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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Do Us Part

Warnings: nonconsent and rape; oral, fingering, marital discord, cheating, spousal arguments and mental/emotional abuse, age gap (Peter is 24/25 and reader is 35/36)

This is dark!Peter Parker x 30s/’older’ reader and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You find it hard to accept that not all good things last as you face the changes in your marriage, yourself, and your marriage.

Note: I wanted to write Peter again but also I’ve seen this nonsense about how 30+ writers are too old for fanfic which is dumb af. And I wanted to turn the age gap trope a little so that it wasn’t the reader being the younger one in the relationship. I label it older reader but I don’t think being in your 30s is old tbh (my bf is 36 so pfft). It was all just a conglomeration of circumstances that inspired a deceivingly sweet dark Peter and I hope you like it. Also it’s 7.4k so a bit of a longer read.

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You walked slowly along the transparent shelves set into the pristine white walls of the cosmetics section. The department store was a haze of distant voices and the chirp of scanners as customers milled the aisles and waited their turn to check out. You whiled away your time looking at things you’d never buy as you waited for your husband to return from the men’s department.

You thought of the sparse make-up bag under your sink and the liners and shades you hadn’t used in years. They were likely expired and better tossed in the bin. You hovered along the crystal bottle of designer scents and stopped to test a particular blush-tinted fragrance.

You set the bottle back and peered over at the dark cubbies that housed the men’s scent. Even from there, you could catch a whiff of the heady scents as a younger man with reddish brown hair examined an angular vial of Dior Men. You suddenly felt out of place; a mid-thirties woman in her out-of-season clothes fantasizing about overpriced perfume.

Your husband's voice further cemented your reality as you fingered the golden cap of the Coach eau du parfum. Wesley rolled his eyes and flipped up the little plastic panel that hid the bold prices and huffed.

“I hope you don’t think I’m gonna pay for that shit,” he sneered, “what have you been doing? I was waiting for you.”

He waved a plastic bag as his lip curled and you pressed your mouth shut tightly and swallowed. The day began with another argument as he discovered the seared hole in his shirt and instead of blaming the crappy old dryer, he blamed you. Most of your clothes had been chewed up by the thing but you never complained.

“No, I was just… looking,” you teetered in your flats and glanced around. The young man at the corner display quickly turned to hide his nosy observation, “did you find some new shirts?”

“No thanks to you,” he sniffed.

“Oh,” you played with the hem of your tee and tucked your hands into your pockets nervously. You’d left him to look alone as you only seemed to irritate him and rarely took your advice on matters of clothing, “well, I thought I’d give you some space--”

“Stop acting so pathetic. Start taking responsibility for yourself. For god’s sake, you're almost thirty-six and you don’t know how to hang a shirt to dry?” He spun on his heel and snapped over his shoulder, “let’s go.”

You flinched but followed behind him as he strode away and you stumbled out behind him through the automatic doors. He tossed the bag into the back seat and slammed the door before flopping angrily into the driver’s side. You mirrored him daintily and squeezed your legs together as you tried to make yourself as small as you could.

“I told you about the dryer,” you said.

“And?” he started the engine and slapped his hand around the wheel, “call a fucking electrician or some shit.”

“Alright,” you shrugged as he stopped at the exit of the parking lot and checked his phone quickly.

“Benny wants to do a round of golf,” he peeled out and you grasped the door as your heart raced. You hated how reckless he was when he was angry. You hated how easily he got angry these days.

“Okay,” you picked at the fraying stitching of your purse.

“Don’t start moping,” he sneered, “I fucking work all week and I can’t go out and have a few rounds?”

“I never-- I didn’t say anything,” you murmured.

“You don’t need to,” he turned the wheel sharply as he cut off another car, “you sit at home all day and do what?”

“I work too,” you said.

“Uh huh, sure, if that’s what you call it.”

You ran your fingertip over the bleach stain on the knee of your jeans and said nothing. When he was in a mood, he would latch on anything until he outright exploded. You tried to think of when he changed, when he had stopped being the chill guy you met back in college. It felt like a slow trickle, small things you ignored until it was a mountain you could not see past.

You felt like crying but you’d stopped that a while ago. You existed in a purgatory of acceptance and helplessness. You wanted him to love you again, wanted to believe you could fix things. So you would keep trying. You would do better.

💍

You picked out a large flank of steak and winced at the price. You had a special dinner in mind. It was Friday and the work week was done. You wanted a weekend without a fight and Wesley was always one for a nice big cut of beef. You hadn’t made him one in a while, your dinners were the usual repetitive drumsticks and rice or your homemade mac and cheese.

