the worst deed you’ve ever committed.”

Doctor Discotheque narrowed his eyes at you, before a wide smirk spread across his face. “I had higher standards for Spider-Man.”

When you glared at him, he continued.

“I can’t believe he could date such a wretched person like you.”

“Date?”

“You seem more surprised at that than me kidnapping you,” Doctor Discotheque muttered. He observed your scrunched expression, his grin widening. “I saw you and Spider-Man getting cozy last night on the rooftop. Never knew that he would go for a woman as insufferable as you.”

“Hey, we’re not–”

“And, if you don’t shut your mouth,” the villain spoke through tight lips, “I’ll throw you off this building.”

Before you could retort, the man’s hand reached for the remote console that controlled the crane. Gloved hand palming the joystick, Doctor Discotheque let out a low chuckle, before giving it an experimental pull. Immediately, the lift of the crane shakily lowered.

“H-Hey–!”

He played around with the controls, philandering around as if it was some kind of children’s toy.

“You– You little bitch!” you, though shaky from the mobility, yelled. “F-Fuck you and your sp–sparkly spandex!

Doctor Discotheque let out another low chuckle, before pressing a button. You weren't sure about the mechanics of a crane remote console, but it started shaking the lift from side to side. The crane must have been old, because the parts were moving so shakily. The lift was quite literally rocking in the sky, swinging you around slowly.

“One more word from you, and I’ll be releasing you,” Doctor Discotheque mused. “And by the way, it’s not spandex. It’s lycra.”

You were seriously considering shutting up. Your stomach did flips now that you looked down at the vast expanse of the city below you. The sound of cars rushing across the road, as well as the distressed crowd that was now gathering under the skyscraper, police cars with their loud sirens, and camera shutters did not calm you in the slightest. It was a miracle that your glasses were still intact at this point.

And still, Spider-Man was nowhere in sight.

Wait.

Spider-Man.

Your eyes flickered toward the villain.

There must be a reason that Doctor Discotheque kidnapped you. Other than the fact that he was, in fact, a supervillain, there must be another reason for his evildoing.

Why would someone want to kidnap a broke college student, unless there was something to gain from it?

There truly was only one thing notable about Doctor Discotheque, other than his horrible costume. And it was that he had major beef with Spider-Man. Unfortunately for him, Doctor Discotheque let it slip that he thought you and Spider-Man were dating.

It was a perfect plan.

Use Spider-Man’s girlfriend against him.

The only issue was that Spider-Man had not yet arrived on the scene yet. Heck, no one even knew if he knew of the situation yet.

Doctor Discotheque wasn’t going to do anything to you. Not until Spider-Man made an appearance.

“Y’know, Doctor Disgusting,” you shouted. “You suck!”

Doctor Discotheque deadpanned. “Foolish woman! Did you not hear what I just said–”

“Drop me,” you demanded. You thrashed around, flailing your arms so that the rope fastening you to the lift shook. “Drop me, you fucking bitch! I dare you!”

Doctor Discotheque stilled. He said nothing, just simply grumbling something under his breath and dropping the remote control to the concrete ground.

You watched him, proud of yourself.

But there were bigger problems up ahead now.

Spider-Man was nowhere in sight. This maniac might actually do something to you if Spider-Man didn’t show up on time. With the size of this commotion– road blocks, traffic issues, a giant crowd pooling at the base of the skyscraper– it was no doubt that the spider-like hero should be on his way.

“Hey, fuckface!”

A familiar confident and charming voice cut through the air suddenly.

Lo and behold, it was the great Spider-Man.

“Spider-Man-!” you blurted, relief washing over you.

Doctor Discotheque let out a laugh. That laugh became a cackle, before he was howling. Except, it wasn’t really laughing out of amusement, but him pushing air from his chest to create a sound.

“So you’ve decided to show yourself, Spider-Man,” Doctor Discotheque rasped. He snatched the crane remote control off the ground, and fiddled with the controls just enough to shake you. You let out a small shriek. “One wrong move and this little girlfriend of yours will be dropped.”

Spider-Man clenched his fists.

“So choose wisely,” the villain furbished the remote with his fingers. “Or you'll be toppling to your death in no-time.”

Jay had to be quick with this.

All eyes were on him, and you were genuinely endangered.

Doctor Discotheque’s main goal was and had always been to humiliate Spider-Man. Jay had no idea what types of things he had hidden up his sleeve, but if he was going far enough to endanger a civilian, it must be bad.

Like his name would imply, Doctor Discotheque had the ability to generate sounds that transpired the ordinary human sonic level. A.K.A. Doctor Discotheque had a loud voice.

An ability like that would be extremely dangerous, considering that large sound waves are capable of killing people. Except, Jay had a crucial piece of information, thanks to the invaluable research of Wonnie: Doctor Discotheque’s body was not suited for his own ability.

While Doctor Discotheque was capable of pushing air from his diaphragm and vibrating his vocal cords, his own ears could not take it. Usually, those with superhuman abilities would have different bodily functions to accommodate the harm that the abilities would have. For example, those with fire abilities would have cooler and fire-resistant bodies in order to sustain the aptitude. Unfortunately, Doctor Discotheque did not have that.

That meant that while Doctor Discotheque could do basically anything with his voice, he wouldn’t, because that would bring physical harm to his own self, too.

The only issue: if defeated, Doctor Discotheque might take on a “if I die, I’ll take everyone with me” attitude.

Jay had to be strategic.

“If you don’t attack, Spider-Man,” Doctor Discotheque started. The villain sucked in a large breath, “I’ll destroy your eardrums!”

That last part was at least 90 decibels. Jay could tell by the way that Doctor Discotheque himself winced at the sound.

What a dumbass.

“I can’t believe I have to deal with you again, man.”

Jay shot a web to the water tanks behind Doctor Discotheque, thrusting him across the rooftop, which allowed him to extend his right leg in order to land a kick at the villain. The villain dodged his kick by stepping to the side. However, Jay’s lightning-fast reflexes saw that one coming, so he swerved his body to the right to attempt another kick. His elevated heel succeeded in scraping the crown of Doctor Discotheque’s head.

The villain stumbled backward, but continued to evade Jay. Shooting a web, the hero attempted to bring Doctor Discotheque to him, but he dodged it once again. Jay had to give him credit: he had pretty good reflexes.

Jay shot a web to the hedge the villain was next to, hoping to launch himself at him, but before he could, Doctor Discotheque landed a punch square on Jay’s nose.

“Ow! What the fuck, man?” Jay’s eyes watered at the impact. How embarrassing.

Jay continued his venture to wrap this guy in his webs, shooting multiple webs at once. A few of them landed, but Doctor Discotheque was able to dodge them.

“Come on, old man!” Jay grumbled. Finally, one of his webs effectively landed on the villain’s shoulder, allowing for Jay to grapple him toward him. Before Doctor Discotheque could react, the masked hero blasted him with a bunch of more webs, slathering him in those sticky white strings.

The supervillain struggled against Spider-Man’s iron grip. Even with the tight webs binding him, Jay could feel him suck in a deep breath, an indicator that he was about to utilize that loud voice of his.

If Jay didn’t move now, his eardrums might actually get bursted.

Jay jumped away from Doctor Discotheque, except he kept his webs attached to him so that his previous binding work would not be rendered useless. Jay whipped his head around, eyeing your dangling figure.

“Cover your ears!” he shouted, before doing so himself. Doctor Discotheque let out a shrill screech, and although the sound was only large enough to send a vibration through Jay’s body, that was because Jay had the aid of superhuman abilities.

Everything else around them? Absolutely not.

The glass of surrounding buildings shattered, while the metal crane that was dangling you shook profusely. You screamed.

Shit, shit, shit.

While Jay was distracted, Doctor Discotheque squirmed free of the webs, crawling to the remote console he dropped to the ground earlier.

“Let’s play with your girlfriend,” the villain glowered. With that, he began tinkering with the controls of the console, shaking you around on the lift. This time, though, he was literally pressing all the buttons, giving you little time to anticipate what was coming next. The movement of the crane was unadulterated, so you shrieked in fear.

“Are you gonna save her, Spider-Man?” Doctor Discotheque mocked.

Jay clenched his fists. It was a lot more important to save you before anything else. He could deal with this maniac later.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Spider-Man!” Much to his surprise, it was you yelling at him. “Don’t worry about me, just kick this lunatic’s ass!”

“How adorable!” Doctor Discotheque cooed.

Jay wasn’t about to let a civilian, much less you, be in a position of severe danger. But Doctor Discotheque has been getting too confident and talking out of his ass too much.

Maybe he could do both.

If Jay could debilitate Doctor Discotheque, he could take the remote control. If he takes the remote control, he could easily save you.

When Jay started toward Doctor Discotheque, the villain let out a laugh. “You’re just going to ignore your little girlfriend like tha–”

“Shut– up!” Jay knocked him down with a kick to the cheek.

When Doctor Discotheque was knocked to the ground, he dropped the remote control, too. However, the remote dropped face-down, so with the impact of its collision, it bursted and shattered into several pieces. The crane began to malfunction, waving around its lift erratically. The excessive movement made the ear-splitting sound of rust rubbing against itself.

Not good.

The head of the engineering department at the university always warned them about rusty construction tools.

Oh, not good at all.

You screamed. Still pinning Doctor Discotheque’s hands to his sides, Jay grunted, snapping his head to you.

“Don- Don’t– Ah!-” you breathed. “Don’t worry about me!”

Jay clenched his jaw.

“I-I’m serious!” you squeezed your eyes shut. “I’m not sc-scared, or anything!”

No. That wasn’t true.

All those times that he carried you through the sky.

“Stop making fun of me, Spider-Man!” you lightly slapped his chest. “I’m just…– Eep!--” you squeezed his bicep again– “Scared of heights.”

The crane squeaked, as its spasms slowed. Except, its slowing down meant nothing. It only continued creaking. It was unstable, and by the looks of it, even Jay couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t snap off.

Doctor Discotheque threw his head back against the concrete ground, letting out another chortle. Before he could say anything, Jay raised his fist and punched him straight in the diaphragm. The villain groaned in pain, and before he could recover, Jay planted another punch in the abdomen, and another one square in the nose.

A punch in the diaphragm should debilitate him for just enough time to save you.

Jay swung toward the lift of the crane.

You were tied to it by the feet. The only way to get you to the roof was to operate the crane so that it was hanging over the building, or untie you. The former was impossible now, so the second option was the only option.

“I-I told you to–!”

“[Name], you yell a lot.” Jay didn’t realize how out-of-character it was for Spider-Man to say that, but currently, he was plagued with urgency. He had to be serious.

You shut your mouth immediately.

“[Name], I’m going to untie you,” Jay instructed. “You are going to fall.”

“Wh-What?”

Jay was already untying the ropes. Which was oddly easy.

Why were the ropes so loosely tied?

He clenched his teeth.

He was going to destroy that maniac for putting you in harm’s way.

“When I untie your feet, you’re going to fall,” Jay asserted. When he heard your breath hitch, he sighed. His gaze on you softened. “Don’t worry, Pretty. I’ll catch you.”

There was one loop left to unknot. Your eyes widened as you felt your feet slowly slip.

“You ready?” Jay stared into your eyes.

“Y-Yeah.”

He sensed the fear in your voice. “I got you, Baby.”

He untied the last knot. Immediately, you began falling down multiple stories. Your arms thrashed, and your eyes squeezed shut. You let out a loud, yet strained scream.

But then you stopped. Because you felt strong arms grip your waist.

“Spider-Man!” you cried, pressing your face into his neck, holding him tighter than you ever had before. Your eyes were watery with fear.

“What did I say, Angel?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “I got you.”

Jay swung the two of you up to the top of the skyscraper. He let you down at a roof-like structure at the very back of the roof.

“Stay here.”

“But you–”

“[Name], I need you to stay here,” Jay said, squeezing your arm. “Please.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

With that, he swung back to the front to fight Doctor Discotheque.

At that point, Doctor Discotheque was still coughing and heaving from the punch to the diaphragm, but was able to stand.

“I’m surprised you could still stand, you old geezer,” Jay mocked.

Now that you were safe, he regained his humor.

“Spider-Man, you may have beaten me three times, but not a fourth ti– AGH!”

Jay punched him. “Shut up!”

Then, Doctor Discotheque kicked Jay in the stomach. From there, they engaged in hand-to-hand combat. It was a shaky fight: Doctor Discotheque had decent strength, so his punches were indeed strong, but Jay had lightning reflexes that allowed him to dodge. Soon, Doctor Discotheque backed the hero up against the electricity pole.

“Little punks like you–” Doctor Discotheque, finally, landed a successful punch to Jay’s cheek, eliciting a groan- “Need to know your place.”

Doctor Discotheque took a deep breath.

Fuck.

He was going to scream.

He couldn’t scream loud enough to kill or severely harm Jay because he would be inflicting that same pain to himself as well. But he could definitely debilitate him with a single scream.

Doctor Discotheque opened his mouth, his chest rising and falling to widen his vocal cords.

Just as the villain was going to scream Jay deaf, he freed his hand from Doctor Discotheque’s grip. Jay punched the villain’s mouth. More specifically, he shoved his fist in his mouth.

Doctor Discotheque sunk his teeth into Jay’s fists, but he just ignored him. Instead, Jay pushed his fist deeper into his mouth, further lodging it in.

With the agility of a spider, he attached a web to the villain. With nimble, yet confident, fingers, Jay spurted webs to bind his hands and feet together. In between, he landed punch after punch and kick after kick at the man.

“Just” punch “go” punch “away” punch “already!”

The villain was now biting into Jay’s fist so hard now that he was sure the fabric was ripping.

“Fuck!” Jay kicked him square in the abdomen, sending him flying across the rooftop. When he looked at his fist, it was bleeding with teeth marks. Whatever.

Jay approached Doctor Discotheque’s keeling figure. The villain coughed blood, hair frazzled with sweat and sticking to his forehead. The superhero stood over him.

Then, Doctor Discotheque started sobbing.

“I… I did it all for my son,” the villain quivered, tears streaming down his cheeks. “My son… My beautiful son…”

Son.

Jay never had a father. The only person closest to a father was his uncle, who already died, leaving him to take care of his kid brother.

“My– My so-son,” Doctor Discotheque sobbed. “He– He always wanted a c-cool dad.”

???

“I th-thought if I fought you… he would th-think his dad w-was cool!”

Jay took a deep breath. “And you can be a cool dad. If you just spent time with him instead of fighting me.”

“N-No,” Doctor Discotheque sniffled. “H-He’s obs– obsessed with Spider-Ma-Man.”

Jay sighed. He crouched down beside the man.

“Doctor Discotheque,” he began. “I didn’t have a father. I’d do anything to just spend time with him. Your son will love you ten times more if you were just there for him.”

“R-Really?” Doctor Discotheque looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Yes.”

There was a pulse of silence. Doctor Discotheque stared at Jay, before his fingers twitched. Before he could do anything, a loud clang! rang through the air.

“[Name]…!”

You, with a metal rod, wacked Doctor Discotheque in the back of his head, sending him forward.

“I don’t fucking care!” you spat at him. You were breathing heavily, before your eyes met Jay’s.

“[Name]... what are you–”

You dropped the metal rod. You grabbed the villain’s face, slapping him.

“I don’t fucking care about you and your son!” Slap. “You wreak havoc on this city and you expect us to forgive you because you have a tragic sob story?!” Slap.“You almost killed me!” Slap. “You’re wearing sparkly spandex!” Slap. “No wonder your son doesn’t think you’re cool!” Slap. “You bitch!”

“[Name], that’s enough…!”

The aftermath of the incident was nothing to sneeze at.

Your face, as well as Doctor Discotheque, was plastered all over the news. Speaking of which, Doctor Discotheque was revealed to be some middle-aged professor, and was taken into custody for a court hearing.

It had only been a few hours ago since Spider-Man dropped you home. Meanwhile, he said that he had some “business” to attend to. Probably interviews and reporters.

It was the middle of the afternoon by now. The apartment was completely silent. Wonnie was still at school. And… Jay.

You bit your lip as you remembered what happened the night before.

You felt your neck and cheeks heat up. You really kissed him, touched him, whispered lewd words into his ear– Oh my god, you had to apologize to him!

You brought two fingers to your lip.

His lips were chapped and the lip-piercing pressed against your lip in a way that was almost painful, but for some reason, the thought just sent butterflies in your stomach. His hands were so big, holding onto you with a desperate grip.

You shoved your face into your hands, squeezing your eyes shut.

How embarrassing!

How were you going to face Jay Park?

Why were you worried?

“Do you… have a crush on him then?” Spider-Man’s words echoed through your mind.

Did you?

It would make a great deal of sense.

Why you were feeling this way, why you got so angry last night, why you’d been thinking about him at night for the past five years.

Your heart began speeding up at the thought of having a crush on Jay Park. Not just the absurdity of the idea, but because you felt so childish. You were an adult now. How could you have such a petulant crush?

But then again, Jay Park made you feel childish. Like you were some middle schooler, all immature and giggly.

Before you could dig yourself further into a hole, a tapping came from the window. Stalking over to the sill, you spotted a red-and-blue-clad hero.

He was lowering himself upside-down in his iconic stance, hanging onto a single spider web.

“Spider-Man!” you exclaimed.

“Hey there, Angel,” the hero grinned behind the mask when you opened the window. He was about to climb through when the unexpected happened. “H-Hey, what are you–!”

You grasped his upside-down face. You tore down his mask just enough to reveal the bottom half of his face, and pressed your lips onto his.

It was a chaste kiss, not meant to be sexual. Simply innocent.

Except, it felt familiar.

It was a soft kiss, but you could feel the hero’s lips. They were chapped, and there was a cold piece of metal on his lip. Like a lip-piercing.

When you pulled away, you gazed at Spider-Man’s half-exposed face, which wore an awkward, boxy smile.

“That’s what you get for saving me all those times,” you breathed.

Spider-Man’s lips curved. “What are you, a fairytale princess?”

You grinned. “You saved me like I was one.”

“Just my duty, Gorgeous.”

You caressed Spider-Man’s skin. Just like you expected, he had a strong jaw and sharp nose. His cheeks were a honey-tan color, with a twinge of red.

And most notably, his lips.

Chapped, pink, but plump.

And pierced.

Her thumb pressed onto the piercing.

His breath hitched.

You've seen that lip-piercing before.

You've stared at a certain somebody’s lips for long enough to recognize it.

No. It can’t be.

You touched his face, tracing his features slowly.

“Spider-Man,” you drew out your syllables. “Can you stand up normally? I want to check something.”

The hero silently complied, climbing through the window sill. When he stood in front of you, swiping a tongue over his pierced bottom lip, you swallowed down hard.

Please.

In one, quick movement, you pushed Spider-Man against the wall, sliding your hands up his chest. Your hands slithered to his toned arms, grappling onto his wrists to pin above his head.

Your heart was about to fall out of yourc hest. You were breathless, eyes trained onto the hero’s lips.

A pedicured hand came up to grasp his chin.

“Are you Park?” you asked in a near-whisper. “Please. Please tell me. Are you Jay Park?”

Spider-Man stilled in your hold. He sucked in a sharp breath, taking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Please,” you whispered.

As you gazed at him with wide, pleading eyes, Spider-Man was able to free one of his hands. Slowly, he grasped the tight material of his mask. He pulled the fabric up and over his eyes, before freeing his entire head and face.

What was revealed?

Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tan skin. A sharp nose. And that goddamn lip piercing.

Jay Park.

You audibly gasped. Your hold on his one wrist weakened, dropping all the way when you brought both hands up to clasp your gaping mouth.

Jay looked at you with an ashamed expression, yet his eyes were locked onto yours. He parted his lips to say something, but no sound came out.

This entire time… it was him?

Your body moved on its own.

You grabbed his face, and smashed your lips against his.

At first, Jay was completely still.

But after a few seconds, he let out a low grunt against your lips, slithering his arms around your waist. That earned a small squeal from you, giving him the opportunity to shove his tongue in your mouth. Your hands roamed, sliding up and down his chest before resting in his hair. When you pulled on his dark locks, he groaned softly, allowing you to push his tongue out and put yours into his mouth.

Jay gave your waist a warning squeeze, as if to say, “Don’t try that on me.” But you only smirked against his lips, sliding your hand up his head to grab a fistful of his hair and pulling it.

When you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, both flushed in the face with blown-out, desire-filled eyes. You stared into each other’s eyes for what felt like an eternity.

“You…” you blinked. Then, your face contorted. With a fist, you began hitting his chest. “It was you this whole time? It was… It was you who carried me home, who took me out, who saved me, who– who comforted me when I cried!

“Why didn’t you listen to me when I told you to not worry about me?!” you continued pounding his chest. “And why the fuck would you try to sympathize with that lunatic?! You could have been hurt– He might have pulled out a knife, or something! I was so worried that he’d pull a fast one and try to stab you, you stupid, stupid, stupid–!”

It was Jay’s turn to smash his lips against yours.

Almost immediately, you stopped all of your movement, melting into the kiss.

“You’re-” Jay mumbled against your lips- “You’re always such a fucking brat.”

He laced his fingers with hers, holding your hands tightly. "Always givin' me hell, you know that?"

He was rough, a lot more rough than you imagined, but it wasn't like you were opposed to it. You tried to say something, squeezing his hands. You got a few sounds out, but they were all muffled by his kissing.

“Shut up,” Jay breathed against your lips. “Just shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.”

You whined, causing him to smirk.

This kiss was much more heated than any previous ones you’ve had with him. And also much messier.

When you finally pulled away, your lips were swollen, connected by a single string of spit.

“Oh my god,” you mewled, gripping onto Jay’s bicep. “Fuck, please, Jay.”

Jay swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You never called him by his name like this. “‘Please’ what, Angel?”

“I want you,” you looked up at him with wide and glassy eyes, the same ones that he’s seen in his guiltiest dreams. “Oh my god, please, I want you so bad, Jay.”

“Are you gonna yell and hit me like last time?” he teased, hands already sliding down to grip your hips.

You pressed a wet kiss to his jaw. “Only if you won’t leave me in the middle of a hallway drunk like last time.”

You both stared at each other for a few moments, with cocked brows and narrowed eyes, neither of you wanting to relent your pride. Then, at the same time, broke out into a fit of laughter.

“I have high expectations for you, Park.”

“I won’t disappoint you, you fuckin’ nerdo freak.”

FIN.

part 1 here

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fic #park jay #jay x reader #jay enhypen x reader #jay fluff #enhypen smut #park jongseong fluff #park jongseong x reader #star-sim #vanya-writes

924 notes · View notes

megalony · 2 months

Text

Little Bird- Part 2

This is the second part of my Evan Buckley imagine, thank you all for the amazing feedback on the first part. I hope you will all like this one and I have another part planned.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @gillybear17

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: Evan starts to find himself falling for his new neighbour and her little girl. And he will do anything he can to help them when they need him.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and tried to stop the panic from spreading across her face when she cautiously walked through the door into the fire station. She had never been in here before. She had never stepped foot inside any fire station before and it filled her with panic.

What if Evan wasn't here? What if he was out on a call and (Y/n) had to turn around and take Birdie home? What if she wasn't allowed to be here? Evan told her she could come by anytime and he would show Birdie around the station since she had asked so many times. But maybe the Captain wouldn't be so easy-going about friends stopping by. After all, (Y/n) didn't have any kind of emergency.

If Evan wasn't here, (Y/n) wasn't sure she would be allowed to wait around for him to get back. She wouldn't want to impose and wait with strangers. She would rather take Birdie home.

But Birdie was here now, and there was no way the toddler was leaving without seeing Evan first.

A high-pitch squeal left Birdie's lips when she realised where they were and she began clapping her hands. She rocked back and forth in her pushchair until (Y/n) cringed and stopped walking before Birdie tipped herself over.

(Y/n) felt a desireable urge to turn around and rush out before anyone saw them, but when she tilted he head up, a wave of relief and vertigo rushed over her all at once.

Evan was here. He was upstairs, casually leaning over the balcony with his back arched over and a cup of coffee in his hand. The moment his eyes found the source of the squealing, one of the brightest smiles (Y/n) had ever seen washed over his face and he hurried to move.

She swayed back as she tried to keep watching him before she tilted her head forward to stop herself from wobbling.

Moving round, (Y/n) crouched down in front of the pushchair and undid the clasp to let the three year old hop out.

Birdie was off within a second. She stretched her arms out in front of her and bolted as fast as her legs could carry her across to the stairs and she waited at the bottom for Evan to head down to her. Another squeal left her lips when Evan scooped her up and planted her on his hip.

"There's my little bird! Are you okay girlie?" Evan bounced her on his right hip and moved his left hand to cup her neck so he could kiss her cheek.

But he pulled back with a grin when he suddenly realised what she was wearing, more specifically, what she was wearing on her head. She had a miniature yellow helmet that sort of looked like the helmets the team wore when they were out on a call. Of course it was three times smaller than Evan's and it was shaped a little differently, more like a construction hard hat, but it was still similar.

And right across the front, 118 had been painted in dark blue paint in a very neat, cursive handwriting that Evan recognised instantly. He flicked his finger against the hat and tipped it back on Birdie's head so he could see her better and look at that dazzling smile.

"What's this? Are you coming to work with me now, little bird?"

He liked it.

"Yeah," Birdie broke off with a cough and tilted her head down to cough into Evan's chest, almost bashing his chin with her hat. But when she looked back up at him, she grinned and kissed his cheek.

Evan knew she hadn't been at nursery today or yesterday because she had a bad chest infection. She only went to nursery two days a week and this week she was staying at home with (Y/n) because she wasn't well. And she didn't look much better than when Evan saw her yesterday. But she was in a bubbly mood which made him a little calmer.

When Birdie leaned her cheek on Evan's shoulder, he pressed his cheek on top of her helmet and swayed her from side to side while he walked over towards (Y/n). She was moving the pushchair near the lockers so it was tucked up in the corner, away and not at risk of causing any accidents.

He reeled his free arm around her waist and pulled her back into his chest so he could kiss the top of her head. "Hi," He murmured quietly into her hair while (Y/n) turned around in his arm and looped her arms loosely around his torso beneath Birdie's legs.

(Y/n) pressed her chin into Evan's chest so she could look up at him and her lips curved into a gentle smile when she looked up at his baby blue eyes.

"We missed you," She mumbled into his chest with a sheepish grin. It wasn't just Birdie who was desperate to come down to the station and see Evan. (Y/n) missed him too. She wanted to curl around him and hear his voice and see him at work just as much as her daughter did.

"That's what I like to hear. Wanna go meet the team?"

With Birdie tucked up into his chest and neck, Evan took the chance to lean down and kiss (Y/n). Birdie seemed to have an instinct to know exactly when Evan was trying to wrap around (Y/n) or kiss her or get close to her because Birdie would suddenly call out for him and find him no matter where he was.

His hand wandered up her back until he was holding the back of her neck and his thumb brushed up and down her skin beneath her hair. (Y/n) shivered at the touch and she could feel herself going lightheaded as her heartbeat pulsed beneath her skin.

(Y/n) pecked his cheek when they parted and she reached her hand up to hold his hand that moved to loop around the back of her shoulders instead.

They wandered over to the stairs and climbed up and (Y/n) took her time to look around. She had seen a lot of people downstairs near the gym or wandering the halls, but there were a handful of people up here too.

"Hey Buck, do we have guests today?" Bobby leaned back in his seat at the far end of the table and smiled around the rim of his cup.

"These are my girls, (Y/n) and Birdie." Evan had talked about them often enough for the team to know who they were and what they now meant to Evan. And Hen had found their first meeting so sweet when Evan told her about the girls being stuck on the balcony, she seemed to think it was some sort of lovey-dovey, Romeo and Juliet kind of thing.

(Y/n) brushed her hair behind her ear and sat down when Evan motioned to one of the seats at the table. He stood behind her chair and carefully stood Birdie up on the table with his hands on her waist so she didn't slip or tumble.

"That's my Captain, Bobby."

Birdie tilted her head to the side and smiled. They could all see the wheels turning in her head and (Y/n) knew she was wondering why no one was wearing their helmets yet.

"You drive the wee-woo?" She pointed behind her towards the balcony and Bobby nodded when Evan mumbled "The truck," so he knew what she was referring to.

"I do sometimes, and I'm sure Buck will let you look round the truck if you want."

"Oh, wow, what a cool hat. Have we got a new recruit already?" Chimney leaned across the table and planted his hands down opposite Birdie. She spun round to face him and tilted her head down shyly while she leaned back until her back was resting up against Evan's chest. And she smiled when Evan's arms curled around her middle.

"This is my new partner." Evan gave her helmet a little nudge as if to prove his point and Chimney nodded with a grin.

But when he leaned across the table and playfully swiped the helmet from her head, (Y/n) sat forward and shook her head. She had barely been able to get Birdie to take off the helmet when it was time to go to bed last night and when she knew she was coming here, she wouldn't put it down. Birdie was fiercely protective over her toys and that helmet was her new prized possession.

She seemed to think everyone was going to take it away and steal it from her forever. It didn't matter that she could still see it in front of her, it was no longer on her head.

Her arms stretched out in front of her and her lower lip wobbled as a small, croaky sob left her lips and tears pooled in her eyes.

Birdie tilted her head back onto Evan's shoulder and pointed as another cry bubbled past her lips, breaking off into a cough that made her chest hurt and make her cry even more. She shivered when Evan's arm tightened around her waist and she watched him click his fingers assertively at Chimney.

"Give my girl her helmet back."

Chimney handed it back instantly and Evan placed it back on Birdie's head before he turned her around and lifted her up off the table.

"There we go, it's back you're okay. Come on, let's go look round the wee-woo." Evan kissed her cheek and picked her up, letting her sniff and cough into his neck as she bound her arms around his neck. He smoothed his hand up and down her back but he didn't like how much she was coughing or how badly she was starting to struggle to breathe.

(Y/n) quietly mouthed 'sorry' to Chimney but he shook his hand with a smile. He hadn't realised it would upset her, he shouldn't have pinched her helmet. He made his way over to the sink and when Evan turned around, (Y/n) pushed up from the table to follow. But she stopped when Bobby reached out and gently held her wrist to pull her back.

"You both make him very happy." He murmured softly while his eyes remained on Evan who was already walking down the stairs. Happily telling Birdie about all the features on the truck.

A tender smile lit up (Y/n)'s face even as she shook her head and looked back down at Bobby.

"No, he makes us happy."

(Y/n) followed down the stairs and wandered along with them to the truck. She leaned against the side door, arms folded across her chest and a smile lighting up her face as Evan wandered round the truck, showing Birdie all the compartments and telling her what they stored in each one.

When they moved round to the front of the truck, (Y/n) moved too and she smiled when Evan opened the door and gently lifted Birdie up into the driver's seat. She flopped down on the seat and started to giggle and cough when she couldn't see over the steering wheel which she grabbed and pretended to drive so (Y/n) could take a picture.

Reaching up on her tiptoes, (Y/n) curved her arms around Evan's neck and pressed a kiss just below his jaw which acted as a secret button to make him shiver and turn to jelly.

"Thank you for this." She kissed his jaw again and again until Evan turned his head and captured her with a kiss instead. He wormed his arm around her waist to keep her as close as he could get her but just as Evan went to slide his hand down her back towards the top of her jeans, he stopped.

Birdie was coughing again.

"Alright little bird, come here."

(Y/n) stayed wrapped around Evan as he reached up and lifted Birdie down into his arms. Neither of them liked the way she started to wheeze and her eyes filled with tears again when her chest started to ache and twinge from how badly she was coughing.

She burrowed down into Evan's chest but when she kept coughing, Evan's eyes narrowed. He reached his hand up and gently pulled her lower lip down so he could peer into her mouth.

"Her lips are tinged blue… do you mind if I ask Eddie to take a look at her?" The way Evan frowned was enough to make (Y/n)'s heart race and she nodded, curling her hands around his arm to keep herself upright.

It could be nothing, but Evan had been doing this job for a good few years now and he noticed the signs. He knew if someone's inner lips were blue, it was a sign of lack of oxygen or a worser sign if someone already had an infection. Evan would rather be safe than sorry and ask Eddie to do a quick once-over of Birdie so they knew she was okay and didn't need a trip to the doctor.

And he had to ask (Y/n) first. Evan would never want to step on her toes and do something like that without her permission first.

"Baby, can I put your hat in my locker with mine so it stays safe while we go and look round? I don't wanna lose it." Evan waited for Birdie to nod before he swiped the helmet from her head and stepped to put it on top of his helmet in his locker.

He quickly pressed the back of his hand against Birdie's head, pretending he was brushing her hair back while he checked if her skin was flushed or not. It was.

"Eddie," He moved his free hand to cradle the back of Birdie's head, keeping her tucked up into his neck while he headed over to the locker room with (Y/n) hot on his heels. "This is (Y/n) and Birdie… can you do me a favour and check her over for us?"

"Sure, what's wrong?" Eddie smiled at both girls and nodded his head over at (Y/n). He had heard all about them these past few weeks and it was nice to finally meet the girl Evan was infatuated with.

"She's got a chest infection, she's got worse since yesterday." (Y/n) bit down on her thumb and moved to sit next to Evan when he sat down on the bench in front of the lockers. She moved her free hand to rub up and down Evan's thigh as a calming mechanism while Eddie went to retrieve a medic bag.

He came back in and knelt down in front of them, stethoscope in his ears and a wide, calming smile on his face.

"Hey Birdie, I'm just gonna take a quick look at you, okay?"

"You a fireman?" Birdie nuzzled the left side of her face into Evan's chest and curved both her hands around his left arm that she had cuddled to her front like a teddy.

"I am, I'm a medic too." He pressed the stethoscope against the middle of her chest to listen to her heart before he slipped it between her shoulderblades and listened to her breathing. Her lungs were crackling a little like static on a tv and it wasn't a very good sign. "Do you feel sick, sweetheart?"

Birdie looked up at Evan before she looked back down at Eddie and nodded, grumbling to smother a cough. She burrowed more into Evan and closed her eyes but she quickly opened them when Eddie leaned over and gently lifted up her jumper.

"How long's she had the rash?" His voice made panic bubble up inside Evan while (Y/n) leaned over his shoulder to take a look.

"It wasn't there this morning when I got her dressed." (Y/n) would have noticed a rash. She had bathed Birdie this morning and gotten her dressed and she would have noticed the rash that was spreading across the middle of Birdie's chest and around her sternum.

"This won't hurt, stay still for me." He pressed a thermometer in her ear and when Birdie closed her eyes again, Eddie felt her pulse. "She's lathargic with a high temp and a rash… she could have sepsis. She needs to go to the emergency room, now."

Eddie didn't want to worry either of them but he didn't like the way this looked. Birdie had a temperature, a new rash and as well as feeling sick, she was now looking sluggish and still coughing. If she already had a chest infection, that meant she could be developing sepsis which was serious. She needed to be checked out and put onto high strength antibiotics immediately if she was getting sepsis.

"Go get in the ambulance, I'll tell Bobby what's happening and me and Hen will drive you down."

(Y/n) leaned her head on Evan's shoulder and clenched her hands tightly around her bag on the ride down. She had been in the back of an ambulance more times than she'd like to admit with her heart complications, but she had never had to take Birdie in an ambulance before. The only time she had taken Birdie to the emergency room was when she was two and had fallen and smashed her head on the coffee table before they moved out to LA.

Other than that, Birdie had never had anything serious that needed more than a few trips to the local GP. Being in the back of an ambulance because of her daughter was frightening.

She felt a tiny bit better when Evan kissed the top of her head. He hadn't let go of Birdie. Not once.

He didn't want to sit her on the gurney and panic her so he and (Y/n) sat on the edge of the gurney with Birdie on Evan's lap and Eddie in front of them, keeping a check on her vitals. Hen was driving them down with the lights on but no sirens so they didn't alarm Birdie.

"Alright, let's get you inside."

(Y/n) let Evan gently ease Birdie into her arms and she slung her bag on her shoulder, snuggling her daughter up into her chest to try and keep her settled and as calm as possible. She felt Evan's hands on her hips when they climbed down and Eddie guided them through the paramedic entrance and over to the reception desk.

"I've got a three year old with a high temperature, a rash and an infection that's possibly going septic. What bay do you want her in?" Eddie looked around for bay number three and guided (Y/n) and Evan over to the nurse. "Alright, call if you need anything. Buck, just let me know when you need a ride home." Eddie clapped his hand on Evan's back.

He and Hen would leave them to it and be on standby if they needed anything else and ready for when they needed a ride home. Eddie would guess that Birdie was going to be here for a while at least. But Evan might need a lift back to the station to grab his stuff and his keys so he could pick up some things and come back here.

"Y-you're staying?" (Y/n) turned to look up at Evan with watering eyes that bubbled over when he frowned at her.

Did she really think he was going to leave her here alone? Did she think he was going back to work, not knowing if Birdie was alright or not and knowing (Y/n) was panicking and prone to fainting with an elevated heart rate?

"I'm not leaving you here alone. I cleared it with Bobby, I'm staying."

When (Y/n) leaned her head on his shoulder, Evan wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her into the cubicle as a nurse and a doctor followed after them. He wasn't going anywhere, Evan was staying here with his girls to make sure they were both alright and check that Birdie got checked out.

"Okay, and who do we have here?" The nurse smiled politely when (Y/n) sat Birdie down in the middle of the bed. She kept her hand on her daughter's back when Birdie swayed like she was going to flop back and fall asleep.

She reeled off Birdie's full name and date of birth, glancing at Evan when she noticed his lips twitch up into a little smirk. He found it so strange to hear anyone- let alone (Y/n)- refer to her as Bernadette. That was the name on all her records, but (Y/n) never once called her that. For all intents and purposes, her name was Birdie.

"And I presume you're mum and dad?"

"Yes." (Y/n) spoke before she lost her nerve or Evan tried to fumble through his words. If they said he wasn't, they might not let him stay in the room. And she knew that Birdie was so attached to Evan that she practically thought he was her dad. In almost every way, Evan had become her dad.

And she felt his hand give her hip a comforting squeeze when she answered. He moulded his chest over her back and pressed his lips against the back of her head, feeling like a comforting blanket wrapping around her.

"Is she allergic to anything?" The nurse glanced up from her notes to take a quick look at Birdie with a tender smile.

"Ibruprofen and naproxen… like me." Evan glanced his eyes down to Birdie with a smile when the toddler leaned her head on (Y/n)'s arm and squirmed around.

Surprise flooded (Y/n)'s face and adrenaline bubbled up in her stomach and pushed through to her chest.

Evan remembered.

He remembered (Y/n) telling him the only two things she had found Birdie to be allergic to. When she gave her ibruprofen, Birdie came out in a horrible rash and started to be sick and the doctor confirmed she had a mild allergy. Her allergy to naproxen was a bit more severe and she had only taken that once at hospital and never again.

It had been a surprise when (Y/n) found out Evan had a very bad allergy to the exact same thing. It just seemed to cement things even more that Evan was now a part of their little family.

"Let's take a look at this little lady, shall we?" The doctor turned around and pulled a pair of latex gloves over her hands before she wheeled a stool over and sat down in front of the bed.