You continued onto the fish section and grabbed some salmon for yourself. You’d gained some weight and decided to cut out dairy and red meat if you could help it. The pile of produce in your cart reminded you of the extra jiggle around your stomach and thighs. You also grabbed one of those women’s magazines that advertised a regimen to help slim your figure. You only hoped you could stick to it this time.

With your weekly haul in tow, you wheeled up to the check-out and waited behind a young man who looked oddly familiar to you. Maybe that was the passing years. You always felt a vague glimmer of deja vu, more often a sense of forlorn nostalgia of what you would never have again.

As you stared thoughtlessly, he looked over and smiled. He bent in front of your cart and picked up a thin packet of seasoning.

“You dropped this,” he said as he held it out and you thanked him before quickly snatching it and looking away.

He paid for his large bags of chips and over salted pre-packaged meals and packed up at the end as you loaded up your own goods, the cashier sending them down the parallel belt. You swiped your card and tried to calculate the chunk of money from your last check. You thanked the clerk and sidled past the young man as he finished up.

You rounded the counter as he lifted his three bags. You looked up without thinking, the sleeve of his shirt tight around his bicep. You caught yourself staring and looked back down as you packed in the cans.

It reminded you of Wesley; he’d also started being more mindful, he hit the gym after work and you noticed the little pudge that started just after he turned thirty was slimming out. It was that exact reason that made you notice the extra pounds on your own frame, not that you didn’t realise before.

The man left and you unfolded the little buggy you slid under the cart. You loaded your bags into it and dragged the cart behind you as you made an awkward exit with both wheeled trolleys. The compact fabric buggy was easy enough to fit on the bus if you stood.

You pushed the cart into the row of empty ones and continued across the parking lot. You rolled up to the bus shelter and checked the bus times on your phone. You dug out your strip of tickets and ripped one away. You leaned on the thin handle of your trolley and looked over your shoulder as you heard someone approach.

The man who checked out ahead of you put his bags on the metal bench inside the shelter as he sipped on a bright drink from the place just beside the grocery shop. He sent you a smile over his straw and you spun back to crane your head and search for the bus.

When the metal beast barreled up and cranked to a stop at the curb, the man waited behind you and as your wheels caught on the edge of the ramp, he reached around you and helped push it over the lip. You thanked him shyly and continued up. Usually you tried to keep the shop light on weekdays but you hadn’t really been paying attention.

You pushed your cart against the small barrier just behind the accessible seating and stood beside it, conscious not to take up too much space. The man stood just behind you two bags on one shoulder and the other dangling from the opposite elbow as he sucked on his straw. You grabbed the upright bar as the bus took off and watched the electronic banner for your stop.

A sharp stop had you veering back and you were caught by the young man as he chucked, “oop, you okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” you muttered and gave a sheepish smile over your shoulder.

“There’s a seat,” he gestured just behind you, “I’ll watch your stuff.”

“Um, no it’s… fine,” you gripped the bar tighter as the bus shuttled forward, “my stop is soon.”

You looked ahead of you and three stops passed before yours. You exited through the front with your buggy and headed down the sidewalk as the bus pulled away. You were exhausted just from your little sojourn and it wasn’t even two o’clock. God, you felt old.

💍

You had a salad chopped and tossed and the steak and fish laid out and seasoned. As you listened to your old Spotify list, the music dipped and the notification blipped over the screen. You washed your hands and grabbed the phone. You frowned as you read the lone message from Wesley, the only one you got from him all day.

‘Just finished at the gym, getting drinks with Andrew,’ you read and re-read the message as your heart fell.

You typed out a whole angry response and backspaced it all. You replaced it with ‘ok, have fun’ and blacked the screen. You shoved the meat back in the fridge and stretched saran wrap over the bowl of salad. You placed it on a lower shelf and closed the door, quickly swiping a can of the craft beer Wesley kept around.

You shut the light off in the kitchen and ignored the pang in your stomach as you cracked the can. You climbed the stairs as you sipped the hoppy foam. You put it on the night table and changed into the old butterfly pajamas you wore most nights and turned on the tv mounted against the wall.

You turned on Netflix but hardly paid attention to the carelessly chosen movie. You sat against the headboard and down the bitter beer until the can was hollow and your eyelids were heavy. You slumped down so that your shoulders were at your ears and dozed off in the stiff position as the room moved with the colours of the television.

The anger and alcohol shaded your shallow sleep and you hardly heard Wesley when he came in, only waking when your bladder was ready to burst and his snores rumbled in your head. You went to the bathroom and returned, wide awake, and stared at the shape of him in the dark.