Birdie leaned back into (Y/n)'s chest and started to wriggle and whimper. She was tired and felt sick and her chest was hurting. She didn't want to be poked and prodded, she wanted to go home. Her eyes closed tight and she leaned back further until (Y/n) pressed her middle up against Birdie's back to keep her sitting up. And (Y/n) felt Evan lean further into her like they were dominos all lined up together.

The doctor listened to Birdie's heartbeat and then her lungs just like Eddie had done. And (Y/n) leaned down to kiss her head when the doctor took her blood pressure.

Birdie squirmed and whimpered until Evan leaned his arm around (Y/n) and brushed his finger beneath Birdie's chin and across her cheek to try and calm her down. "Good girl," He hummed quietly when she stayed still and let the doctor finish taking a reading.

"When did she get the rash?" The doctor looked over Birdie's chest before she pulled her jumper back down and smiled softly at her.

"Sometime this afternoon, no more than a few hours ago."

"Okay, I'd like to take some blood then start her on a round of antibiotics immediately. I'd say she does have sepsis."

A shiver coursed down (Y/n)'s spine and she sighed, tilting her head into Evan's neck. She knew what that meant. Birdie was seriously unwell. Sepsis was the body's way of getting confused and attacking healthy tissue instead of fighting the infection. She needed to get antibiotics and clear the infection quick so her body could calm down and stop attacking her healthy cells.

Reaching down, (Y/n) scooped Birdie up and moved round to sit on the bed herself. She sat Birdie down on her lap and snuggled her close to try and keep her calm. She wouldn't be very pleased when she saw them trying to take her blood.

Evan crouched down at the side of the bed and smiled calmly, taking Birdie's hand in his while the doctor gently held out her other arm and rolled up her sleeve.

"I don't wanna-"

"It won't take long, little bird. You're my partner at the station, aren't you? Close your eyes, then we can tell Bobby how brave you are." Evan smoothed his thumb over the back of Birdie's hand and swiped his other hand across her eyes until she closed them.

He hated to see her sat shaking on (Y/n)'s lap, anticipating the pain she was going to feel and she jumped when the numbing spray and cotton swab swiped across her elbow. The moment the needle slipped into the crease of her elbow, she let out a low, broken whine that ended in a grumbling cry.

She began to tremble and smothered her face into (Y/n)'s chest while Evan rubbed the back of her hand and quietly hushed and praised her.

"All done, it's all done baby." (Y/n) hushed as she swayed Birdie from side to side once the needle and vile were removed and a wad of cotton was taped across her elbow. She bounced her knees up and down to try and soothe Birdie. All the way here (Y/n) had watched Eddie try and keep Birdie awake and stop her from falling asleep in case she went unconscious and her state worsened.

But now it would be better if she went to sleep. She had been assessed and if she dozed off, they could give her the antibiotics easier than her fighting and getting distressed like this.

She hated to have her little girl whimpering and bubbling into her shirt and clinging to her like she thought she was never going to see her again.

The doctor came back into the room with an IV of antibiotics and fluids, a tube and a needle and it made (Y/n) wince. Birdie had never had to have a canula in before.

"Once we get her on these, I can sort out getting her admitted into the children's ward."

The moment Birdie lifted her head from (Y/n)'s chest, she started to scream. As much as she could with her burning, wheezing chest, Birdie cried and gasped and screamed until her cheeks puffed out and tears were streaming down her face.

"Baby it's okay-" (Y/n) tilted her head back, willing the tears away when Birdie continued to thrash and cry in her arms. She had found some energy from somewhere. The needle had spooked her. She didn't want another one. She didn't know or care what it was for. Birdie didn't want it.

"No!"

"Birdie I promise it won't hurt-" The doctor frowned and looked up sadly at (Y/n) when Birdie thrashed again, but her next words stunned (Y/n).

"I want daddy!"

She had never said that before.

(Y/n) had been a single mother since the moment she found out she was pregnant. Birdie had never had a father figure in her life. She grew up with (Y/n) and that was it, her sole parent and dependency was on (Y/n). She never asked about a father or why the other kids she knew had dads but she didn't. She never asked about having a dad or why she only had a mum.

But now she had Evan. He was the closest thing to a father figure that Birdie had in her life and she had fallen in love with the idea of him being her dad and being in her life.

(Y/n) looked down at Evan, but the stunned expression she had was mirrored on his face.

He was now stood up beside the bed, hands frozen at his sides as he stared down at the little girl who had captured his heart. His jaw moved and scraped from side to side but he didn't say anything for a second or two. (Y/n) wondered if it was too soon, if Evan wasn't ready for that name and the responsibility that came along with it.

But within a second, he moved. Evan leaned down, his eyes locked with (Y/n)'s, silently asking if it was alright when he reached his hands out towards Birdie.

(Y/n) passed her over without complaint and watched the way Birdie stopped wriggling instantly. She stopped thrashing and kicking and screaming once Evan picked her up. He looped an arm beneath her legs and his other hand rubbed across her back in circles while Birdie looped her arms around his neck so tightly he could barely breathe.

When her face tucked into the crook of his neck, Evan leaned his cheek on top of her head and started to gently rock her up and down.

"It's okay, baby bird. I'm here." He soothed quietly as he kissed her cheek and looked over at the doctor. He silently ticked his head to the side and turned around so he was facing (Y/n) with the doctor behind him. Evan knew Birdie had her eyes closed and her face hidden in his neck and with her arms around his neck, the doctor could stand behind him and quickly sort the IV before she had chance to fight them.

Evan started to hum and tried not to move Birdie too much when he felt the doctor behind him. He stood in between (Y/n)'s thighs and smiled softly when (Y/n) looped her arms low around his hips and pressed her face into his stomach.

A low whine croaked past Birdie's lips when the needle inserted into the back of her hand but she didn't move or pull away.

"You're okay, I've got you."

They both heard the doctor whisper "All sorted," and she patted Evan's shoulder before she left the room to go and get everything sorted. She wanted them on the ward as soon as possible to get Birdie monitored and make sure she didn't get any worse.

When she left the room, (Y/n) slowly stood up, pinned between Evan and the bed pressing into the back of her knees. She looked up at Evan, curving one arm around his waist and her other hand moved to card through Birdie's hair softly.

Evan started to sway from side to side again and kept moving Birdie up and down in his arms. But a quizzical look took over his face when he noticed the tender smile on (Y/n)'s face.

"She's fallen asleep." (Y/n) whispered. That was the quickest (Y/n) had ever known her daughter fall asleep and she was beginning to drool onto Evan's shoulder. Evan didn't realise her arms had gone slack around his neck or that she had stopped whimpering into his neck and changed instead to quiet snuffles and groggy, hitched breaths.

"You uh… you don't mind, what she said?"

"I don't mind my daughter loving you almost as much as I do." (Y/n)'s voice was barely more than a whisper on the wind but they sounded like the loudest, most beautiful thing Evan had ever heard.

He leaned down and stole a kiss from her lips, removing his hand from Birdie's back to wrap it around (Y/n)'s waist instead and reel her as close as he could get her. He could feel her smiling against his lips and he grazed his teeth across her lower lip.

Out of all the nicknames and things Evan had been called over the years, this was definitely the best one he'd ever had.

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #imagine #911 imagine #buck imagine #bobby nash

421 notes · View notes

casiia · 1 year

Note

OMG OMG OKAY HEAR ME OUT. ghostface ethan edging reader after reader receives a phone call from him…!!?!?!?!!!

[ 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 ੈ✩‧₊˚ ]

pairing .: ethan landry x reader

genre .: suggestive content

word count .: 2k

warnings .: smut-ish (minors dni.), contains scream XI spoilers! scream plotline, threatening, mentions of a knife, soooo unedited, kissing, lingering touches, dry humping

author's note .: maybe planning on making another part to this <3 i have no idea if this is what was actually requested, but i had a lot of fun writing this! took a massive break from writing and i think i’m back, this is probably very ooc and might make no sense but i have zero experience writing thriller things like this idk. dialogue was used from the 1995 (or 7) scream movie. accepting constructive criticism, reblogs are appreciated.

“hey, pretty girl.”

pulling the phone away from your ear confused, you checked your screen to see who was on the other line, frowning slightly when you saw no contact.

“who is this?” setting the home phone back on it’s stand, you let the call ring out on speaker, turning your attention back to the stove.

“there’s no fun in telling you who i am just yet, why don’t you answer a few of my questions first.”

rolling your eyes, you shook the pot once more before turning to lean against the counter, the buttery smell of popcorn filling your nose. “why should i do that?” speaking over the loud crackles and pops coming from the fire, you moved around the island to grab a bowl.

“it’ll be fun. so tell me, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“hm, i don’t know.” pouring the yellow kernels into the large bowl, you popped a few pieces into your mouth with a satisfied hum. grabbing the phone and turning it off speaker, you pressed it between your ear and shoulder, balancing the device steadily. “maybe, halloween? think that’s the one where that guy stalks the babysitters.”

“you think it was scary?”

“i guess, anyways. tell me who you are now.” ungraciously falling onto the couch, you picked at the pieces of popcorn that had fallen into your lap, licking your lips with a smile as a salty taste covered your tastebuds.

“can’t do that princess, haven’t finished asking my questions.”

“then hurry up and ask them already.” annoyance showing on your face, you reached across the many throw pillows and grabbed the remote — clicking through the channels with disinterest, before going to browse your downloaded pick of scary movies.

“you got a boyfriend?”

eyebrows raising in shock, you stilled with a quiet laugh. “why, wanna ask me out on a date or what.” you teased the person on the other line, shifting in your seat as you began to ponder who you were really talking to.

“we’ll see, do you have a boyfriend?”

“no.” placing the overflowing bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, you stood to make way to your room, keeping the chunky phone against your ear.

“that’s a shame, such a pretty one you are.”

biting back a smile, you switched the light to your room on; bending down to open your drawer of pajamas, you tossed an oversized shirt onto your neatly made bed. “you gonna be this charming to me when i find out who you are?”

“maybe.”

“got anymore questions for me, or can i start guessing who this is.” unbuttoning your jeans, you kicked the pair of uncomfortable pants off . turning the speaker back on, you tossed the phone onto your pillow, pulling your tank top up and over your head before slipping on the big shirt.

“go ahead, you’re giving me such a good show.”

“what are you talking about?” picking up the dirty clothes that you had left stranded on your floor, you walked into your connecting bathroom, putting the clothes in your dirty hamper.

“hm, that’s a nice shirt you’re wearing. where did you get it?”

eyes widening in surprise, you slowly turned back into your bedroom, your knuckles white as you gripped onto the phone. “can you see me?”

“ah what a good girl! putting her brain to some use.”

“if you can really see me, how many fingers am i holding up?” walking up to your window, you peered outside trying to get a good look. sticking out your middle finger, you squinted as you stared into your dark backyard, trying to piece together unfamiliar shadows.

“funny, one.”

“shit.” shutting your blinds in hurry, you stumbled out of your room, quickly heading back downstairs. “who is this, jason?”

“from econ? no.”

“you better leave me alone, my boyfriend is coming over soon.” closing the blinds to your backdoor, you shuffled into your kitchen, grabbing a large knife. “he’s strong, s-so get out of here!”

“i thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“w-well i lied!” locking your front door, you turned down all the lights, curling into a corner, knife in hand. your breath was ragged, eyes darting from place to place in worry. “tell me who you are before i call the police.”

“quit being such a brat, the fun isn’t over just yet.”

chewing on your lip, tears lined your waterline as fear overtook you. anxiety creeping up your throat with every shallow breath you took. “this isn’t funny.” you flinched at the loud noise emitting from the buzzing device, a staticy and robotic laugh filling the eerily quiet apartment.

“you look so cute with that knife. what’re you gonna do, stab me?”

“show yourself, you coward!” standing from the hardwood floor, you paced around the kitchen, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill down your pink cheeks. frustration and anger burning in your chest, when the anonymous caller laughed again.

“careful what you wish for.”

a loud ringing echoes from the phone as the call ends, the wind whistling against the windows has you whipping your head to each sudden noise. pressing yourself up against the wall, the knife that you held a safe distance away from you.

“where are you, motherfucker.” your voice just barely above a whisper, you jumped at the sound of your doorknob rattling – a fist loudly knocking against the wood of your door. “go away! i’ll kill you.”

“baby? hey, what’s going on it’s just me.”

“ethan?” letting the knife drop to the marble of your kitchen countertop, you winced at the loud clang. running to your front door, you stood on the tip of your toes, peering through the peak hole to see your boyfriend awkwardly standing in front of you. twisting the lock, you threw the door open before jumping into his arms.

“what’s wrong? did you forget i was coming or something?” pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he circles his arms around your waist with a hesitant laugh.

“no- no. this guy just prank called me, i was so scared.” pressing your face into his shoulder, you gripped onto his coat, muffled sobs racking from your chest. “he saw me, ethan.”

“no, pretty, don't cry. i’m sure it was just some sick joke.” gently pulling you away from his tearstained coat, he cradled your face in the palm of his hand; wiping your wet cheeks, he pressed a light kiss in between your brows. “relax, no one’s gonna hurt you as long as i’m here.”

“can you stay the night?” leaning into his touch, you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you. “don’t think i can sleep without you.” twirling his thick brown hair between your fingers, you sighed heavily, relaxing in his embrace.

“of course, i was planning on it anyway.” adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he squeezed your hip once nudging you inside your apartment. “don’t want these creeps lookin at you, especially without pants.”

shaking your head with a smile, you wiped your remaining tears with the back of your hand, sniffling quietly and shuffling back inside. “lock it, please.” grabbing his bag, you tossed it onto the sofa, the sound of a lock clicking easing your shoulders.

“you were really scared, huh.” ethan laughs at the abandon knife on the counter, picking it up and putting it back with the other collection of cooking knives.

“i was, that was the creepiest interaction i’ve ever had.” dragging your hands down your face with a huff, you walked over to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his back. “y’should jus’ move in with me.” your words muffled, you felt his chest rise and fall with another laugh.

“i was the one that made that request, i’d rather live with you than chad.” he loosened your arms around him, dragging you around his body so you were caged between him and the counter. “i am really sorry you had to go through that, did you call the police?”

“no, i think there are worse things to worry about. it was just some silly call.” rubbing your arms nervously, you took a deep breath, reassuring yourself of any crazy thoughts. “i don’t want to talk about it anymore, how was your day?” pulling yourself up on the countertop, you shuddered lightly when your bare skin met with the cool marble.

“uninteresting, just caught up in some classes, i missed you a lot.” moving in between your legs, he dragged his fingers against your thigh, teasing the hem of your shirt higher up your leg. “is this mine? i’ve been looking for it.” inching his hand up your shirt, he squeezed your hip, his thumb trailing along the lace of your panties.

“mhm, it’s comfortable. didn’t think you’d miss it much.” sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest, drawing little circles into his shirt. looking up at him through your lashes, you licked your lips, your fingers settling at the base of his neck. “ethan…”

“what is it, baby.” bringing his other hand up to your cheek, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “want me to stop?” moving to retract his hand that found it’s way under your shirt, he looked down at you with worried eyes, scared that he had read the room wrong.

“no! no. i want you, ethan.” grabbing his wrist, you bring his large hands back to your body, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his collarbone. “do you— do you want me?” guiding his hands under your shirt, you whined softly, his cold fingers grazing your stomach.

“oh fuck.” mumbling under his breath, he pressed his lips to your forehead, glancing down at your exposed panties; pretty and pink, decorated with a white lace, a small bow stitched right in the center.

“gonna answer my question?” trailing along the seam of his belt, you played with the hem of his shirt, your lips lingering on his skin with every word you mumbled.

“i do, baby. let me make you feel good.” rubbing up and down your sides with a light chuckle, he gently patted your waist. “you deserve it, such a good girl.”

tugging at the collar of his thick coat, you pressed your soft lips to his with a happy hum, your fingers entangling in his curly brunette hair. swiping your tongue against his bottom lip, you brought your hand up to cup his jaw, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

ethan grinned against your lips, snaking his arm around your waist to grind his clothed crotch against your damp panties. “s’wet for me, haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

gasping into his mouth at the roll of his hips, you squeezed your thighs around his waist yearning for more. “please, ethan.” your words blurred together as you continued to kiss him – you tugged lightly on his hair with a mewl, the bulge showing in his jeans nudging your clit.

“so needy, can’t wait–”

a deafening ring cuts him off, his phone softly buzzing in the pocket of his jacket. letting your hands fall from his hair and atop of his shoulders, you shook your head with concern. “ethan, no.”

“relax, i bet it’s just chad.” giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the red phone. tilting his screen, he showed you the number on the screen, one that he had not previously saved. “recognize it?”

“no, i wasn’t shown a number.” anxiously playing with your fingers, you kept your eyes glued to the vibrating phone. “put it on speaker.”

nodding at your request, you watched him accept the call, letting it play out loud. “who is this?”

“hello, ethan. what’s your favorite scary movie?”

🏷 .: @loaksbitch @sullybby @vmptears my stinky ethan landry apologist

3K notes · View notes

solarsa1nt · 3 months

Text

𐚁֙࿐ APPEARANCES

ryōmen sukuna x fem!reader

Tags — fluff , cuddling , innate domain , soft sukuna

Notes — none

It's ironic, Y/N supposes.

How one of the most insufferable beings to her was the one who brings her the most comfort on nights like these.

There was an unspoken arrangement— Y/N wasn't sure how it even started, mostly remembering vague images through the tears that had blurred her vision that night.

Of the sea of blood that coated the ground beneath them, of the ribcage trapping them inside like the cage, of the soft white of the kimono she clung onto.

Y/N shifts her leg so her calf was no longer pressing into one of the sharp horns that constructed the throne they were atop of.

The arms around her waist tighten at the action, unconsciously pulling her closer as a small sigh leaves Y/N's lips.

She didn't even know Sukuna could sleep. Y/N thinks to herself, unamused gaze tracing over the curse's features— vaguely noting how they seemed sharper than Yuuji's.

Actually, he seemed to be overall different than Yuuji. Sure, it's undoubtable that they looked uncannily similar, but Sukuna makes Yuuji seem older— the way he wore Yuuji's skin was so different that after truly looking at him, it's a surprise that they're meant to be identical.

And their faces... Y/N raises a hand, curiosity making up her expression as she goes to grab his face— wanting to tilt it to get a better angle.

Her plans come screeching to a halt as a tattooed hand grabs her wrist.

The hold was tight, yet somehow not painful. Two red eyes peer open, the bottom pair narrowed at her as the main set stays closed.

"And what do you think you're doing, brat?"

Y/N stays silent, continuing to stare at him wordlessly as her lips part slightly in surprise before closing once again.

The top set of eyes eventually open to glare at her directly, puddles of red that showed mild annoyance mixed with something unreadable deep within them.

"..Your face is different from Yuuji's." Y/N voices her observation quietly, as if she were still only just processing that fact herself.

"Oh? And that's what made you grow bold enough to touch me without permission?" Sukuna questions, yet still lets go of her wrist, allowing it to fall between them.

The one hand still around her waist tightens, the other raising to lean his head against as he continues to stare at her.

Y/N blinks back at him with an unfazed expression, "Is it because of the amount of fingers he consumed? Can you alter your appearance— if so, why only slight changes? Could you return to your original appeara—"

"Enough questions." Sukuna cuts her off before she could voice the rest of her thoughts.

An agitated frown tugs on her lips, but Y/N remains reluctantly silent. She knew what limits she could and couldn't push— she couldn't bring herself to risk whatever was going on between them.

Moving his hand that was propping up his head, he pushes her head against his shoulder— momentary confusion stemming from Y/N before she decides just to accept whatever was happening.

He's comfortable, so who is she to complain?