You remembered when he used to kiss you when he came home, even when you were asleep, he’d wake you with the little pecks. You remembered when he was happy to come home. You remembered when you were happy.

You swallowed the acrid aftertaste of beer and left him to snore. You went downstairs and curled up on the couch but didn’t sleep. You just stared at the shadows of the furniture until the sun rose.

💍

The next day, Wesley didn’t wake until after noon and when he did, he didn’t say a word to you. He took his coffee and sat at the patio table in the back as you stewed and cleaned the kitchen. You had nothing to say to him even if you felt stupid for being mad.

“Gotta head down to the dealership,” he said as he interrupted your scouring of the stove.

“The dealership?” you said after a moment, deciding whether or not to break your vow of silence.

“I told you on Wednesday, I’m picking up the car--”

“We talked about this. We should wait a little longer--”

“It’s my money and I got a great price,” he sighed, “just because you have to pinch your pennies--”

“We’re married,” you squeezed the foam sponge, “it’s our money. Don’t act like I don’t pay for anything around here.”

“Oh thanks, honey, so wonderful you paid for a five dollar steak,” he scoffed, “I’ll be impressed when you can make a mortgage payment on your own.”

“How dare you!” you turned your back to him and kept scrubbing, “fine, but not a penny of my money is going to that thing.”

“That’s fine, I’m selling the old one, that should cover most of it--”

“What?” you slammed your hand between the burner, “you said we would hold onto it so I had something to--”

“Then you can buy it from me,” he said venomously.

“I’m your wife,” you spun to scowl at him again, “I-- what is wrong with you?”

He tilted his head and squinted as he poked his tongue out along his lip. “Nothing wrong with me,” he shrugged, “what’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t--” you warned as you pointed a finger at him through the bright yellow gloves, “don’t do that… I’ve been trying and you just keep pushing me away.”

“Me pushing you away?” he rolled his eyes, “you were passed out last night when I got home. Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep before nine I could actually fuck you… or at least get it up if you worked on losing some of that cellulite on your ass.”

Your lip quivered and you sucked in a breath. You shook your head and turned around again. You ignored him as your hand shook and you continued your work, scratching at the dried-on food around the burner. His empty mug clinked onto the counter and you listened to his exit.

Fuck him and his new car. You were done trying with him.

💍

Wesley’s new car was shrouded in the shade of the garage as the old black Hyundai sat out on the driveway with a red and white “For Sale” sign on the windshield. Right after he got back from his extravagant purchase, he made the listing online and several perusers stopped by Saturday night but Sunday morning saw the car still there.

You sat by the border of stones around the garden as he drank beer in the garage and approached any interested buyers who appeared; although so far he’d only had two before noon.

You tucked your clippers into your apron pocket and dusted off your gloves as you stood. You were a little dizzy from sitting out in the sun and a glass of water was the perfect excuse to drown out the annoying sound of your husband’s voice.

You ignored Wesley as you trod through the garage and kicked your sneakers off on the mat right before the three steps up to the house. You went to the kitchen and put your gloves on the counter as you filled a glass from the dispenser on the front of the fridge. You’d given up everything but water and the slices of lemon were the only flavour you had.

You took the glass and your gloves and headed back. Wesley waited just at the bottom of the stairs as he glared up at you with arms crossed. You sighed and descended but he didn’t let you pass.

“What is your problem?”

“Are you really asking me that?” you hissed.

“You giving me the silent treatment isn’t gonna fix this,” he snarled.

“You know what you said so… I shouldn’t have to tell you to apologize,” you retorted and he stayed put.

“Is this about the car?”

“The car is just another thing,” you cross an arm around your stomach, “you think I couldn’t use it to get around, to get the groceries maybe? Or, I don’t know, maybe since you have such a problem with my home office, I could go out and get a ‘big girl’ job as you put it so many times--”

“Your mother has a car she never drives. You can just take her with you, two birds, one stone. I need to sell this to pay for the new one--”

“The one I begged you not to buy,” you huffed, “you could’ve waited a few more years until we were a little more comfortable--”

“Oh, wait? Until we have a kid and all my money goes to it,” he snapped, “yeah, I’m sure we’d have the money then--”

“You’d have to fuck to do that,” you stepped down the last step and pushed past him.

As you came into the sunlight and shielded your eyes, a figure stood by the garden, knelt just by your tulips as he felt the soft petals. You narrowed your eyes. You recognized him for sure. It was the stranger from the bus.