Vaguely, Y/N wonders how anybody else would react if she told them about using the king of curses as a pillow— a comfortable pillow, at that.

Well, whatever, it's not like she plans on telling anybody about this. Ever.

© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad

#ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

413 notes · View notes

moethewriter · 4 months

Note

Could you do one for Finnick where no one knows they are together except close friends, we know katniss doesn’t like him much at first and the reader knows the rebellion plan and obviously Finnick so she doesn’t stop him from flirting with her and maybe(?) thinks it’s amusing because she knows why he’s doing it but it’s revealed in the arena they’re together and katniss is shocked

I hope you like it! I was excited to write it but I fear I made it far more angsty and less flirty than you would like! TITLE: A Lover's Cry WORD COUNT: 1.8k PAIRING: Finnick Odair x Reader WARNINGS: General hunger games violence, secret relationships, angst and multiple POV! (Katniss, Reader) TAGS: Let me know if I need to tag anything else! A/N: I actually really loved writing this one, and i hope you enjoy it despite only loosely basing it off your prompt! Thank you so much for the request and as always I take constructive critisicsm! Not beta read as usual! -

“So what’s with those two?” Katniss questioned, pointing towards the screen.

She had watched Haymitch flick through the tributes, giving her and Peeta the basics on everyone who was going into the arena. Two had caught her eyes immediately, Finnick Odair from District 4, and Y/N L/N from District 8. She knew their names, their faces but she didn’t know anything about their skills or who they were. But both seemed far too polished, posh and pretty standing in front of their respective crowds. It seemed like they were ready to head back in there, almost like they wanted too.

Haymitch turned towards the television.

“Finnick Odair and Y/N L/N.” He stated, watching the scenes of people he knew, waving towards the crowd of people. Picture perfect smiles adorning their faces.“The Capitol Darlings, everyone loves them … and people to watch out for. Finnick Odair, the youngest Victor in history at only fourteen and Y/N L/N took the top spot for kills from Beetee during her games. Took out nine people in one go. Extremely humble” He shook his head, remembering the brutality.

Katniss made a face. “You’re kidding right?” She snorted.

“Yes, I’m kidding.” Haymitch rolled his eyes. “They’re both peacocks, preeners … The Capitol loves their charm and friendship. They have a lot of support. They would make good allies … but deadly competition.” Haymitch explained.

“Weaknesses?” Peeta questioned, leaning towards his mentor.

“Finnick will have Mags in there, she basically raised him. He’ll want to protect her in whatever ways he can” Haymitch told them, taking a seat. “Y/N … far too trusting at heart and will do anything to protect them both. She’d rather see herself die than her friends.” He stated.

Katniss simply nodded.

Katniss walked into the training room, and scanned her surroundings … She didn’t know these Victors well enough to decide who she wanted to align herself with. According to Haymitch … to make it through the Quarter Quell, she and Peeta needed strong allies. Though she knew deep down the only one she could truly depend on was Peeta.

Katniss walked towards the bow and arrows laying on the table when she heard the sound of a faint giggle, something she thought she would never hear. She looked up, and her eyes moved around the room … finally they landed on the culprit. She frowned at the sight as she watched a blush rise on Y/N’s face. It wasn’t from endurance training, but from Finnick Odair.

Katniss had not taken Finnick, refused to, even … he was far too cocky for her taste and she didn’t want him anywhere near her. But Y/N seemed almost enamoured by him … like she liked … whatever the hell was going on.

Katniss made a mental note of the two, as she headed towards Mags … she would keep that to herself for now. She needed to make some friends here, and Katniss thought that Mags would be a good start.

“You’re going to get us caught, Finnick.” You blushed, pushing him away as you headed in the opposite direction. “Play it cool, Odair … can’t have everyone knowing about us.” You whispered.

“Sorry.” Finnick put his hands up in defence, a small smile lacing his features. “I’ll try to tone it down but looking at you … that’s going to be hard to do.”

“Zip it.” You made the motion of your lips. “We’ve got training to do.” You told him, gesturing towards the room.

Everyone else was laser focused on honing their skills, making it known that they were not to be messed with in the Games. But you two were simply goofing off, and giggling like two schoolgirls who had gossip that no one else knew. You were certain that Snow wasn’t pleased, nor was the new Game Maker but you were in your world. Finnick had always made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand.

You and Finnick had been together for three years. During the 71st Hunger Games you had both been mentors for your respective Districts, and he had confessed to you. It was strange … so confusing to find love in the hardship of the Games but you wouldn’t trade that for the world. You loved him more than anything and he loved you right back. Long distance had been hard at first but you made it work, you would always make it work for him.

“Find me later?” He asked.

“I know your room number.” You said, smiling towards him.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to go back in there.” You whispered, snuggling closer to Finnick.

You knew the plan, and you knew you had to get Katniss and Peeta out of that arena. Plutarch and Haymitch had made that abundantly clear. There was a Rebellion and Plutarch was on your side, he was hiding in plain sight, ready to take down The Capitol. You jumped at the chance to join, even if that meant sacrificing your own life. Finnick had agreed immediately once he knew you were joining. He had always shared your sentiments about having a better future for everyone.

You wanted a better life, a quiet life with him and you would fight for that every single day. You finally had your chance, and you had no idea if it was going to work but you had to try, you had to fight.

“I know.” He whispered, his thumb gliding across your hip. “I’m not either.”

“When we’re in there …” You muttered, kissing his jaw. “You have to remember that Katniss and Peeta are the most important ones there. Okay? You have to protect them first and everything else comes later.”

He smelt like vanilla, probably from the soap supplied from The Capitol, but it was so soothing to you.

“I … I don’t know if I can do that.” Finnick said, plainly. “I know this Rebellion is important … I know that they are important but they’re not the most important things to me, Y/N. You and Mags will always be far more important than some Rebellion.”

“Finnick.” You felt the lump rise in your throat.

This could be the last time that you two were together, and you weren’t handling it well. You knew you would never be safe again after winning The Games. You were well aware that you would never have peace again, but you didn’t think you would be in this position ever again. You certainly didn’t want to be here with Finnick.

“Let’s just be together right now.” He said, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s pretend that nothing is going to happen tomorrow and we're just laying under the stars and nothing is going to go wrong.” His breathing started to even out, and his heartbeat steadied your own.

“Okay.” You whispered, desperately swallowing. “Okay.”

“Finnick! Katniss!” You cried, chasing them into the woods, Johanna and Peeta on your tail.

The Games hadn’t been going as planned.

First you had been separated from Finnick, which had caused you great distress. You ended up pairing with Johanna, Beetee and Wiress, fighting your way through blood rain and wild beasts.

Then you had lost both Wiress and Mags. You had lost so many who joined The Rebellion, you watched the announcements every night and flinched whenever a cannon fired, wondering if you were losing a friend or foe. But you didn’t have time to grieve either of them, so much was at stake. You had to make it through another night to ensure that you would be saved. Giving up when you were so close wasn’t an option

But God you were so tired.

Then … the jabberjays started.

You hated jabberjays.

They hadn't been used during your games, but you knew they tortured anyone who listened.

You had stepped out to find something food for everyone, and Beetee volunteered to come with you. You were all hungry, and getting weaker, especially after the fight at the cornucopia. You needed some sort of energy, and you weren’t going to see anyone die of starvation.

You had been gone for maybe twenty minutes when you heard Katniss scream, shortly followed by Finnick. Fear had seized your heart, as you wasted no time chasing the sounds, Beetee desperately calling for you.

You weren’t afraid to fight whatever threat was out there … especially when Finnick’s life was on the line. You would gladly die if it meant he lived.

You had met up with everyone, chasing down the other two and when you had found them, screaming, Jabberjays fluttering above them … your voice crying for help … you had cried, desperately trying to reach Finnick but to no avail.

He and Katniss were trapped, writhing on the ground … sobbing and there was nothing you could do but wait.

It had been horrible to watch, you could only imagine what they were experiencing.

You didn’t care who knew anymore, you would scream from the rooftops that you were in love with Finnick, if that meant he would be okay. You needed him to be okay.

It seemed like hours before the Jabberjays had flown away, and you had run to his side in an instant. Holding him close to you, assuring him that you were okay.

“Y/N?” His voice sounded so goddamn small.

“I’m here baby.” You whispered, into his ear, gently rocking the man. “I am here, and I am okay. You’re okay.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead.

You were well aware of the shocked eyes on you, no one but Johanna knew anything about the two of you, and you met the brown eyes of Katniss. She seemed the most shocked out of anyone here. You knew she didn’t particularly like Finnick, she had only really met the persona he portrayed to the world. She didn’t know him like you did, you knew his heart.

“Everything is going to be okay.” You told him. “It’s going to be all okay.”

“He loves them.” Katniss said after a moment of silence, watching the two figures in the water.

She wondered how she could have missed it, all the signs were there yet she had been shocked. She didn’t understand the two, probably never would but that wasn’t really any of her concern.

“Yeah.” Johanna nodded. “They do. They’ve been through a lot together, I’ve known for a long time that those two were together. It’s disgusting really how much they love each other, they would quite literally kill for one another. Can’t blame them though, when you find someone like that you keep them close to your heart.” She shrugged.

“I never thought …” Katniss trailed off.

“That anyone could ever love someone that much?” Johanna questioned, crossing her arms. “Well believe it, Katniss, because it’s right there.”

Katniss moved her gaze away from Johanna and back towards the water, the kiss was short and sweet but in that moment she knew that nothing could break those two apart. Nothing would, and they had something worth fighting for.

#moeswriting #writing #hunger games #the hunger games #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #angst #fluff #katniss everdeen #johanna mason

564 notes · View notes

qwimchii · 6 months

Text

𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴 (pt 2) — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

pt 1 pt 2 pt 3 pt 4 pt 5

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 —𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦 𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦. 𝘸𝘤 — 3.1k

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘸𝘸 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘳𝘯𝘯𝘯, 𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘶𝘮𝘢 & 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘵𝘺(𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘭𝘮𝘢𝘰), 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳

you left that meeting without exchanging a word with Simon. he didn’t seem to mind.

by the time you had left, he was swarmed by the girls at the meeting, all curious and wanting his attention. Maya included, much to Sarah’s amusement. not to yours at all.

the rest of the meeting had been a drone of done anything fun for the past week? have you set any new routines and practices? have you been utilizing any constructive coping strategies we learned about in your routines?

that was usually your favorite part about the meeting. with Simon’s presence a steaming reek right in your peripheral, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you couldn’t get out more than a choked i’ve been good.

although, in comparison, Kate could barely coax a word from Simon. most of his responses came in the form of a blink, a shrug, or shifting in that rickety, creaking chair.

walking down the familiar road to the church, this time mid-day, but the air just as cutting and cold, you pulled out your phone to mull over the brief text conversation between yourself and Simon.

-1pm tmrw church

-Sure.

and that was that. Kate had practically strangled you over a phone call to actually text the thing and agree on a place and time to meet to plan for the upcoming fall projects.

your eyes ran over the phone screen again.

Sure.

you rolled your eyes. even that response felt arrogant and asshole-ish.

you knew your mind, in all its immaturity, was twisting the text and pulling it apart, trampling it, and spitting it back out. you knew because it was something Kate chided you about time and time again.

you couldn’t find it in you to care.

you pushed through the doors of the church, entering the chapel, descending down the stairs, to find Simon brooding by the double-doors of the meeting room.

he was leaned back against the faded walls, donning that all-black attire, hood up and masked, earbuds in and eyes closed. he looked virtually the same as he had only several days ago, save for the black baseball cap peeking out of his hood.

as you neared, you swallowed hard, stomach flurrying erratically. you probably would’ve turned tail and ditched him if his eyes didn’t snap open, pushing off the wall and arms stiff by his side.

you stopped when there was an awkwardly marginal distance between the two of you.

“hi.”

silence.

you fumbled with your phone with a sigh, scrolling through the document Kate shared with you, squinting at the screen, and wholly ignoring Simon’s dark eyes on you.

every year, the city hosts a community-led halloween festival for children with table events, performers, music, mini-haunted houses, and more. it stretches for a couple blocks and wraps around the church—where you and Simon had been assigned pumpkin carving and costume coordination by Kate.

“so we’ve got pumpkin carving and—”

“costume coordination,” he finished, hands clenched by his sides. you eyed his gloves curiously, then roamed up to his masked face.

with a bitterness, you realized he kind of looked like a serial killer. but, biting down on your tongue, you chose not to speak on it, only pocketed your phone with a nod.

“right. costumes this way,” you gestured down the hallway, and Simon fell into step just a few strides behind you.

to fill the terse silence, you fumbled around for small talk.

“so you got a day job?”

if he had agreed to meet at one o’clock on a weekday, you assumed his military job might be something with a peculiar irregularity, much to your chagrin. you had hoped he would say no to the meeting.

but he just shook his head. “i’m on leave. been here since last week.”

your heart soared, and you bit down on your lip to smother a smile as you opened the door at the end of the hallway. “does that mean you’ll be going back soon?”

flicking on the flights, the storage room flooded with an artificial fluorescent glare. you reached for a familiar storage container beneath a table covered with dusty white sheets. hauling it towards you, you paused when you realized Simon hadn’t followed you into the room.

you looked over your shoulder. he stared back at you from where his massive frame crowded the doorway, hands clenched by his sides.

you swallowed hard. you were alone in this church with Simon. just you and a man.

and he was blocking the only exit.

an alarming flash ran through you—hot and sharp and leaving you breathless.

“did i do something?”

you stood, steadying your labored breath like Kate had taught you.

“yes.”

he stared at you for a long moment before huffing out, eyes flashing as he stepped into the room and away from the entrance. you exhaled, rough and shaky.

that burn of his prying gaze built a familiar anger in your lungs, and you eyed him with narrowed eyes. “what?”

he shook his head, bending down for a box beside yours. “nothing.”

you cocked your head. “something funny?”

“no.” he rose to his full height, a box between his hands, and head craned as he looked down at you. dark eyes murky and quiet.

your hands balled into fists. he really was massive.

“you’re just bad at lying.”

your brow furrowed and he gestured with a dip of his head towards your stance, and your gaze followed his, down to the stiffness of your body and your hands clenched in your pockets.

you blinked. when had you done that?

immediately, you jerked them out of your pockets and smoothed your clammy hands down your thighs.

“let’s just—” you cleared your throat, turning back to the boxes, “—let’s just get this over with and leave.”

you could see Simon’s stare from your peripheral. “alright.”

carrying the boxes down the hallway, his footsteps those eerie quiet thuds behind you, you turned to push through the door with your back and strode to settle the box at the center of the floor, rummaging through the contents and spreading them out over the carpet. you picked up a little black number draped with longer, jagged pieces along its hems. a child size witch’s dress.

Simon settled beside you a comfortable distance away, watching your movement with a careful eye.

“okay so—” you turned the dress over in your hands, inspecting its light wear and tear, “—i’ll take half of the costumes to sew. you take the other half to work on and next meeting we’ll—”

the deep timbre of his voice cut you off. “sew?”

the words died in your throat, head whipping to Simon who held up a toddler’s pumpkin costume that was dwarfed by the size of his hands.

you struggled for words, choking out, “you don’t know how to sew?”

his eyes met yours. “not clothing.”

flabbergasted, you pressed, “and Kate assigned you to costume coordination?”

he nodded, beginning to pull out his phone and show you Kate’s document you presumed, but you waved a hand at him, a new berth of stress weighing down your shoulders.

“no, no it’s fine just…” you held your forehead, jaw clenched tight. “i’ll teach you.”

speaking it was like a death sentence, and you only wallowed in your own self-pity. how could Kate do this to you?

everyone assigned costume coordination had to know how to sew. it was part of the requirements.

unless Kate pulled some strings.

you watched Simon spread out the costumes over the carpet like you had.

“did Kate put you up to this?”

Simon didn’t even pause to acknowledge you, picking at the garments until they were in neat rows.

“no.”

“so you joined the group… on your own accord?” the idea of it was staggering. Simon had looked downright trodden when sharing about himself with the group—not giving up much more than that he watched tv sometimes and read books sometimes. which, in your opinion, was what most people did in their freetime.

“not exactly,” he said, voice gruff, and you eyed him for a long moment before sighing, careful not to push him further.

you reached over for the costumes of his that needed the most attention. “i’ll take the most beat up ones—”

he ignored you, eyes trained on the clothes. “no. we’re a team. i can pull my weight.”

a bitter taste flooded your mouth. team.

“right, well, there are lots of youtube tutorials.”

he just nodded, gathering up the items and throwing them back in the box.

you heaved a sigh. “i’m assuming you don’t have sewing supplies?”

“i can buy some.”

you shook your head. “no need. next meeting i can bring some of mine. i have extra.”

“thought you said we needed to work on them by next meeting?”

his question was pure but it still set that irked fire rolling through your stomach. shoving the costumes back into your box, you mourned his attention to detail. you always thought he was only half-listening.

with your long silence, he offered, “i’ll buy some supplies.”

that ugly feeling trickled down to your chest. guilt. regret. “no just…”

you screwed your eyes shut, like couldn’t believe you were saying this.

“i live just down the block. just come to my place now and i can give you some if you really want to get a head start.”

you ignored his curious gaze as you picked up the box, and trudged your way out of the meeting room.

“alright.”

he followed you.

the entire walk to your apartment was silent.

a creeping awkward, muddled feeling prickled along your spine. it was almost unbearable, but the crunch of fallen leaves underfoot was more comforting than scrambling around for small talk.

arms beginning to ache with the effort of carrying the box of costumes, you felt a burst of relief at the sight of your brick red apartment complex just ahead. your steps quickened now, and you didn’t bother to see if Simon was following you closely or not. from the sound of his slow breath just beyond your shoulder, with a shudder, you could assume that he was.

you hopped up the steps, putting down the box and fumbling around in your bag for the keys to shove them into the old lock, scrambling around with half-frozen hands till it gave way. you stepped inside, not waiting to hold the door open for him as you rubbed your arms with a shudder. the heat blasted your numb face in the entrance hall, the white radiator working furiously by the door.

“cold?”

you jolted, turning sharply to him as he closed the door, looking completely content after walking a block in such low temperatures. maybe, you were just being overdramatic. or maybe it was because Simon was wearing a good couple more layers than you were.

“yeah,” you said, “are you not?”

he just shrugged. “got used to it from work.”

you found that strangely ominous, so you just gave him a curt nod in reply, picking up the box of costumes and turning to walk up the creaky stairs to the upper floor of the old building. you strode down the carpeted hall till you reached a faded red door.

your jerked your head to it, mumbling awkwardly, this is my place, before struggling with the keys again to open it. strangely, your heart thudded against your rib cage during the movements, prickling at the thought of his dark eyes watching you.

when you pushed the heavy door open, shoving your foot in the crack, you took one look inside and decided that you didn’t want Simon stepping anywhere near your home. especially not if you were alone. especially not if you were alone with a man.