“Um, hi?” you croaked as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Hey, it’s… you again,” he chuckled softly as he stood, “I saw an ad for a car and… well, I’m getting tired of the bus.”

“Oh, uh, my husband,” you pointed over your shoulder, “you’ll have to talk to him.”

“Okay,” he smiled, “Peter,” he held out his hand and you stared at it. You introduced yourself and shook his firm grip.

“Like I said, it’s my husband selling the car,” you brushed by him and got to your knees by the flowerbed. “Unless you’re looking to buy some wilting pansies.”

“Hmm, I like the tulips better,” he said as he slowly inched away, “thanks.”

You sat back on your heels and he strode over to the open garage. You heard Wesley greet him and didn’t bother paying attention to the same pitch you’d heard all morning. You pulled on your gloves and wiggled your nose as it tingled. You really just wanted to keel over and bawl.

“Sold,” Wesley announced and you heard a clap, “all yours!”

“I’ll just transfer the deposit,” Peter said and a minute passed before he emerged again, the keys hanging from his finger, “Thanks, Wes.”

You hid your distaste. It used to be that Wesley hated being called ‘Wes’ but lately, he introduced himself to everyone as just ‘Wes’. He really had changed. You must have too.

“Hey,” you looked up and blinked as the sun made your eyes water as it shone around Peter.

“You bought it?” you asked as you yanked free a weed.

“Yep, but uh,” he glanced over his shoulder as the old car stereo Wesley used blared out a classic rock tune, “I… wasn’t eavesdropping but I heard some of it and… if you ever need a ride to the grocery store, I usually try for Wednesdays,” he tucked his hand in his pocket, “I don’t live too far and since we go to the same one--”

“No, no, you don’t have to do that,” you looked back to the soil, embarrassed.

“Well, if you change your mind,” he kept the keys dangling from one finger and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and slid out a card with some effort, “I’m supposed to have these handy but I never really use them.”

He offered the business card and you read his name above the title, ‘senior photographer’. You gave a half-hearted smile and put it in your apron pocket.

“Thanks,” you said, “I can manage.”

“You don’t have to though,” he said kindly, “but I’ll, uh, leave you to your gardening. Sorry if I bugged you.”

“You didn’t,” you assured without looking up, flattered that anyone cared enough to even offer help.

“Hey, Pete,” Wesley stopped Peter as he neared the car, “you can have one before you go.”

“Oh, no, I’m gonna be driving,” Peter argued.

“Pfft, it’s a celebration and one won’t put you over the limit,” Wesley insisted and handed him a dark bottle of craft brew, “come on.”

“I really should go--”

“It’s a Sunday, where do you need to be?” Wesley patted his shoulder and looked over at you, “hey, honey, you wanna see if we have any snacks for our guest?”

“I’m not hungry,” Peter said curtly, “really. Just the beer is fine.”

They disappeared back into the garage and you cringed. You hated that. Wesley only every acted like a husband when others were around.

💍

You waited a whole week before returning to the grocery store. You were short on everything and it was a reason to get out of the house. Your husband had made both your home and your workplace hostile.

It irked you that Wesley resented you working from home when a couple years ago he was so happy about it. Then, he’d been so enthusiastic about starting a family but when it didn’t happen right away, he grew disillusioned and bitter. Now, he seemed to have no interest in being a husband let alone a father.

As you packed up your spinach and bottles of Perrier, your cart rolled just a little as someone nudged it from the other end. You raised your head and hid your surprise and discomfort as Peter smiled back at you.

“I thought you said Wednesdays,” you murmured as you dropped a bag in your cart.

“I forgot eggs,” he held up the carton, “I guess I have good timing.”

“You do?” you asked as you pulled your cart forward and maneuvered around to push it out of the way of fellow shoppers. You bent to grab your trolley from beneath and he caught it as you unfolded it.

“I’ll drive you,” he said.

“I told you--”

“I’m here so why not? Save the ticket for next time,” he urged.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why does it matter? Why do I matter to you?” you asked.

“I don’t know, I… like helping people,” he shrugged, “what if I told you you were helping me? I have this horrible need to be the hero.”

“That will go away,” you muttered under your breath and he lifted a brow, “sorry, I… thank you.”

“Alright, let’s go then,” he collapsed the trolley and carried it easily under his arm as he cradled his eggs in the other, “I got the A/C fixed on the car too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed and walked with him out of the store.

You crossed the parking lot and helped you load up the bags in the trunk. That car should have been yours; you’d made enough payments on it yourself but Wesley was such a stubborn ass.

You sat in the front seat as he slid into the other and started the car. He drove cautiously through the lot and you read the store signs as he came to the exit.

“How long have you and… the old man been together?”

“Um,” you glanced over at him and chewed your lip, “since college so… almost fifteen years now.”

“Fifteen?” he turned out onto the street, “really? I thought he was older than you.”

“Christ,” you scoffed, “don’t flatter me.”

“Really, I woulda said twenty-eight at most,” he said coolly, “wow, I feel so young now.”

“And I feel so old,” you grumbled as you crossed your legs, hoping he didn’t notice the wrinkle in the pink capris.

“Whatever, you’re not even forty,” he said, “and time has treated you well so I can only think in a few years… oh jeez, sorry, that came off weirder than I intended. Not that I meant for it to be weird at all--”

You giggled at his rambling as he rolled to a stop at the sign and peeked over at you in the rearview. You caught his eye and quickly looked away, “what?”

“Just… you have a nice smile,” he said as he turned down a side street, “and a nice laugh.”

“Thank you,” your voice was brittle at the genuine compliment, “you’re funny.”

“Am I? I wasn’t trying to be,” he took the same short cut you took when you walked home from the convenience store which was closer than the plaza.

“And nice,” you said as he came onto your street, “you really didn’t have to drive me. You could’ve dropped me at the corner--”

“No way, I was raised better than that, and if you think I’m letting you carry that all in by yourself--”

“Raised to help little old ladies?” you mused.

“Raised to treat ladies properly,” he corrected, “especially pretty ones.”

“I’m married,” your heart pattered as you dared to flirt back, almost in disbelief that he was humouring you, “and your lies don’t work on me, young man.”

“Not that young,” he insisted as he pulled into the driveway.

You got out and went around to the trunk. He handed you the bag with the bread and other light products, and loaded up with the other bags.

“You get the doors, let me do the heavy work,” he said and nodded you towards the house.

You went ahead of him and unlocked the door. You let him inside and pointed him into the kitchen. He placed the bags on the counter and stretched his arms and hands as you set yours on the other side. The muscles of his arms moved under his skin and you could trace the lines of his torso through his grey tee.

“So,” he took out the bottle of Perrier, “this going in the fridge?”

“What-- you’ve done enough.”

“Fridge?” he ignored you and pulled out the other.

You gave a long blink and threw up your hands in surrender, “yes, please,” you came around and reached in to grab the whole grain buns, “bottom shelf.”

You finished unpacking your groceries and took the empty bags from Peter and shoved them under the counter. You stood and looked at him nervously as he watched you, his fingers tapping on the granite.

“Do you want a snack? Something to drink? Water?”

“I’ll have a water,” he said and moved to leaned his elbow on the countertop, his side snug to the edge.

“Sparkling or--”

“Regular’s fine,” he answered

“Ice? Lemon?” you pulled out a tall glass.

“Just ice is fine… then I’ll be out of your hair,” he said.

Ice clinked into the glass and you covered it with the distilled water from the fridge. You slid it onto the counter and stepped back.

“Oh, I… actually, it’s a good thing I ran into you,” he said and took a sip, “my aunt, she likes to garden too but she got some bulbs she’s not gonna use, I thought maybe… maybe you would like some to fill in the holes?”

“What kind?” you asked.

“Some daffodils and some crocuses, I think,” he said, “I could bring them over next week after work?”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” you scrunched your lips, “you could probably just give them to a neighbour.”

“It’s not out of the way,” he said, “you want them?”

You stared at him and thought. He was nice. Too nice.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I… I’m sure you have a girlfriend you could be spending time with--”

“I don’t. Not anymore,” he interrupted.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, “I didn’t--”

“Like I said, I always wanna be the good guy,” he finished his water and the last of the cubes settled at the bottom, “thanks.”

“No, thank you,” you said as he set his glass in the sink and backed away, “really, you made my day so much easier.”

“I hope your weekend is better,” he said, “but…”

He didn’t finished and you folded your hands together as he hesitated by the hallway.

“But what?” you prodded.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “nothing. I should go.”

“Okay,” you rubbed the back of your neck, “see ya.”

“Monday,” he confirmed as he turned to the doorframe, “I’ll bring the bulbs. Just after seven.”

“Right,” you slanted your lips and watched him go.

The door marked his departure and you turned to exhale and lean against the counter. You could still smell his rich cologne. Then you felt guilty. It was stupid to think he was doing anything more than being nice, that the flirting was anything but a joke, but still, you missed feeling that way and it should’ve been Wesley making you feel that.