“uh…” you trailed off, mouth opening and closing, then turning to him, leaning against the wall casually, then looked away, unable to make eye contact.

he shifted in your peripheral. “i’ll wait out here.”

you almost jolted at that, an airy bubble of shock breaking into your words as you gave him a wide-eyed stare. “are you sure?”

he nodded and you mumbled a slow apology, stepping inside your apartment with the box of costumes and letting the front door glide shut. that was… strange.

with a hefty sigh, you put down the box on the kitchen table, brushing the feeling away, and stripped yourself of your jacket, moving into your bedroom.

you pulled open the drawers of the storage containers on your desk, shuffling around for extra sewing supplies that you could spare and shoving them all into an extra bag that you didn’t use anymore. that bag happened to be an old, pink hello kitty zip-up pouch from middle school.

you hoped Simon wouldn’t be too irked by it as you zipped it up, then chided yourself for caring if he felt mad at you at all.

at that, you paused at your desk, fingers fiddling with the zipper as your mind whizzed through some thoughts. Simon hadn’t made any unnecessary advancements towards you. he hadn’t waltzed into your home like it was your own. he hadn’t pushed your boundaries when you obviously displayed them. he didn’t dump the workload on you because Kate had given him an assignment out of his skillset.

he wasn’t even that talkative. you couldn’t even imagine him as being touchy. in fact, he was a good four feet from you at almost all times.

except when you were in that church basement.

you steadied yourself with deep, slow inhales, just like Kate had taught you. was this what Kate meant by trying to get better? forcing you to work with a man who she knew wouldn’t cross your boundaries?

and what did that mean for Simon? did he have something to work out over being near… women?

your support group specialized in a range of things. mostly, victims of sexual trauma. though, not all girls in the group came for that reason.

there was a bitter taste in your mouth. for some reason, it hadn’t dawned on you that Simon might’ve come, albeit seemingly dragged along by Kate, to the group for the same reason as you.

as a victim of sexual trauma.

you cursed Kate and all her conspiring, reverse-psychology, psychic plans, quickly striding from your bedroom to the front door. you paused at the entrance, hand twitching over the knob, before twisting the door open with an apology already on your lips.

the words died in your throat at the sight of your new, brutish neighbor just steps from the door, conversing with Simon in an excited, low voice.

when he noticed you, a smile bloomed across his face. “hey, lass! how’re ye doin’?”

you almost withered. this was exactly the kind of men you avoided. talkative and touchy.

you cracked the door open a little wider, but not enough so that he could pull you into a friendly hug like he had done a couple days ago without warning. the memory of it had you in shivers behind the shield of the door.

Simon stood with crossed arms a step away from your neighbor, eyeing you with a dark curiosity that you chose to ignore.

“Johnny,” you chewed out, skipping any formalities. though it didn’t matter, because no matter how rude you could get, the scot would beam at you anyways.

“i was just talkin’ to yer friend here,” he said, slapping Simon on the back, who didn’t even flinch. “we’re coworkers! who would’ve guessed?”

he laughed, long and hearty, and you grimaced. “great.”

snaking a hand out of the crack of your front door, you handed the hello kitty pouch to Simon. the black mask shrouded half his face, but from the way his brows pinched together, eyes flitting up in a hard glance before glaring back down at the pink, worn thing, you thought he seemed irked. swallowing, you felt an ounce of guilt as Johnny watched the whole interaction with glee.

“i ken ye’ were a hello kitty guy, Ghost.”

“fuckin’ hell, Johnny,” he grumbled under his breath, snatching up the pouch from your hand.

you almost felt bad as Simon shoved it into the pocket of his sweatshirt, feeling as though you may have opened up a slew of new ways for Johnny to poke at Simon.

he turned sharply on his heel, looking like he was escaping the conversation just as much as you wanted to right now but—

you pushed open the door a tad wider, knocking into Johnny carelessly, who blundered back with a surprised oof.

“wait!”

Simon slowly turned, peering at you from over his shoulder.

you hesitated, knowing Johnny’s eyes were picking apart the situation with an intense scrutiny that made you feel like shrinking into dust.

“i…”

you thought back to how you had felt a few minutes ago—the apology extracted from the simmering guilt in your gut. you looked over Simon, the tall, muscular strength of him, and felt something dark and wet twist your heart.

maybe not guilt, but sympathy.

the words of apology were on your lips, but you could see Johnny leaning forward into your peripheral, so instead you said, “are you busy tomorrow?”

he blinked at you. “no.”

“do you live far from here?”

“ten minutes by walk.”

not far at all, you realized, with a breath of relief. “there’s a cafe on the corner of smith and wellerstation. i work till six. i can teach you how to sew then.”

he just stared at you. “you don’t have to.”

i want to, you wanted to say.

but you never worked well with words or apologies, and after observing Simon, just in the short time you had met him, he seemed to share somewhat of the same qualities.

“just be there,” you shot out quickly with an annoyed flush, and then slammed the door shut.

standing in your apartment for a moment, a silence filling the air, you deliberated before shoving the door open again, nearly missing Johnny by a hair.

he startled when you stuck your head out to peer at him.

“have a good evening,” you snapped, and he opened his mouth to say something, maybe shocked because you had never taken such formality to be nice to him before, but you shut the door in his face before he could get anything out.

finally, at peace and alone in your own apartment, you trudged over to grab the box of costumes and hauled it by your couch before stepping into your bedroom to snatch up the bag of your sewing supplies.

you sank onto the couch with a deep sigh, fiddled with the remote to switch on an episode of that new k-drama on netflix.

restitching the fraying seams of the little witch dress, eyes flitting between the fabric in your hands and the tv screen, as much as you bit back the thoughts with your lower lip trapped beneath your teeth, your mind drifted far away to think of the man you’d be teaching to sew tomorrow.

this chapter is pretty short and not interesting imo, but just wait till the next one oml 😵‍💫 shit goes down

wait also please ignore the gaping, massive plot holes in this story. half of it doesn’t really make any sense but likkkeeeee Simon x halloween x therapy support group had me in a chokehold… it’s giving the faults in our stars or smth but i love writing this au

i say that: 1. kate has retired/stopped working in military 2. i really dont know if this is taking place in america or uk bc in my head its very much america w like halloween type stuff and all the minor characters are american in my brain so pls just ignore everything that does not make sense ty 😇 3. oh also i like to think that johnny moved near simon just to terrorize him 😇 4. ok anyways ive been rambling on for so long i hope you enjoy this part!! 💞

taglist: @kenma-izhu @actuallyhiswife@froggielottiee @neenieweenie @delaynew @ilovehyperfixating @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @tomorrowseverything @moonlqths@ivybeeloved @babygirl-riley @keiva1000 @arminarlertssword @crowbird @jasonloveclub @karurururu

@embers-of-alluring @newsies-pape-girl @suhmie @amberpanda99 @mystsee @cosmoscoffeee @hunterofhonor @wawuwe @kunikku @corvusmorte @hearts4sky @aloudplace @justletmelivethanks @shadowdaddysposts @leclercdream @ayanokomu @thedevillovesflowers @moonstonedeluluera

1K notes · View notes

angels-fantasy · 1 month

Text

Sweet Confessions

Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Description : After a night out with friends, Bakugou decides to tell you something while you two are eating sweet pastries.

Details : 1.8k words, friends to lovers, cussing, reader and bakugou are over 21! readers looks are not specified in any way, but she is a woman. small mention of alcohol.

this is my first fanfic ever, so please be kind! constructive criticism is welcome :)

When Bakugou received a text message from Kirishima inviting him out to eat with the bunch of other idiots, he immediately declined. Though this was nothing new, and it was something his red-haired friend was already expecting. Which is why he had Mina execute plan b.

Raccoon Eyes

Yo Bakugou! Come out with us tonight. You're always locked away in your apartment. Let loose a little!

Bakugou glared at his phone and typed out a message.

Hell no.

UGH BAKUGOU!! You're literally no fun. I can't believe you'd miss out on the opportunity to see this cutie -.-

A few seconds later, a picture was sent. When Bakugou opened it, he saw that it was a picture of you. He brought his phone closer to his face and looked it over carefully. He noticed you were dressed for the occasion, like everyone else in the background, and you were smiling widely at the camera. Mina probably told you to pose.

He must've been looking at your photo for too long because another text from Mina came in.

You drooling or what lover boy? Hurry up and get here so you can make a move already. We all know you like her 🙄.

Bakugou felt his face flush. It was true, he did have a crush on you. And though he never verbally admitted it to anyone, they all saw right through him. Except you, of course.

He clicked his tongue and typed up a quick response before beginning to get ready.

Shut up. I'll be there in 30.

"Woo! We got him!" Mina cheered, leaning across the table to high-five Kirishima.

You looked between them suspiciously, "What are you guys plotting?"

The pink woman had the audacity to look nervous. "Nothing! Don't worry about it."

"Yeah, okay."

As Mina and Kirishima kept whispering to each other, you squirmed in your seat. You knew the other pro heroes at the table fairly well, but not enough to just strike up a conversation like you would with Mina.

"Hey pretty, what do you look so nervous for?"

You turned to the left and were faced with a yellow haired man.

"Oh, hi Kaminari. I'm not nervous, just hungry. They're taking a little long to bring out the food. Don't you think?" You lied.

Thankfully he was kind of an airhead. "Oh yeah I know right! I'm starving. I'm gonna go ask how much longer!" He said and got up out of his seat, leaving you alone again.

You sighed and took a sip of your drink. Since Mina and Kirishima were too busy talking to each other, and you didn't want to bother talking to anyone else you decided to scroll mindlessly on your phone.

Some time later, the empty seat next to you was pulled out and sat in by Bakugou himself.

Your ears got hot at the sight of him. It wasn't the first time you'd met him, you two were good friends after all. But you never got used to how handsome he was. It was like he got better looking everyday. You began to wonder what he looks like under that button up-

"Hey nightlight, what're you staring at huh?" He asked, snapping you out of your trance.

"Shut up! I told you to stop calling me that." You said with false annoyance.

"It ain't my fault your quirk makes you a nightlight." He smirked. You scrunched your nose to hide your laugh, but unknowingly failed since Bakugou still saw it.

His nickname for you was completely harmless, and came from your quirk which allowed you to produce light from your hands. It wasn't anything comparable to a pro hero's quirk, but it did have its uses.

"Kacchan you made it!" Midoriya exclaimed with his big smile.

Bakugou clicked his tongue, "Shut it nerd, or else I'll leave. Give me a menu, yeah?"

Midoriya laughed off his words and passed him a menu, used to his harsh way of speaking.

Dinner went on without any problems, and the food was delicious. Everyone around the table cracked jokes, brought up old memories, and some people had even began drinking alcohol, including you.

Your drink wasn't very strong, but the few you had was enough to have you a little tipsy. Thankfully, you took an uber to the restaurant, so you didn't have to worry about driving.

During dinner, you and Bakugou engaged in a conversation. Mostly about his hero work and the villains he had caught recently.

Once everyone finally finished their food and drinks, they had all begun to leave. Slowly leaving one by one, some in pairs as well.

While you grabbed your stuff, you got on your phone to call for an uber but got interrupted by Bakugou talking to you.

"How you gettin' home nightlight? You better not even think about driving after drinking." He warned.

You brushed him off, "I'm taking an uber, don't worry!"

He grunted in agreement and was silent for a moment before saying, "I'll give you a ride home. C'mon."

"No it's okay! I can just take the uber home. Besides, didn't you drink too?"

"Hell no I didn't. It's not my thing. Just hurry up and accept my offer alright? This is the only time I'll be this nice."

You smiled at his words, knowing he was lying when he said this was the only time he'd be nice.

"Alright then, let's go!"

He smirked and held out a hand for you to hold, which you did while he walked you to his car. He made sure you didn't fall on the way there, and even opened the door for you.

"Wow what a gentleman you are. Do you open doors for all the ladies?" You teased.

"Nah, so consider it special treatment for you Nightlight."

You smiled shyly and wiggled your feet a bit after he shut your door and got into his own seat.

The ride to your house was quiet, except for the occasional small talk. But it wasn't awkward or uncomfortable. It was a comforting feeling for the both of you.

When he pulled up to your place, you turned to him to say goodbye, but instead you said "Um, do you wanna come inside with me? I have some pastries I made earlier..."

He laughed lightly at your words, "Sure, but be ready for me to critique the hell out of those pastries."

You led him inside where you both took off your shoes and coats. You ushered him to sit on the couch and relax while you went to go prepare some drinks and the pastries for the two of you.

While you were gone for a few minutes, Bakugou couldn't help but think about how he was actually inside your house. It wasn't the first time he'd been there, but it was the first time he'd been there alone. Just you and him.

In the midst of his thinking, he felt his phone buzz and he looked at it to see a message from Kirishima.

Shitty Hair

I see you left with your little nightlight ;) Better make a move while you have the chance!!

Bakugou huffed and sent a middle finger emoji, then silenced his phone. He didn't need any distractions.

Finally, you came from the kitchen with a tray in your hands and placed it on the coffee table.

"Here they are! My babies. I hope they're still good, considering they're not as fresh as they were this morning." You said nervously while sitting down next to him.

Bakugou hummed and grabbed a pastry, biting into it. You watched silently as he chewed and swallowed it, anticipating his reaction.

He bit it again, "S' good."

You smiled, "I'm glad you like it. That means a lot coming from you, Bakugou. Your cooking is so good!"

He turned away with a red face, "Of course it is. I'm the best at everything. And why don't you call me Katsuki? We've known each other for years now."

"Oh, I didn't realize you felt that way. Sorry Baku-erm, Katsuki. I just thought you didn't want anyone to call you that, especially since Kirishima doesn't even call you that..."

"Tsk, I feel a lot of ways. You just don't know about it."

Your interest peaked at his words. "Oh yeah? Then would you do the honors by telling me how you feel Katsuki?" You teased.

Bakugou felt himself hesitate before speaking, which is something he never did. Gosh, he couldn't believe this is how he was going to confess to you.

"I like you, idiot."

Your smile fell and your expression formed into one of pure confusion. "What?"

Damn. Maybe that wasn't the right move.

He began to panic and sat up quickly, "Ugh, nothing. Forget about it-"

"No! I'm not forgetting about that." You said while grabbing his hand, pulling him back down onto the couch.

As he sat down next to you in silence, you kept his hand in yours. "You like me Katsuki?"

He huffed and turned away. "So what if I do? It doesn't matter-"

You grew frustrated at his words. "Of course it matters! Stop acting like this is nothing. I need you to talk to me seriously, because I don't want to get my hopes up..."

He looked back at you, only to see your eyes watering. "Hey wait-don't cry. Shit. I'm real fuckin' bad at this, ain't I?"

You laughed and sniffled, "Yeah, a little."

He sighed and squeezed your hand that was holding his.

"I uh, I do really like you. I have for a while. I just didn't wanna fuck up what we already had-" He was cut off by you throwing your arms around his neck tightly.

"You big dummy. I can't believe you thought you'd mess things up."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he still wrapped his arms around your waist. He stayed quiet to listen to what you had to say.

"I actually like you too, y'know. I have for a while now."

He smirked and hugged you tighter. "Thank god. I was almost afraid you'd run out on me."

You snorted and pulled away slowly. "No way in hell would I do that. I just didn't know how to tell you..."

He threw an arm around you and said, "Well I'm glad ya did. 'Cause you're my girl now."

"Don't I get any say in this?" You asked jokingly.

"Nah, you agreed when you said you liked me back."

Extra:

That night, Katsuki decided to sleepover at your place since you two had already made it official. You lent him some mens pajamas you had since you were sure they'd fit him, which he fussed about because he assumed they belonged to another man.

"No Katsuki, these are actually mine believe it or not."

"Tsk, good. If I ever find any other loser's shit in here I'll blow it up."

#@angels fantasy #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #my hero academia #mha bakugou #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #mha fluff

378 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sister!Reader

A/N: Writing Nesta post-acosf is so confusing so I apologise if she’s a little ooc!

Word Count: 5,552

-Part 7- -🌌🌠- -Part 9-

It’s been while since you last ate with all of them.

Even so, the atmosphere is familiar. Jovial. Pleasant enough you can allow yourself to slip into spectation, vanishing in your mind’s eyes, becoming an observer without presence. Shadows flicker at the corner of your vision, and you’re brought back down to reality.

The restaurant lights are warm and yellowy, a magic barrier constructed at the room’s border to keep the temperature pleasantly mild, inky darkness swirling just beyond the threshold. Candles flicker, almost in time with his shadows. It’s hard to tell when natural darkness ends and his begins. But he doesn’t really like it when people stare at them, so you avert your eyes. Scratch the backs of your hands beneath the table, softened a little by cream.

By what you can only assume was a stroke of bad luck—or good, depending how you want to feel for the rest of the night—everyone had already settled into the dinner by the time you arrived, leaving a single seat open. Yes, you could’ve pulled over a chair, or requested one to be magically summoned, but that would be drawing attention to the issue, which would undoubtedly make the ineffable off-ness of your relationship with him that much more blatant.

So there he is, a steady presence to your left, situated at one end of the table. Elain to your right. How unfortunate. Or lucky, depending on the angle.

Take a sip of your water, unsticking your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Lean slightly over to your sister. “Have I missed anything?” Cocoa flick to you, warm and soft in the mellow light, a little tired. Half-circles beneath her eyes. “Nothing much. I was planning on visiting Lucien again—hopefully within the week.” She answers mildly, a faint smile in her eyes. “There’s also a possibility of Nesta going over to have a look at the libraries in the Day Court.”

“Woah,” you mumble. “Looking for anything in particular, or simply for recreation?”

Elain shrugs, eyes flicking across the table. “Ask her,” she says simply.

Spine stiffens.

With fae hearing, plus the close proximity, there’s a high chance everyone heard that exchange. Refusing to do so will only draw more attention. You shoot Elain a reproachful look for putting you in this situation but she smiles encouragingly.

You find the elegant shape of your eldest sister a little further down the table—across and two over. Opposite Cassian who is beside Elain. Sharp eyes flit to your own a second after you’ve sought her out—she definitely heard. At least you didn’t vocalise any dismay over the forced interaction.

“Day Court?” You inquire, raising your brows in interest. She nods, lips parting in a smile, “quite the trip, isn’t it.” You laugh—trying to remember where the Day Court is in conjunction with Night. Come up short. “Already read through all the books here?” You reply, trying to keep the conversation fluid. Gaze absently flicks over the various plates and trays of food, picking out the things you’d like to try. A waft of something delicious floats down the table—a covered bowl sits between Rhys and Feyre. Soup, most likely. It has your mouth watering from the scent alone. Would be divine with some buttered bread.

“Nowhere near,” she responds, still smiling. “But there’s a particular author we’re after, and I’d like to see if I can find more of his books in those libraries.” You hum, nodding your head in acknowledgement. “Different from The Runaway?” She blinks, then nods, “you’ve read it already?”

“Yeah. Finished it last week,” you answer, peering at the dishes closer to you, wonder what you can pick. It’s mostly meat. Some roast potatoes, poultry next along covered in an orange-red sauce that smells spicy.

“What did you think?” She asks, carefully ladling gravy to the edge of her own plate. It’s your turn to blink, recalling the story to the forefront of your mind. Exhale heavily, leaning back into the chair. “I don’t know, really,” you admit honestly, “there was a lot in it, I suppose. I’m still digesting it, in a way. Do you know what I mean?” She nods, eyes softening at the edges—you’ve said the right thing. “I think there’s a lot in it; a lot happened to him, and I think it did a good job on highlighting how perspective can be manipulated. I also like how the creature was only alluded to in earlier chapters while the first part of the plot was unfolding so you end up overlooking it?”

She gracefully cuts through a potato, dipping it in the gravy before neatly depositing it in her mouth. Elegant and refined. “Yes, I thought that was an interesting way of telling his story. The complications between Yvette and Hans helped with the initial distraction, I think.” Lips twists into a slight frown. “The section—I think around chapter seventeen? Eighteen…?” You pause, picturing how far through the book it was, then shake your head. “Around there, anyway. The section about those lights in the sky?— I had to put the book down for a bit.” You admit, smiling as you recall the passage.

Nesta nods her head. “I couldn’t believe it, either. I think I actually had to stand up and get myself another cup of tea to calm down when he connected the dots.” A grin parts your lips wider, skin warming at the memory. “Anyway,” you say, redirecting the conversation, “a different author.”

She nods in confirmation, “a different author.”

“Romance?” You ask, remembering her appreciation for the genre.