💍

You squeezed the phone as you clenched your jaw so tight it hurt. Your eyes were wet and finally the tears were ready to start falling. The smell of steak filled the kitchen, another meal you wouldn’t eat. At the last minute, Wesley texted to tell you he was hitting the gym. Again. He was already late after a long meeting but promised he’d be home to eat.

So you waited for him to answer your furious phone call but got his voicemail instead. Your eyes narrowed at the bottle of wine and your chest knotted as the tone sounded.

“Wesley, this is it. I can’t do this anymore! I’m your wife. Do you even want to be with me? I can’t go on like this and now you won’t even answer my calls,” you snarled. You knew he had his phone on him as he no doubt had his Spotify work-out list on shuffle, “when you come home, you can sleep on the couch.”

You hung up and grabbed a stemmed glass from the cupboard. You filled it to the brim with Pinot Grigio but before you could taste it, the doorbell made you jump. You set down the glass and walked up the hallway. Just on the other side of the frosted glass was a silhouette. You opened the door and touched your forehead as you faced Peter.

“I totally forgot you were coming,” you breathed, “I’m so sorry. But thank you, you really didn’t have to--”

“Are you okay?” he asked as the paper bag in his hand crinkled.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I… thank you for the flowers,” you looked at the brown paper bag and he handed it over, another bag on his wrist; white with ribbon handles, “what’s that? You headed out for a date?”

“Um, no,” he said, “actually, I was just…” he pushed his fingers through his hairs, the reddish brown locks slightly curled with sweat, “I wanted to talk to you.” He looked past you and his warm eyes returned to yours, “Wesley isn’t home yet?”

“No, he won’t be for a while,” you backed up, “so you might as well come in. I have a steak no one’s gonna eat.”

“Yeah, he wouldn’t be,” Peter said glumly, “and steak sounds good.”

He closed the door behind him and followed you into the kitchen. You put the bulbs at the back of the counter and grabbed the bottle, “wine?”

“No thank you,” he said.

You plunked down the bottle and took a gulp of your wine before you turned to plate the steak and your chicken breast alongside the fried asparagus and roasted potatoes. You set the filet before him as he sat on the stool and climbed up across from him at the long island.

“Thank you,” he watched you slide a steak knife and fork towards him and his gaze lingered on your lips as you took another thirsty mouthful, “this is for you, actually.”

He pushed the white bag over to you and you smelled the subtle floral scent rising from it. You put your glass down and pushed open the top of the bag and peeked inside. You shook your head and rescinded your hand as if you were slapped. It was the same perfume from that day weeks ago.

“You… how?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

You thought back on the day you wanted to forget. He was the other shopper in the perfume section, the one who sent you that sympathetic look as Wesley reproached you. You winced and grabbed your utensils. You cut into the chicken and shoved it in your mouth. You swallowed loudly.

“Take it back,” you sniffed, “I don’t want it. I don’t deserve it.”

“You do. He doesn’t deserve you,” he carefully sliced into the medium rare steak.

“Is that what this is? Some perverted joke? A challenge?” you dropped your fork and knife, “you think you can seduce the sad housewife and then laugh at it? Sow your wild oats?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” he calmly put down the silverware, “I… what I didn’t say when I showed up is I just came from the gym.”

You frowned in confusion and wrinkled your nose. You took another drink of wine as you tried to understand.

“I saw Wesley,” he said as he leaned on his elbow and pulled out his phone with his other hand, “I didn’t wanna say anything but… you’re here beating yourself up over him and-- just look.”

He slid his phone across the counter and you looked at the screen. Your entire body felt heavy and your veins filled with ice. You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to wipe the sight from your eyes; the image of your husband groping a woman in yoga pants, an act she wasn’t deterring.

“I knew it,” you sobbed as the tears burst forth and leaked down your palms, “I knew it. And why wouldn’t he? I’m old, ugly--” you sniffed and pulled your hands away to wipe them on your pants. Peter held out a paper towel and you took it as you avoided his eyes, “thank you but I think you should go. I’m humiliated enough.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said as he climbed down from the stool and rounded the island, “he’s an asshole. He’s blind.”

“Please, Peter, just leave me alone,” you slid off the stool and he caught your shoulders. You looked up at him as you dabbed away the streaks of sadness with the paper towel, “Peter--”

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly, “he’s out there having his fun, so why don’t you have some of your own?”

“Peter, that’s-- that’s wrong. I’m too old for you. And… I’m fat and--”

“You’re perfect,” he reached up to frame your chin with his hand, “you’re gorgeous,” his other hand trailed down your arm and to your hip, “that’s the first thing I noticed about you…” he pulled you closer and tapped your ass lightly.

“No, I can’t-- I just want to be alone,” you pushed on his arms and felt the thick biceps as he flexed and kept you close.

“Well, baby, what I want,” he turned you so that you were pinned between him and the island, “is for you to put on that perfume… I want you wearing nothing but that.”

“Peter,” you pushed on his chest that time and the hard muscle wall didn’t budge, “Peter, go--”

“Baby,” he bent and scooped you up suddenly.

His hands spread over your ass as he lifted you and crushed his lips against yours. You murmured in surprise and he placed you on the granite countertop. He parted from your lips as you sat up and he shoved your legs apart, inserting himself between your knees. He played with the bottom of the dress you’d worn in hopes of rekindling your dying marriage.

“We can go slow,” he tickled along your thighs and pulled back suddenly, “just a little at a time.”

He leaned in as he reached around you and grabbed the small white bag. He pulled out the perfume and snaked his hand around your neck. He pulled you to bend over him and he kissed your neck just before he sprayed a puff of perfume across your throat. He stood back and took a deep breath. He put the bottle on the counter and his hands went back to your skirt.

“Peter,” you caught his hands as they crept under the fabric, “please.”

You tried to slide forward and he stopped you as he grasped your hips and held you in place. He bit his lip as his eyes glimmered up at you. He drew a hand away and took the glass of wine and held it before your mouth.

“Drink, relax,” he cooed, “forget about him.”

You stared at him and he brought your hand up with his and wrapped it around the full body of the glass. He nudged it to your lips and watched you until you drank from the crystal rim. He smirked and lifted your skirt as he bent to bury his head beneath the folds.

You gulped and choked on the wine as your skirt fluttered down over his shoulders. You felt his finger on the lace trim of your panties and winced. He squeezed your thighs with his other hand and nuzzled the crotch of your underwear. You tried to close your legs but he kept them apart easily.

He curled his fingers under the elastic of your panties and tugged. He pulled until you lifted your ass just enough for him to get them free and he guided them down your legs before quickly parting them again.

You set down the glass and almost overturned it, the last mouthful splashing up the side. You pressed your hands to the granite and peered down at the shape of his head beneath your skirt. You gasped as his cool tongue grazed your warm folds and delved deeper.

“Peter…” you wisped and closed your eyes as you tried to hide from your own shame.

He purred as his tongue flicked over your clit and you twitched. He caressed the crease of your thigh with his fingers as he lapped at your, his other hand pressed against your stomach until you fell back across the counter. You arched your back instinctively and his hand cupped your tit through your dress.

He blindly pulled until your chest slipped out and pushed the cup of your bra as he teased your clit with his tongue. He felt along your cunt with his fingers and shoved his index inside of you. You moaned as he pushed another inside and curled them as he suckled on your bud.

Your core burned to life. Your entire being was set alight after months without affection. You quivered in delight and fear. Your nerves stormed both out of guilt and hunger. It felt so good but you knew it was wrong. The scent of the perfume filled your nose as your skin grew hot.

He moved his hand in time with his mouth as he doted on you. His touch intensified as your legs bent around the side of the island and your fingernails dragged along the granite, your voice rising without thought. He pinched your nipple and you cried out as you came in a wave of sheer pleasure and grabbed his wrist as you tried to steady yourself.

He eased off slowly as you trembled in the afterglow, his lingering touch tickled along your legs as he pushed your dress up. He pulled you to sit up and lifted the fabric over your head and ripped your sleeves free from your arms. He tossed as side the garment and swiftly covered your mouth with his so you tasted your own arousal on his tongue.

He unhooked your bra blindly and slid it off your arms. You were intensely aware of your nakedness and as you brought your arms up to cover yourself, he forced them down and ran his hands over your bare torso.

“Beautiful,” he said as he laid a trail of gentle pecks along your throat and chest, pausing to take a nipple in his mouth as he rolled the other between his fingers and sent a shiver through you.

He kneaded your sides and hips, his fingers danced along your thighs and he followed the path with his mouth, kissing and nipping your flesh. He lifted his head again as he took your hands and twined his fingers through yours. He tugged you gently until you slid off the counter and landed on your feet shakily.

“Baby, you’re so amazing,” he placed your hands on his chest and pushed them down his muscled torso and brought them back up beneath his tee shirt, “go on.”