Something passes through the room, hairs slowly raising at the back of your neck. Eyes slide to Elain, but she’s conversing with Cassian, attention shifted away from you. Gaze flicks back to Nesta who has a tight smile on her lips—it’s still odd to see her smiling so openly and frequently.

“No, actually,” she begins slowly, cutlery lowering to her plate. Her fingers remain pressed tight to the metal. “It’s a spell-book,” she says, silvery-blue eyes gleaming like moonlight despite the warm glow about the private space. Brow furrows a little as you peer at her across the table, “a spell-book?” You ask. “What do you need a spell-book for?” Her spine straightens, attention moving to her meal as she slices into some meat, mouth opening to continue.

“The baby warrior’s been having doubts about his wingspan, I’ll bet,” Amren croons from across the table, snatching your attention. Your brow dips further, eyes now shifting to find Cassian further down the table—the other side of Elain. He seems fine, laughing brightly. “Is there a problem with them?” You ask Nesta, remembering how torn up they’d been after the mess with Hybern and the cauldron.

She shakes her head, lips lifting into a grin as she meets Amren’s steel-coloured eyes. “She’s just jealous,” Nesta returns, “Varian not treating you well?” Sharp eyes flash with challenge. “Maybe they should compare notes. I’m sure your mate could learn a thing or two,” she taunts, effectively ending your conversation with Nesta. A part of you wants to learn more—your natural inclination—but Amren’s whisked her away into conversation, Mor stuck between them.

Attention again flits to Elain, but she’s still contained in conversation with Cassian, leaving only the keen pair of eyes on your left to entertain yourself with. Raise the glass to your lips, forcing down a mouthful of the alcohol, ignoring the light pulsing in the forefront of your head. Skin prickles beneath his attention, fingers shifting over your cutlery as you move to take food to your plate.

It seems rude to interrupt Elain’s conversation—you always go to her first. She speaks to people other than you, and probably enjoys doing so. You should leave her to enjoy the night. Take another drink of the clear liquid, shadows flickering in your peripherals as you set your sights on Nesta. Wait for an opening.

“What do you want the spell-book for?” You ask, feigning ignorance to their conversation. As if the question just appeared on your tongue, falling out before you could stop it. Two sets of sharp eyes cut to you, a single set of caramel flicking to steel warily. “A containment spell,” Nesta answers, slicing up some vegetables on her plate. “To bind.”

Amren’s lip curls into a distinctly predatory grin, almost warning. “Needing to spice things up so early in your relationship?” She croons. “I would have given it at least another few months before you two were in need of a bonding activity.” A fourth pair of eyes joins the discussion though he’s still wrapped in his own exchange. The hazel to your left has probably been observing for some time, too.

Nesta offers the petite female a tight smile, equally warning. Mor claps her hands, hastily breaking up the exchange. “Will you pass that down? Cass, be a dear and— no, next to it— the other side—yes! Thank you!” You watch slightly enviously as she ladles soup into a bowl, taking a slice of fluffy bread and slathering butter over its surface. Trace the soup as it’s returned to its place at the far end of the table, between Rhys and Feyre, one seat down from Nesta and Cassian.

And just like that, dialogue ebbs and flows around, leaving you with no way in. You’re quite glad for the reprieve. These dinners generally leave you in need of a weeks sleep to recover, by which point the next one is already scheduled. Exhausting. You don’t know how they manage it. Attention is still weighing on you as you raise your cutlery, poised to begin slicing into the meat upon your plate.

Elain is still preoccupied—to your steadily growing dismay. Nesta and Amren are locked in a verbal sparring match, while Mor chimes in here and there, occasionally attempting to rope Cassian in, too. Just to stir things up. Shadows flicker in the background.

His attention is becoming difficult to ignore. Clear your throat softly, focusing on cutting through the meat, slicing it into bitesized chunks. “Is something the matter, Azriel?” Shift the cutlery in your hands, easing up the pressure on your knuckles from the effort of cutting. He watches silently, his own plate clean and empty.

“Not at all,” he replies quietly, voice unliltling and void of inflection. Your brow twitches toward the centre, neatly spearing a chunk of flesh. Swallow in preparation. “Nothing?” You question, equally softly, biting down on the dead animal. It comes apart easily on your tongue, softened in a skillet somewhere, bathed in oils and rosemary, sprinkled with salts and spices. Force yourself to chew and swallow. “Nothing,” he repeats back, hazel eyes resting on your jaw, flicking to meet your gaze.

Finish your mouthful, move to the next sliver. Spike it on your fork. Half raise it from the plate then stop, lowering it quietly. “What are you watching?” You ask, eyes flicking down to your plate, skipping away from his. “Many things,” he answers vaguely. Shadows flicker at his back, wreathing his wings, tucking behind them. “I’d rather not be part of those things,” you murmur, finally biting down on the tender flesh. Chew enough so it’s digestible, then swallow. Think about nice things, like the books at the house, golden eyes, and dried flowers. “You’re in public,” he replies, tone still without inflection. “That’s an impossible request.”

Three pieces left, and it’ll be done.

“You can look elsewhere instead of staring a hole in my head,” you murmur. “Maybe,” you add hastily, softening the sharp suggestion. These situations always put you a little on edge. So many people.

He’s quiet for a bit, but his attention doesn’t shift, despite his gaze moving to be further down the table. You manage another chunk of meat, teeth dully masticating as you grind the flesh down, focusing on the herbs and spices in place of the ashen, earthy flavour of the animal carcass.

Azriel’s attention weighs into you, skin prickling, hairs raising at the back of your neck as you try to ignore it. It’s probably being exacerbated by your imagination. Raise the fifth and final piece to your mouth, thinking about rotating planets and cocoa, of whiskey and caramel as your teeth bite and chew absently. He’s still observing; you shift in your chair, swallowing the mouthful. Reach for your glass, gulp down the clear liquid.

Nearly choke, the alcohol burning your throat. Nose scrunches before you can help it, covering your mouth with the napkin while you cough as quietly as possible. Elain pats you on the back making you smile as you overcome the initial shock. “Something go down the wrong way?” She asks, lips curving in a grin she’s clearly attempting to suppress in favour of a more sympathetic expression. Puts those attempts to rest when you laugh quietly, nodding to the liquid. “Too eager,” you whisper, refolding the napkin. Elain covers her own mouth, shoulders shaking with muffled mirth; you shoot her a playful glare.

Mor, sitting opposite Elain; beside Nesta, breaks from her conversation with the two, attention flitting to you, as if she had been lying in wait for her chance. “So!” She says, golden hair shining resplendent beneath the glow, like a flame encased in honey. “When shall we go shopping?” Her hands clap together, red lips parting in a friendly smile.

Oh.

You’d blessedly forgotten that promise of hers.

Swallow uneasily. “It’s fine… The polish and lip tint were lovely,” you smile, hoping she’ll leave it be. “Nonsense,” she chirps, collecting a few more roast potatoes onto her plate, Amren gingerly taking a few after her, nose almost wrinkling with suspicion. “You love books, and I apparently need a reason to spend time with you, so a shopping trip is perfect!” You offer her what you hope is a steady smile, one that disguises the strain you’re feeling, “I don’t want to be a bother—it’s fine, really. There are plenty of books in the library, anyway, and I’ve barely made it through the first two levels.”

Brows shoot up to her hairline. “Every book? You’ve been reading all of them?” You blink at her surprise, then hesitantly dip your head. Anxiety bubbles in your stomach, hands gripping one another as tension slices through your shoulders. “Are they— Am I not supposed to?”

“Oh, no! Nothing like that. Read away!” She laughs, raising her hands in a calming gesture. “I hadn’t expected your interests to be so different, is all,” she smiles. “I tried to read a couple from the library when I was younger and nearly bored myself to tears.” You smile faintly, relaxing back into your chair. “I guess they’re not for everyone,” you reply, posture softening against the back of your seat.

Mor laughs, the sound like wind chimes caught on a stray breeze, golden hair glinting in the warm light. You have to look away. It feels wrong to even look at her—to try and place her individual beauties. Peer down at your empty plate, hunger gnawing at your stomach lining. You should have remembered to eat before coming along.

“So what about tomorrow?” She asks, dipping buttered bread into her bowl. Raise your head to look at her, confusion lining your brows. She smiles easily, “for a shopping trip, of course.”

“Not every creature enjoys being put through your endless chatter, Mor,” Amren snipes from her side. The blonde female pouts, throwing a glare to the petite Fae on her right.

Warm toffee eyes flick to cocoa, brightening with an idea, “Elain could come along too!” Spine goes rigid, every ounce of willpower straining to keep from glancing to your left, wondering what he’s thinking. Swallow heavily, stiffening as your older sister is brought into the discussion. Mor smiles eagerly, “what do you say, Elain? Fancy a shopping trip tomorrow?”

Nails slice into your palms, piercing small crescent shapes into your skin—you’ve been trying not to bite them. Press further back into your seat, muscles coiling with anxiety. Not both of them.

You can practically feel the moment steely silver eyes pick up on your reluctance, like she has a sixth sense for picking at scabs. But Elain sighs apologetically, “that would be lovely, but I’m afraid I’ll have to decline this time.” Relief washes over your skin, bathed in a cool breeze. “I told you so,” Amren snickers to the blonde female.

Mor’s brows dip together, “oh, piss off Amren. I know you like picking out clothes to wear for Varian with me.” The cunning female raises her glass to her lips, taking a slow sip. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she replies smoothly, Mor’s lips twitching at the obvious denial.

Turn to Elain, taking in the natural glow of her features. “Have plans?” You ask quietly, hand absently resting over your stomach. Involuntarily glance at the soup further up the table, tongue flicking out over your lips. She shakes her head, softly curled silky hair cascading over her slim shoulders. In your peripherals, you can make out how shadows stretch across the table, reaching. “I’ve been dreadfully tired lately,” she admits, equally hushed.

Brow furrows in concern, about to ask further, but Mor’s on you again. “Guess it’ll just be us tomorrow!” She smiles genuinely, excited for the plans. When you glance sidelong at your sister, she’s already settled back into conversation with Cassian, your youngest sister and her mate joining in. You nod in surrender, accepting it’s something that has to happen. It would be overtly rude to decline her invitation now.

“Great! We can squeeze in a lunch, too,” she grins, washing down the soup with a glassful of wine. “Maybe you can direct me to some of the more interesting library books,” she suggests, eyes sparking with excitement. You nod again, fatigue beginning to weigh on your shoulders. It’s nice watching them, but you frequently forget how draining it is to be involved.

Lean back into your chair, pulling your stomach in as you feel pressure grow—you’d die of embarrassment if it started growling. Hastily drink some more in attempts to fill it up. Hungrily eye the plates of food. Maybe the poultry wouldn’t be too bad with the sauce—chicken was hard to come by all those years ago.

A delicious scent catches your attention, shadows skittering away as he silently ladles soup into his bowl. Nobody asks about the shuffling round of plates. Stomach rumbles and you flush, hands clamping over your stomach as humiliation burns along your skin. Mouth almost watering, but you force yourself to wait; appear only mildly interested in the food. An appropriate amount of attention for a dinner.

His hand knocks into the bowl, pushing it aside to make room for another dish, so it’s to his right. Almost subtle enough to appear accidental.

Still, you finally help yourself to the soup, equal parts affection and shame weighing in your gut.

————

The night air is crisp and cool, soothing the warmth of your skin as you follow quietly a way behind the group.

Feyre and Rhys have already made their way home, not liking to spend too long away from Nyx, despite knowing he’s well cared for. There seems to be discussion ahead of taking things further for the night, perhaps more drinking.

After having left the restaurant, Nesta had sought you out. You’d been surprised to say the least—a little on edge—but it had been nothing to worry about. She’d merely extended an invitation for you to join her on their trip to the Day Court. Perhaps to seek out some books you’d been interested in, she’d suggested.

You’d politely declined.

Now you turn to Elain, the darkness bringing out the slight dip below her eyes. “You okay?” You ask, the chatter of the streets soothing background noise. Fading to a constant hum in the back of your mind, falling into the empty recesses. She nods, sighing heavily. “I’ve been having some trouble sleeping,” she replies quietly. “And, I’ve…” shakes her head. “Maybe I’m coming down with something,” she sighs again. “You always were more prone to sickness than the rest of us,” you reply, nudging her shoulder playfully.

She smiles gently, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Maybe I’ll come and cough on you so you get ill for once,” she grins.

Nose wrinkles as you smile, “gross.” She laughs at that, then the two of you fall quiet, walking together in companionable silence. Trudging your way back to the River House, keeping fairly close to the main group who are still deciding whether or not to turn in for the evening.

You know you’ll be heading back to the House of Wind for the night.

Curious to see if a response has been written.

————

The House is quiet. Halls empty and silent as you pad down the corridor to your room.

Maybe you should check with Nesta whether she wants you to move out of here—switch to the River House. Anxiety slices at your gut, fatigue weighing your eyelids at the thought. You’re sure she’ll say something if she wants you out. You aren’t keen to initiate conversation with her unless necessary.

When you enter your room, candles are already lit, courtesy of the House. A few clothes lay on the floor, but it’s mostly clear. Almost tidy.

Parchment rests across your desk, and you eagerly hurry over.

Nothing has been added.

Excitement dies away, scratching at the backs of your hands absently.

Wearily take a seat, playing with the pen between your fingers, chewing on your lower lip. Debating the merits of bothering him when he’s taken no interest in your last comment.

Toss the thoughts out your window, throwing all caution to the wind.

Long day?

Bite down on your tongue, pulling at the top most layer of skin until you bleed. Wait for the paper to disappear. Seconds tick by, counting as they drain away. Steadily turning into minutes. Lean your cheek on the table, slumping forward as boredom creeps in, the pendant clunking as it hits the wooden surface of the table.

Do you remember your twenty-first birthday?

You aren’t particularly sure where the question comes from. Maybe the still-boxed jigsaw puzzle sitting atop a dusty stack of books has something to do with it.

Paper vanishes, and you perk up, straightening in your chair, fingers flexing. Excitement stirring in your chest. Absently reach for a pot of cream, unscrewing the lid as you trace the desiccated skin of your knuckles. Slowly soothe it in, rub the dips between your fingers, pretending your hands are someone else’s.

Parchment reappears, having you eagerly lean forward.

No.

You scowl at the curt response, twiddling the pen in your hands.

Sour and miserable indeed. Were my earlier questions not interesting enough to deign a response?

Letter vanishes, your feet tapping against the floor, fidgeting with the writing instrument. Turn to the anthology as you usually end up doing while waiting for his reply. Flip to the page you’d bookmarked, removing the silver embossed fabric. Lips quirk when you spot the title: Explosions: Rapid Division.

Shift the book so it’s in the centre of your desk, reading the introductory passage, instinctively scanning the diagrams with intrigue. Paper reappears atop the pages.

You forget I am a high-ranking individual with a multitude of tasks to attend to. I don’t get to spend my days simply lying around to pester the only person who’ll give me a scrap of attention.

Cheeks heat with embarrassment, yet you find yourself smiling at the familiar sharpness of his tongue. Ease out a deep breath, relaxing into your chair, flicking the pen in your dry fingers before lowering it to the parchment.

I think if you truly felt pestered, you wouldn’t be responding at all. Feeling lonely over there, Eris?

The paper vanishes, and you treat yourself to an image of his brows narrowing, lip curling as ire blazes in caramel eyes. Mouth widens into a smile as your feet tip-tap on the floor-boards, absently dipping your finger tips into the pot of cream again, putting more over the roughness of your skin as you wait patiently.

Parchment reappears, heartbeat picking up with excitement.

And what about yourself? The hell-cat is leaving for quite a while, isn’t she?

Lips part on a sharp exhale, spine straightening as your eyes flick about the room anxiously. How does he know that? Should you tell someone? Brow narrows in concentration, mind scrambling to think up a response that won’t give anything away, without sounding so vague he knows you’re avoiding the question. Swallow heavily, rubbing in the last of the cream, reaching for your pen. Lower it to the desk, and falter. What do you say? Is feigning ignorance too obvious?

The letter vanishes before you’ve had a chance to even put a speck of ink upon it, and it dawns on you that the question was timed. Picture the way his lips part is a slow smile as he sees the blank paper.

Manipulative bastard.

I suppose she’ll be taking the brute with her, too?

Fingers tighten on the pen, teeth grinding. Is this why he warned you about Eris? Because of how quickly he can extract information through carefully assembling pieces? Jaw tenses, but more silence will be confirmation.

How do you know any of that?

Chew on your lower lip as you await his reply, heart pounding. Azriel would be furious. Swallow down the nausea, teeth sliding beneath your nails—toeing the line of biting down, but restraining yourself.

Really, how do you think Court politics works? Of course we keep tabs on one another. I’m sure your shadowsinger has plenty of spies littered throughout Prythian. Possibly further, too.

Blood ices, peering down at your necklace and the map contained within. Imagining how wide his net must be to thread throughout it all. How much work it must take to keep everything running. Ruthless discipline. How tiring it must be. The weight, the pressure to keep it all maintained.

Head beginnings swimming at the thought of it. Would you even be able to keep up with him?

Why are you telling me this?

The pen scratches over the parchment, struggling to keep lines clean through the slight tremor in your hands. You can’t even begin to comprehend how much work must regularly go into sustaining such a network.

It’s a little embarrassing that you don’t already know. What are they teaching you over there? How to be an emotional burden?

The words hit sharp in your chest, hooks latching into the soft, vascular muscle of your heart. Poised to shred in an instant. Awaiting for the split second of weakness to rip. Rupture the organ in a clean tear.

Fear spikes.

I understand why your brother wants nothing to do with you if that’s how you speak with people.

The words are stamped into the page before you have time to reason it out. Blood rushes round your ears, wincing as your fingertips burn with the faint embers of power that have begun sparking up every now and again. Preemptively reach for the hand cream, preparing to soothe the itch once it fully manifests.

He’ll read into that comment. You know he will. Read between the lines to figure out just how much that one stung.

Parchment reappears and you warily lean forward, eyes skimming the clean script.

I’d been wondering where you kept your lovely claws, cygnet.

I didn’t mean to write that.

Wipe hands on your skirts, anxiety kicking up in the pit of your stomach. Roiling with worry.

You knew perfectly well what you were doing. You simply despise the way you are.

Has anyone else commented on how similar you are to Nesta Archeron?

Heart sinks to your stomach, biting on your tongue until you taste copper. Dislike how deep he’s wormed his way already. How did things go from light-hearted sparring matches to full scale battle in so few conversations?

And what about you? You write, mimicking his earlier diversion. Do your brothers share your affinity for poisoned words?

The parchment vanishes for a while this time, though you don’t even try to distract yourself with the anthology. Leg taps anxiously, trying to rub cream into your hands, hoping if it’s done tonight, they won’t ache tomorrow. The last thing you need right now is another flare up. Try to focus on the scent—light and sweet. Like gardenias and sugar.

Your attempts to redirect are as graceful as the first steps of a freshly birthed hound. Perhaps once you settle into your skin you’ll become more skilled at deflecting uncomfortable topics.

Skin prickles, hairs standing on end as you again raise the pen in hand. Considering routes to return to earlier discussions that weren’t so intrusive.

Alternatively, you could choose lighter conversation starters. For example, why did you send the anthology?

Certainly not the most succinct switch in direction, but better than continuing down that path. Ease a breath into your lungs once the paper vanishes, reminding yourself you don’t have to reply to him. At any point, you’re free to leave. Lean back in your chair, stretching out your limbs, muscles spasming and aching in your shoulders, fingers trembling as bones click in your spine. Deflate into the seat, muscles relaxing all at once.

You haven’t noticed anything yet?

Brows furrow, peering at the volume. Close it and flip it over—nothing on the back. Reopen it to the contents page, peering at the compilation of titles, authors, and page numbers. Scan the introductory section again, searching for anything to give you a hint at what he’s talking about.

(Writing about.)

I’m mildly concerned to ask? You write, keeping the conversation light, steering away from the earlier topics. Hoping he’ll keep away from family-related chatter.

Then read away.

Heart spikes at the ominous reply. What the hell is he talking about?

Eris, are you serious?

Paper vanishes, reappearing moments later.

Nothing but.

Roll your eyes at the response, but again set pen to paper.

If you were a human, you’d be riddled in various worry-marks by now. Does that thought upset you?

Lips quirk faintly, hoping it irritates him sufficiently.

Is this how you cope with discomfort? Pretending it away? Making light of it?

Damn him.

Instead of…?

Instead of hiding like a coward. Your blithe little act is growing dreadfully monotonous.

Straighten in your chair, shifting uncomfortably. Are you boring? Is that it? Is that the whole reason he…

Do fae have milestone dates like humans do? You said you don’t remember your twenty-first.

Paper disappears, and you become aware of the tension coiling in your shoulders. Maybe you should turn in for the night. Writing to him is supposed to be fun, not make you feel so…

Squirm uncomfortably, slouching in the seat. Crick your neck, releasing built up pressure, stretching your toes. Move to blow out the candles, but the letter reappears.

You really are turning out to be quite dull.

Brows scrunch with hurt, then even out. It’s ridiculous to be upset over behaviour he’s made no effort to hide. You shouldn’t be surprised he’s not changing, yet you had hoped…

Swallow, then sigh, the pen feeling heavy in your hand.

And you’re unnecessarily barbed.

(Who taught you to be that way, Eris?)

(Am I going to grow up to be like you?)

Paper vanishes, but you find yourself awaiting a reply. Marinating in your room while your lids grow heavier, shoulders slumping with fatigue, the base of your spine beginning to ache.

Stand from your desk, eyes flicking unwillingly to your nightstand, a small, royal blue gift box sat neatly atop it. The tule bow as resplendent as ever—shifting between vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

(Sometimes, when it gets particularly bad, I like to look at it before I go to sleep. Fantasise about being the female he likes, instead of the one I am.)

(Sometimes, when I want to indulge in misery, I like to imagine dressing up for him. Imagine him telling me how pretty I am, imagine him sliding the golden hooks into pointed ears.)

(Sometimes I imagine.)

(Sometimes I imagine, because it’s the closest to reality I’ll ever get.)

Hear the distinct sound of paper on the table, and you still. End up turning anyway. Move over to your desk, reading the message.

You can do better.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Slump into the seat, head tipping back, staring up at the ceiling. Arms fall dully to your sides, too tired to feel anything.

Sigh heavily, forcing yourself to stand in favour of pulling away your clothes. Rid yourself of every constraint, pendant clunking on the bedside table.

The same-old, off-white cotton night gown swallows you, falling to your ankles as you settle into the mattress.

And to think, you’d been considering asking what things were like in his court.

How nice it might have been to make a trip of your own.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @nightcourt-daydreaming @vanderlinde @fall-myriad

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x yn #azriel angst #azriel acotar #CBMTHY #azriel x reader angst #CBMTHY Chapter 8

565 notes · View notes

sinsandsweetness · 6 months

Text

thinking about living across the hall from Frank…

-> always running into him at the most random times. in the elevator or the lovey super late at night or bright and early in the morning. When he’s on his way to a job and you’re coming back from work. Or you’re on your way to study at the library and he’s got his keys and a bag of groceries in his hands. Always giving you a little nod of acknowledgment but neither of you ever have the courage to speak. To actually say hi.

-> until one day where you get locked out of your apartment. You lost your keys or something. And with your luck, your roommate works the night shift at the hospital. You’ve got no way in until morning.

-> So you find yourself stuck. An hour goes by and you’re sitting on the dirty carpet hallway floor. Leaned up against the wall. Eyes fluttering closed because hell it’s been a long day. Frank, on his way home from work, makes his ways down the hall. Concerned at first by the sight of your body laying in the hall. But he gets to his door and it’s just you, half asleep. You give him a soft smile and he finally asks you for your name. You explain your situation and he nods in understanding.

“Well don’t just sit there. C’mon.” He’d wave you into his place, lunchbox in hand. Dirty from a day of construction. In desperate need of a shower and some food.

-> you’re reluctant to come in. Not because of Frank. Or at least not because you didn’t like him. More so… the opposite. You found him intimidating. Handsome. Rugged. You always enjoyed running into him. Smiling at him in the elevator. Trying not to blush too hard. But there’s just this aura about him that makes you a little nervous. Butterflies or something.

-> he’d tell you to make yourself at home while you wait to get ahold of your roommate. Or come up with a plan to get your keys. To call the landlord. Though you doubt they’d answer at this hour.

-> he asks if you’re alright if he showers, “I’ll be quick. You can help yourself to the fridge.” He even grabs you a beer and places it on the table in front of you. Cracking one for himself as he heads for the washroom.

-> it feels weird. Being in a strangers home. It’s empty. Sad almost. Grey walls. Nothing… personal. Nothing that tells you anything about the man. It’s clean. As clean as any of the suites in you cheap ass apartment can possibly get. But it’s bland. It’s a bachelor suite. He’s got nothing more than the necessities. The basics. You can’t help but think about Frank. In this apartment. Every night by himself. He must be lonely.

-> you saunter over to the fridge. Not particularly hungry, but feeling slightly awkward just sitting at his table and doing nothing. There’s enough to make a weeks worth of sandwiches. And a more than a few weeks worth of beer. You take a swig of your bottle.

-> when the water shuts off, you get back to your spot at the table. Checking your phone. The messages with your roommate. He’s probably busy. Drawing blood. Stitching people up. Doing whatever it is he does as a surgical intern.

-> “you get ahold of him?” Franks voice brings you back.

“Oh, no. He’s- he’s probably busy. Works at the hospital so… um… thanks for inviting me in, but uh, I can just wait out there.” You sling your bag over your shoulder, getting up to leave.

“Wait out there? All night?” He asks. Your gaze goes down to his shirt. A little damp where beads of water are running down his neck. Off his beard. You look back up. He’s got such pretty eyes, you notice.

“Yeah, i’ll be alright.” You give him a tight lipped smile. But he’s not having it.

He shakes his head, “here,” he grabs a blanket from the supply closet. And a pillow. A pillowcase. He fumbles with the makeshift bedding for a moment until he makes the couch up. It does look nicer than the stained hallway carpet.

“You can’t stay out there. There’s some real… weirdos in this area. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you.” His concern makes your stomach flutter. Even if it’s just human decency. Courtesy of not wanting you to get mugged or murdered.

“You really don’t have to-“ you try to deny the offer but he grabs your bag. Gently pulling it off your shoulders and placing it against the wall.

“It’s just for the night. I don’t mind. Seriously.” His eyes are serious. Brows furrowed in concern.

-> the couch is cozier than you expected. Worn and used in the most perfect way. It takes you no time to fall asleep. Frank on the other hand, is having some serious insomnia. There’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, right outside his bedroom. Sleeping on his couch. Probably making his blanket smell like her vanilla perfume. It’s making his brain all fuzzy. He can’t think. Well, he can’t not think. You’re wearing one of his tee shirts. He offered it up. No, he insisted. And when saying goodnight from his bedroom doorway, he couldn’t help but notice that your pants were folded up on top of your bag, and your bare legs gleamed in the dim light of the living room, as you fluffed up your pillow.

-> the two of you had some very interesting dreams that night.

-> Waking up to the smell of coffee, you’re blushing hard when he hands you a mug. He tells you he has to leave for work. Lunchbox in hand, jacket on.

-> He didn’t ask for his shirt back.

-> you wave Frank goodbye as you watch him head down the hallway, and at the same time, you see your roommate come out of the elevator at the end. Both of them exchange a nod and a glance. Your roommate jogs up to let you both into your place.

“You coulda came to the hospital. Coulda grabbed my keys,” he says plopping himself down on the couch. Rubbing his eyes. Long night for him as well.

“I didn’t even think about it. He just- Frank invited me in and I was so tired… I mean, it seemed like a better option than sleeping in the hall…”

“Well it was real nice of him. Maybe you should make him a dish or somethin’. Lasagna? Y’know, to say thank you.”

“You just want some lasagna don’t you?” You smirk, rolling your eyes.

Your roommate smiles back. A low chuckle escapes his throat. “The man let you sleep on his couch. You better be sayin’ thank you somehow.”

continued here

(Idk what this is tbh but um… let me know what we think??)

#officially writing for Frank now my loveys <3 #Frank castle x reader #frank x reader #Frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle imagine #frank daydream #frank castle

688 notes · View notes

chronicallycouchbound · 9 months

Text

Intelligence Doesn't Equal Morality

Intellect is rooted in ableist systems and stupidity and intelligence are pointless social constructs that don't relate to morals or character.

I try to be a pretty good person, I fight for human rights, I regularly engage in mutual aid, and I care for my community. I try to do the right thing and support causes I care about and make positive changes in the world.

But I also am not very smart. I have several neurodevelopmental disorders, as well as cognitive disabilities. I can’t do simple, basic math, it’s hard for me to remember facts or algorithms, I rely entirely on spellcheck and speech-to-text to write, I failed many classes in high school and I barely passed with a low GPA, I had low pSAT scores and I never took the SATs. I moved around a lot all through school starting in third grade, and I missed a lot of basic fundamentals in learning (like how to do division and multiplication) so when I went to a different school they had already passed it and expected me to know. After my TBI, I could barely read AFTER I was cleared from my “concussion” symptoms because letters and words would flip around and I’d get headaches. Which still happens sometimes.

A lot of people see me as smart because I've learned a lot of academic language and can formulate thoughts into cohesive posts. But I lack a lot of necessary skills and rely on my caretakers to assist me. Things like budgeting and planning are extremely difficult for me. If I need to do simple addition or subtraction, even with a calculator, I quickly get confused and struggle. I forget basic information about myself all the time, let alone other subjects. I'm talking, has to check my ID for my birthday type confused. Doesn't know my name or address or what year it is confused. It happens daily, sometimes multiple times a day. Being able to type out posts like this often takes weeks and many adaptive tools to get there. Focusing is extremely difficult on many fronts, severe chronic pain, ADHD, dissociation, fatigue, migraines, and TBI, are just some of the contributing factors. I struggle daily with many things because of my lack of intellect.

I’m also privileged in the fact that I had some access to education as a homeless youth, that I had some supports in place to help me (towards the end of school), that I was somewhat able-bodied at the time and could walk or bike to and from school when the school system didn’t provide transportation. I was fortunate to have a chance to succeed, and I’m proud that I graduated high school because it was a difficult task for me, and others often aren’t offered that chance or get accommodations. I almost didn’t and I dropped out many times before graduation. I passed on sheer luck and what little privileges I had.

That all being said, me being stupid (reclaiming it here) doesn't make me a bad person. I don't hurt people because I can't do math. I may mess up things or get confused but it doesn't make me want to harm others.

We often (wrongfully) equate morals with intellect. Being ‘stupid’, ‘dumb’, or an ‘idiot’ doesn’t automatically make someone a bad person. Plenty of evil, awful, and abusive people are extremely intelligent.

I see this most notably with people advocating for IQ tests to be able to vote. Often from left-leaning people, in hopes it'll make the right (that they view as unintelligent), unable to vote. The reality is, it just hurts some of our most vulnerable members of the community while not actively doing anything to restrict some of the most dangerous members of our community-- those who know what they're doing to harm others and deliberately doing so. My voice matters, and I speak up against injustice and participate in dismantling oppressive systems. Taking away my right to vote won't make the right stop oppressing minorities (which also puts a lot of faith into the two-party voting system, which is a post for another day).

Additionally, legislative measures that discriminate against intellectually disabled people such as IQ tests for voting are also rooted in racism and classism.

Yes, education can be a vital tool when it comes to addressing discrimination and creating safer communities. But the kind of education that is measured with an IQ test (or any test) isn't the same. Building compassion and caring for others can (and should) happen at any IQ level. We can all practice this, we can all participate.

It harms our communities and stagnates our progress when we equate intelligence with high morals.

1K notes · View notes

whispereons · 8 months

Text

Oracle!Reader Part 13

Masterlist - Part 1, Part 12, Part 14

Warning! As usual, there are descriptions of violence, gore, and death! Ya know, the usual yandere imposter sagau stuff.

Leaning against a tree, you finished the last volume in 'Hilichurl cultural custom'. It was definitely the most informative with the next being 'Hilichurl Ballad Section'. You didn't plan on studying the Hilichurl language but it could come in handy.

You just didn't bother finishing 'Draft Hilichurl ballads'. Ella Musk's rough translation paper in her commission would be far more helpful than that. The game screen is closed as you think back to what you memorized.

Hilichurls worshipped the elements rather than the Seven, which makes sense due to their Khaenri'ah bloodline. Could you use the elemental power in your possession to distract them? Would they recognize you as they can control elements or would the curse from Celestia interfere?

Twirling your sickle mindlessly you keep watch on the camp as hilichurls continuously walk around. A Mitachurl carrying a rock shield sat in the base as a Geo Samachurl helped construct a tower.

Actually, now that you think about it, isn't it kind of strange how this is your first time encountering a Hilichurl? One of the most common enemies that appears in almost every location, yet it's only when you purposefully search for one that you-

"Mimi ye?"

Jumping away from the tree in shock, a sharp gasp escapes you as you turn around, your sickle held firmly. You resist the urge to raise it in defense.

A Hilichurl stands now in front of you with a crossbow, tilting its head. It would be cute if you weren't hyper-aware of the weapon in its hands. Relaxing your posture, the sickle in your hand is hanging to avoid making the hilichurl feel threatened.

"Hello, do you want something from me?" Awkwardly smiling at the masked creature, you speak slowly in hopes of not exciting it.

"Celi dada, mimi nunu!" It walks closer to you, making you cringe internally from the smell. It's not just a smell from bad hygiene, it smells like death.

"Are you curious about me? Do you want to see something cool?" You wait for it to react, which it does by strolling a bit closer before presenting your sickle.

It stops at the sight of the weapon and you watch nervously as its grip tightens on the crossbow. Hurriedly you push the Electro to crackle through the weapon but you don't swing it.

Not even as the Hilichurl begins to load an arrow.

"Nini movo muhe yoyo!" You repeat the few phrases that you drilled into your mind. The pronunciation is bad and the accent is horrible but the message is received by the Hilichurl.

The arrow is slowly removed from the crossbow as the Hilichurl points to the Electro and asks, "Eleka mimi-a-Domu?"

Racking your brain to recall what it's trying to ask you, you nod hastily. It wasn't attacking you so whatever it asked hopefully wasn't bad.

The Hilichurl begins to circle you as it gets closer, seemingly inspecting you. "Muhe ye! Mimi tomo!"

'Muhe ye' was something praiseworthy if you remembered correctly. It suddenly begins to push you towards the camp while repeating the same phrase.

Not willing to risk angering it, you let it push you down the hill and cross the small river of water. Your sickle disappears in gold specks before the other Hilichurls and Geo Samachurl spot you.

They all tense up with their weapons ready yet they don't attack until the Hilichurl pushes you in front of them. It begins to speak to the whole group loudly as they all peer at you from behind it.

"Mimi mosi ye mita!" Hilichurlian is spoken quickly as you look at the half-finished tower and the second tower that was completed. Could the towers be part of the worship they hold to Teyvat?

"Ya!?" The rock shield Mitachurl suddenly storms down the stairs from the main camp making you stare up at the Mitachurl in panic.

Shit, shit this was getting out of hand. Looking around the camp for some form of escape or distraction, the Samachurl stomps his staff onto the ground twice.

"Celi upa celi! Ye dada!" The Samachurl yells out, making the rest of the Hilichurls cheer and begin working faster on the second tower. You could hardly focus on that as the Mitachurl stops in front of you with a mean glare.

It towers over you with the rock shield looking almost as heavy as you. A snort of hot, stinky breath is pushed onto your face making your features scrunch up in disgust.

It begins to argue with the Samachurl as you recover from the horrid smell of the group. You weren't being attacked so that was a good sign, but how were you supposed to lead them away?

Multiple hands begin to drag you toward the half-built towers with their overgrown nails tickling your skin. Not wanting to be forced, you keep pace with the group. Looking down to not trip, you notice their feet.

It was kinda strange how they had five fingers but only three toes. The cloth-like fabric of their charcoal skin was also strange along with the horn-like features on their head. Perhaps the curse melted their clothing with them into one being? That would help explain why they wore so little clothing even in harsh climates.

The Hilichurls pushed you into helping with the tower construction, they all seemed enthusiastic to have you on board. Working with them, instead of fighting against them was far more ideal even if you had more work to do when it came to destroying the towers.

Not long after helping finish the tower, the Hilichurls and Samachurl celebrate. The Mitachurl sits on the perch on the base camp as the Samachurl begins to sway his staff.

"Eleka mimi-a-Domu~ Mita domu-a-dada!" As the Samachurl begins to sing, the hilichurls dance around both towers in sync. Sitting down you watch it curiously while keeping an eye on the Mitachurl.

"Mimi mosi ye mita!" From what the books said this song was supposed to be sung during festivals. What could they be celebrating?

A few Hilichurls arrive at the camp holding Geo clubs and shields. They pause at the sight of you until the Samachurl speaks to them, making them calm down.

One of them seems heavily injured and is escorted into the main camp with bleeding wounds. The smell of iron mingles unpleasantly with the sweat and dirt in the air. God, you regret having a working sense of smell.

The rest of the group brought back meat and rotting fruit? The meat was put to cook over the fire and the fruit was handed out. You only took a single fruit to be polite but it didn't smell... right.

It was a wet, overripe Sunsettia looking far more red than a normal orange Sunsettia. It was probably washed in the river but the water only made it muddy. You look around to see a whole basket brought to the Mitachurl who takes it with a huff.

"Ya celi mimi nunu!" The Samachurl exclaims before they all begin to eat. You try to put the dirt-speckled Sunsettia on the ground but the Samachurl stares at you with expectant eyes. It keeps the staring contest as the Mitachurl begins to look at you too.

Damn, you really didn't want to do this.

Smiling, you brush the mud off (that unfortunately smears it more) and try to ignore the gross possibilities of who and what touched the fruit. You chomp a good-sized bite and hold it in your mouth until the Samachurl nods in approval. The Samachurl begins to feast on his own Sunsettias and you try not to gag. You're about to spit out the piece in your mouth until the juice hits your tongue.

It's sweet. The slight bitterness is pleasant, if not familiar. Experimentally, you begin to chew on the fruit and savor the taste trying to recall what it is.

After a few more bites, you notice a weak burning sensation that travels down your throat. It's… alcohol? These Sunsettias are fermented. Not strong enough to get drunk off one, but after a few?

You look back to the Hilichurls and blanch at the empty basket. Now with what seems like the whole camp they resume the dance. The Mitachurl flops into the middle of the camp, dropping his empty basket.

The staff in the Geo Samachurls hands sways drunkenly as it sings loudly and off-key.

"Nini movo muhe yoyo! Nini movo mimi tomo~! Lata movo mosi yoyo, celi movo celi yoyo!"

Cringing, you finally got up and walked past the drunk Hilichurls. You could barely hear yourself think with all the noise, how were you supposed to plan with it?!

The only place within the Hilichurl camp that had a chance of keeping out the singing was the sole building. Casting a parting glance at the partying Hilichurls, you climb up the stairs and enter the hut.

The poor workmanship let drafts in as two lit torches kept it bright. The obnoxious singing gets quieter so you suppose the building served its purpose. A sole beat-up hilichurl lays on a straw make-shift matt, it groans in pain weakly.

You stop in the middle of the building, just a few steps away from the Hilichurl as you watch it. The question lingering in the back of your mind finally comes forth.

Why did you not want to harm the Hilichurls?

You had no problems attacking and even murdering people, yet your heart ached at the thought of hurting the cursed citizens. Was that it? Did you pity them to the point of refusal of harm? Or was it like you originally thought of the Hilichurl camp being too strong for you to face on your own?

Quietly, you take slow steps toward the Hilichurl, the torches cast your shadow to loom far above it as if swallowing it whole. Stretching out your hand your fingers inch closer to the wound winding down its back.

It must be in so much pain. Your fingers graze the cut just barely as you laugh at yourself. Were you always this hypocritical? Just yesterday you let a treasure hoarder bleed to death with his critical state, yet you tenderly touch this Hilichurl hoping that your power could heal it.

Even with your conflicting feelings, you smile as the Hilichurl begins to glow gold. If your touch was enough to heal it then Teyvat must recognize it as an animal rather than a human.

How sad...

The Hilichurl is quick to wake up once the light fades. A mumbled "Dala?" leaves it as it felt its body multiple times as if checking that it really was healed. It finally turns to look at you with a tense silence.

Smiling calmly, you stay standing as it shakily steps closer to you. "Unu, unu!" The Hilichurl falls onto its knees as it shouts loudly making you jump.

Loud thudding could be heard behind you. You looked behind you, a grimace on your face. This wasn't supposed to happen, what did it yell to the others?! You may have been against fighting them if you could avoid it, but between their life and yours, you come first.

Your sickle is summoned into a clenched hand as you move to turn around to face the sole entryway. Coarse hands grab your ankles and something rough lays on your feet. You freeze at the sight of the Hilichurl in a full bowing position at your feet with its cracked mask pressed against your feet.

Did it recognize you? Or is it simply trying to stop you and is still weak from its earlier injuries? Nerves aflame, you lift your sickle prepared to strike it down and start the fight.

The Hilichurls swarm the building making you freeze up. The Samachurl walks in with the Mitachurl trailing behind it. Attacking now would only lead you to being overwhelmed. All you can do is wait for them to make the first move. If only you remembered what unu meant!

The Samachurl speaks to the Hilichurl that is still clinging to your feet, yet the Hilichurl only repeats unu. That must have been the last straw for the Mitachurl as it yells with spittle hitting your shoulder. It grabs the Hilichurl and lifts it up into the air as you rub the spit off with a nauseating feeling.

The sound of the Samachurls staff dropping to the ground is what has you raising your head. Not a second later, all the Hilichurls get on their knees, yelling with enthusiasm.

"Unu! Unu! Yo unu!"

It wouldn't be a stretch to say that unu must mean something like god as lawa meant chief. There wasn't anything else they would bow to that wasn't a god. Even the mighty Mitachurl sets the Geo shield down to bow low enough that you stand taller than it.

If healing a single Hilichurl had this effect, then you never have to worry about Hilichurls again. This was just another thing to add to your growing list of plausible evidence for you being the Creator to use in the worst-case scenario.

Of course, this could be used against you just as easily. The Hilichurls are by technical means 'monsters'. The only people who know that they were once people are far too little. Some would even kill you to hide this fact...

With a heavy heart, you force yourself to remember not to let hilichurls know your identity from this point on. So many good opportunities are missed due to your stupid acolytes. You'll be stuck keeping this Hilichurl situation quiet for both you and the Hilichurl camp's sake.

Glum with disappointment, you resign yourself to finishing the commission and point out the tent. "All of you, follow me." With that, you leave the building as the Hilichurls rush to follow you.

There's no fear in your heart as you continue to speak while using hand signals to order them. Opening the map, you hum as you try to find a good spot to move them to. It would suck if they saw you destroy the towers and rebuild them before you get the reward for the job.

It takes a bit longer than you hoped due to the alcoholic fruit they consumed but soon enough they follow you farther south to the border of Tianqiu Valley. A nice open area is spotted and you stand there while pointing at the ground.

"Here, this will be your new home." The Hilichurls cheer and rush to work. You slide down to rest against a tree trunk. All you had to do was sit and wait until you saw a good chance to slip away.

Except, they just would not stop bugging you. Fruits, meat, flowers, and any relatively presentable objects were given to you constantly. It didn't help that the Mitachurl refused to leave your side after you winced at the sunbeam hitting your eye.

You had accepted all the gifts and mindlessly stuffed it all into your bag. It was a bit embarrassing to admit but the way they cheered and danced at your approval was nearly endearing. Keyword: nearly.

The stream of gifts came to a halt as the squishy sounds of slime padding along the grass came closer. A batch of big and small cryo slimes stared at the Hilichurls before jumping into the air to attack them.

The Mitachurl quickly leaves your side to attack them as the Hilichurls follow it into battle. Not a moment too soon either, the camp is almost done and you aren't sure if they would even let you leave at this rate.

It was a shame you had to miss watching the battle. Seeing the two most common mobs fight each other was a rare sight as they usually work together. With a bit of effort, you successfully escape without alerting the Hilichurls, smiling in anticipation at the sight of the old camp.

Electro is slashed at the tower as your sickle hits it repeatedly. The white winding tower breaks into a pile of rubble before you move on to the second one.

It's a little more difficult due to the wood pole that serves as a foundation but it comes crashing to the ground soon enough. In spite of your hits, the brown pole stays standing despite the marks you gave it.

Winded, you rest your hand against the pole and catch your breath. After a few minutes, you stand back up and raise your sickle to strike but stop at the sight of something interesting.

On the pole were the now translated words 'BELOVED CREATOR' in messy big writing.

That confirms it right? Not only do the people of Khaenri'ah worship you, but they also recognized you earlier. But if they were originally punished for refusing to be under a god then why did they suffer the same fate when they worshipped you?...

------------------------------------

Celestia wasn't intended to be a good or liked character in Genshin. Hoyoverse made it very clear that no one liked Celestia, so Celestia alone attacking the people of Khaenri'ah wasn't surprising, even in this world, but what about the Archons? What reason did they have to attack Khaenri'ah when the Archons worshipped you too?

Your mind spins with possibilities as your feet automatically head back to the newly built Hilichurl camp. After all, you couldn't leave them unsupervised when they knew your secret.

Besides being showered with gifts and what you assume are compliments isn't bad. You didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing or acting suspicious around them. Their minds and bodies just weren't good enough to revolt against you. Still, it made you happy that you could relax around them with no consequences.

The camp should be made with lighter-colored trees due to the different environments. The stone flooring of the building would cool the temperature slightly along with whatever air slips in. They should be feasting on the food they gathered and celebrate your return. You would enjoy the positive attention that you haven't truly accepted since you arrived here as they sing and dance awfully.

So, why did the sound of weak gasps and clashing weapons fill the air? Why did the well-accustomed smell of blood overwhelm your nose to the point where you could taste it?

Your answer came in the form of a woman with flowing silk hair adorned with red ropes strangling a hilichurl till it went limp. The body hit the ground with a thud as it dissolved into ashes leaving a splatter of blood and a cracked mask.

The spear twirled in her gloved hands as the crane-like cape followed her body as she surveyed the area. Her clothes were dyed in dark red as the ruby liquid shined on the head of her spear. The crane-like beauty of Shenhe is lost on you as your eyes never stray from the bloody cracked masked.

Stumbling without care for whatever sounds you make, the bushes shake as you walk through. Shenhe looks in your direction indifferently as you emerge from the shadowy trees. Weapon at the ready, she speaks harshly like the worst winters.

"This is a dangerous area, go to Liyue and get any wounds treated."

She turns her head prepared to leave when a choked gasp escapes you. Head still angled to the ground, your features are hidden from view as she watches you.

"The Hilichurls, t-they took me. Did you really k-kill them all?" A shiver and soft sob wracks your body as you bend to clutch your knees for support.

"Yes, you can get help at Li-" Her dismissive words are cut off by your coughing fit. Tears spring to your eyes as you lift your head up letting her see your masked face.

She steps through the blood-stained grass as the horns, arrows, and scrolls break beneath her steps. There's a twist of a cap before a flask is pushed roughly into your mouth. The stale water that Shenhe clearly doesn't drink helps the bile in your mouth go down with a bad taste.

She brings it away and closes it as she barely glances at your face. She moves to leave again but your hand wraps around her upper arm tightly. Your voice shakes with emotion as you begin to speak.

"Those Hilichurls-s dragged me with them and thanks to y-you they're dead. They're really dead aren't they?!" Shenhe narrows her eyes in distrust at the way you finish your words.

"Goodbye." Emotionless as always she moves to wretch her arm out of your grasp but ends up gasping in pain instead. Her stomach bleeds into the black bodysuit as your sickle stabs her stomach. The grip you hold onto her is bruising as you stare up at her with indifference.

"They were only working on their home. Is it a crime for them to simply exist? You can't even understand your own existence, let alone empathize with another's. What right do you have to deny them the bare minimum in a world they didn't ask to live in?"

The words come out coldly as your teeth dig into your lips. The spear is stabbed into your right shoulder making you release her with a pained cry. She pushes you away, letting the blood flow out of your wound as you press your free hand onto it.

"You must be possessed by a demon." An ice talisman is summoned between her fingers as Cryo envelopes her weapon. The deep cut you left on her stomach continues to bleed but Shenhe ignores it. Meanwhile, you continue to press against your wound as the blood stains your hand.

Shenhe takes a step in your direction before a loud roar captures both your attention. The Mitachurl rushes in Shenhe's direction holding a brand new Geo shield. She steps back quickly but not fast enough to dodge the shield bash.

The satisfaction you get from watching her nose break and bleed is short-lived as her elemental burst is activated. The Mitachurl is already weak and once she's done with it, she'll be after you. It's that quick realization that has you running away from the area.

Wouldn't it be good to test if the statue of the seven could heal you? You skid to a stop at the old Hilichurl camp as you quickly bring up the game screen. As much as you would like to teleport without it, that requires you to remember what the location looked like, which you definitely can't with how fast your mind is racing.

The map is pulled up and you move to select the waypoint closest to the statue when your instincts scream at you. Something’s coming, something’s coming!

Letting your body lead, you dive to the left and grit your teeth at the pain of new scrapes forming. You watch in a mix of fascination and horror as it's overwhelmed by ice maidens. The near-death experience only leaves your nerves shot as you jump to your feet and continue running.

Shenhe already finished the Mitachurl, she's coming after you. The crackling of ice following and the lowering temperature are signs that only push you to escape faster.

The only exit of the area is a narrow gap between two mountains and you are distracted for a split second. The beautiful tree that rests over the sealed Azdaha overshadows you with every bit of grace you always imagined it would have.

"Transfiguration!" You didn't have Shenhe but it didn't take a genius to know she was going to use her skill. You can't keep running, not with these wounds. Not like you can fight her either no matter what creator buffs you get, it won't help you against the adepti's disciple.

From your right, you can hear the sound of crackling fire and Geo clashing. Swerving to the right, an ice talisman cuts your cheek but it's worth it as you spot Samachurl.

It's a huge hilichurl camp, at least two Mitachurls must be here! Grinning, you don't stop and hop over the shoddily made fence before it's destroyed by the cryo woman.

The camp is quick to begin attacking Shenhe as they must have judged that she was far more threatening. A Mitachurl holding an axe, and a shield bearing Mitachurl rush at the messy woman as you peek behind you.

Her lips are pulled into a snarl but her posture is clean as her spear weaves to hit any weak spots. Yeah, even with the Samachurl and Hilichurls supporting, you didn't have much time to escape.

You sneak into the now-empty Hilichurl hall-like building and pull up the screen. Impatiently you wait for it to load as the fighting continues on. It loads and you select the map quickly and find the waypoint on Qingyun Peak.

The noises abruptly stop before there's loud thudding as the whole area becomes cold. Panicking you press the 'teleport' button multiple times as the steps shake.

Iridescent eyes that hold boundless rage as the red ropes slip off meet your smug eyes as the light engulfs you.

Rubbing your eyelids as the light dies down to show beautiful scenery, you sit on a cold stone blankly. Just how dumb were you? Groaning, you flop backward and stare at the sky tiredly.

What a great idea it was to stab a homicidal overpowered woman with trust issues and only a small sense of morality. That makes it twice now that you were chased by braided-hair women that wield spears, except this time you knew better and could have prevented it completely.

But... you really didn't want to. If she had killed them after you said a proper goodbye then you would be upset but not like this. You wouldn't have been willing to employ that tactic again.

Just mentioning it seemed to direct your thoughts back to that day. Just like today, you had started to fully trust and unknowingly depend before they were taken away without warning.

----------------------------------

A young man stands with shaky hands as he stares at the now-dead body of the homeless man he shot. A panicked chuckle escapes him as his vision blurs and shakes at the sight.

No one would have to know. No one would even know. Nobody cares about the homeless, let alone a stray cat.

You're almost positive of that, that was his thought process before he spots you staring vacantly at your adoptive father and Ashtray. The only family that you had.

Tears burn your vision as you look at the gun in his hands. A weak laugh leaves you making the man stare at you nervously. You weren't even 18, yet you lost your father for the second time. The only difference was that you actually loved and remembered him.

"I really have to thank you, ya'know?" There's a slight voice crack when you speak but you smile at the guy despite it. "I mean, he was just soo annoying."

He smiles at your words, seeming to calm down at the friendliness and accepting nature you showed. "I know right? Constantly trying to convince everyone to 'make the most of your situation' or 'try to enjoy life while we have it' like what a fucking joke!"

His slimy laugh is accompanied by your fake laughter. It didn't feel real, you didn't want it to be real. Your feet carried you closer and your hand rests on his shoulder.

"Tell me about it. At least the old man's dead now! I can finally do the shit I wanna do." Your dad's blood from all the gunshots sticks to the nasty clothes and your filthy skin like paint. He didn't deserve to go like this, he deserved someone that isn't as selfish as you.

"Can you even guess half the stuff he made me do? Man, if I had access to a gun like that, shit he would have died way earlier!" The cockroach in human skin laughs and rests his palm on the alleyway side. A perfect match considering they're both utter shit.

"You're hilarious. How about this? I can introduce you to the guy that got me a hold of this, you can get it real cheap too! Of course, you'll need to pay me back in some way..."

You don't like that look in his eyes, you hate this man with passion you never knew you held until now. He's brought closer to you as you give a slight nod.

"But before that, I just gotta ask. I'm so fucking curious." Smiling with pride he lets you pull him closer.

"Sure, what is it? Just don't ask me for this gun, I paid a shit ton of money for it." Laughter rings out softly as every cell in your body resists the urge to strangle him.

"Don't worry man, I just wanted to ask." Your head tilts to the side closer to his ear as you whisper.

"Just how fucking dumb are you?"

Squelch

Your hand is bruising on his wrist that's holding his gun. Blood seeps out of his mouth as he coughs. The knife you thrusted into his chest where you hoped the heart was pulled out.

He gives his best to struggle the gun into a position he can shoot you but you didn't survive this long to be weak enough for that. The gun clatters loudly as it hits the floor, his mouth opens to scream but your arm gags him.

Bite marks litter your sleeve, hands punch and grab at anything but it's useless as you stab him again. Stabbing him repeatedly your fake grin twitches and twists into something unhinged.

It's useless to resist, your actions scream as you bring his dying body to the ground. A chuckle leaves you as you raise the knife high into the air and watch his eyes go wide with fear. It's cathartic, nearly healing, but you know nothing will heal you after this.

You stab him for what seemed like hours until his body is bloody with torn clothes. Bile and spit drip out of his mouth as his eyes stay open, his mouth frozen in a screaming formation.

Thoughts stab at your consciousness as you stumble over to your father's dead body. You could have just called the police and had him arrested. Maybe get one of the people who liked your dad to avenge him. You didn't have to do that.

But you did and you couldn't regret it. Resting your head on your father's chest as the tears and broken sobs are muffled in his clothes you continue to berate yourself.

------------------------------------------

The blinding pain from your wounds is what drags you out of memory lane. The new wound from Shenhe isn't something you even want to see anymore. The lightheadedness you got from the blood you lost is making you dizzy.

Your medical kit is dug out and you apply the proper care for it. It hurts to even lift it but there's no one to help you so you push past the pain. Slowly, you walk to the edge and look down.

Cursing your bad luck you stare at the statue of the seven on a floating rock piece. Gliding was hard by itself, let alone landing on a small piece with such little experience.

Hissing in pain, you clutch the wound and close your eyes. You didn't have much of a choice, if you wait too long you might get permanent damage. What if the statue couldn't even heal you, you'd be losing time to get to Bubu's Pharmacy.

With a few insults to Shenhe, you deploy the glider and set for the statue. It's not that far and you land fairly easily. Good enough for your first solo glide.

With wary eyes, you inspect your surroundings before touching the statue. The glow it gives off is almost traumatic to your first day after getting thrown into Teyvat. You can only hope that this time you'll be able to handle the Archons better.

The puncture in your shoulder seals up nicely until not even a scar is left. The scrapes, laceration from Mountain Shaper, neck wounds from Cloud Retainer, and even some injuries you failed to notice heal up completely. You note the slight discomfort you feel from the wounds you didn't get to clean. It seems the statue can't deal with healing and preventing infections.

Even still everything you wanted to do is done now, it's best you leave before- "Pardon me."

A smile graces your face with ease as you turn around to face the handsome man. An overwhelming aura that silently demands respect paired with the manners of a humble citizen.

Zhongli's eyes glow with elemental power as he speaks with a voice that lulls you into a sense of security.

"Would you be willing to answer some questions?"

The only question is whether he came here as Zhongli or as the Geo Archon.

This one had a lot of different things going on. From the hilichurl to Shenhe and the long awaited Zhongli! I know there's a lot of components in my story and I hate to confuse you guys so I try to give little explanations when certain things become relevant. I am glad to get part of Y/N's backstory out! This is explaining the single life Y/N 'selfishly' killed before being thrown into Teyvat. I hope you guys enjoyed the gradual shift when it comes to gliding. First Ayato carried, then a team glide with the guys and finally Y/N by themself! Now I really need to start Fontaine before I'm spoiled by social media. I'm too curious for my own good. Yet again, my editor did good on this chapter despite how many times I was berated for normal mistakes. (If your name is italicized that means I couldn't tag you.) Taglist: @vvyeislazzy, @nikqi, @the-dumber-scaramouche, @etherisy, @yourlocalstranger123, @ra404, @iruiji, @goldenglow149, @haru-tofuu, @lsleepysimpl , @bebobeboben, @yuyuzi-ling, @amidst-the-tempest, @resident-cryptid, @mxd1zzy, @mochicurls21, @nervouseaglelover, @thedevioussmirk, @yumuramma, @kwqsla, @undecidingfate, @ehjane, @game-savvy, @akiramirae, @sielt, @fluffy-koalala, @formacoon, @sxftiebee, @khxii-i, @ursinaw, @chuuya-brainrot, @sweetbills, @kazuchaos, @snowfoxnix, @bluebelony, @conspicuous-mayonnaise, @pencil-of-ashes, @ghostlyintervention, @taiformaifoe, @sielt, @goaudduck, @carminerin, @maddysflowers, @zenith-of-all-zenith, @crazydreamcat, @leafanonsforest, @grimreapersscythe, @leylanx , @undecidingfate, @sapphireknown, @help-whatdoimakemyusername, @zhonglisfruityass, @fluffy-koalala, @mer0n37, @victoria1676, @mochinessss, @sinnful-darling, @emilymikado, @pix-stuff, @esthelily, @luxie963, @emmbny, @millienolife, @kbar1013, @xxblackroses623xx, @chxrlxtteee, @aludicpoet

836 notes · View notes