He let you go and you continued to roll up his tee. He dipped his head and raised his arms to help you and you clung to the tee as it fell limp in your grasp. Dazed, he snatched the shirt from your hands and flung it. He once more pressed your hands to his chest and guided you in feeling the lines of his toned flesh.

He pushed your hands against the top of his jeans and leaned into you. He kissed your temple and whispered along your hairline, “turn around, baby.” He squeezed your ass and purred, “mmmm, please, I wanna see that ass.”

You blinked, dazed, and spun slowly. You caught yourself on the edge of the counter as your legs trembled and you heard the subtle zip. He kicked his foot between yours and pushed your legs apart as he led you back so that you were slightly bent against the island. He ran his nails down your back and gripped your hip with one hand as his other drew away from your skin.

You flinched as you felt his smooth tip against your ass and he rubbed it between your cheeks. You inhaled and held in your breath as his hold on your tightened and he angled his dick under your ass and grazed your cunt. He poked your entrance and pressed his chest to your back as his hand covered yours on the granite.

He slid into you and your voice fizzled in the air as he forced the air from your lungs. You pushed your head back and it met his shoulder as his other hand crawled down your front. He spread your folds with his fingers and swirled another around your clit as he tilted his hips and thrust into you slowly.

“Ah, Peter,” you slapped the counter and he shushed you as his hand left yours cold and his fingers stretched over your throat.

His motion picked up as the noise of him crashing into you echoed around the kitchen. Your eyes rolled back as he rammed into you even harder. You were on tiptoes as he was driven by the weak moans that leaked from your lips and your wet pleasure squelched around him. He pressed two fingers to your bud and rubbed until you squeaked and your thighs quaked around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, “I bet you never cum like that for him.”

You whined and he sped up again. He pinned you against the counter so that the lip pressed into your stomach. He took his hand from your cunt and pushed your head down as he kept his other hand around your neck. He didn’t waver once as he fucked you.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he commanded, “I want you to cum again for me. I know you want to too.”

His thick breath warmed the air and grazed your back as he held you down and his hold on your neck tightened until silver stars rose in your vision. Your feet dangled against the tile and you reached down to play with your clit as it buzzed. It was only seconds before you were murmuring in ecstasy once more.

“Fuck, baby, can you feel that? The way your clinging to me,” he puffed as he slammed into you over and over, “he can hardly fill you, can he? Hmmm? Little man.”

You wheezed as he choked you and his other hand kept your head pinned. You heard a distant creak but could barely do more than keep your fingers moving as your heartbeat deafened you. You came again and croaked as your cunt squeezed him hungrily.

“What the fuck?” the voice broke your lusty trance and suddenly you were pulled away from the counter.

Your head lulled as Peter held it up and turned you around, his pelvis slapping against your ass as you faced your husband. Your mouth hung open as your blurred vision barely registered the scene and the deep grunts only got louder behind you.

“Look who’s here,” Peter rasped as he snaked his arm around you.

“The fuck are you doing?” Wesley sneered as your eyes closed and your ass rang with each thrust.

“What you can’t,” Peter snickered, “doesn’t she look so happy?” He grasped your chin and pushed his fingers into your mouth as he held your head up, “well, you into watching or you gonna let us finish, old man?”

#peter parker #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker #fic #peter parker x reader #dark fic #one shot #dark!fic #do us part #marvel #mcu #spider-man #avengers

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hansolmates · 3 years

Text

busted in busan

summary; you’re snowbound at the airport, when the only thing you want is to be homebound. your anxieties heighten as the snow rises, worried that you won’t make it in time for christmas where your fiancé and his parents expect you—picture perfect. when all flights are cancelled due to a massive storm, you have to turn to the hands of an unlikely, hard-headed hero who knows the fastest way out of busan (and into your heart) pairing; jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; a christmas detour!au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, pining, this is a total romcom, hallmark movie galore! tw–microcheating (or not however you look at it) mentions of sex, making out, profanity w/c; 10k a/n; for @suhdays holiday hallmark event! this event was totally up my lane, i couldn’t wait to post it! a huge thank u for @eerieedits for making this wonderful fic banner! this is totally unedited, i’ll to go back to it tonight but pls enjoy! for those of u who need a little more christmas charm this year, this is for u

if you loved this icy couple, please consider giving it a like n’share!⛄⛄⛄

“The Korean Air 1102 flight from Gimhae International Airport to Incheon International Airport will be delayed six hours due to the intense weather conditions. Please be on standby for any further updates.”

You’re twitching, fighting the urge to nibble on your nails because you’ve just got them done for Christmas. They’re a sleek champagne gold, because your fiancé insisted that they’re far more mature than your usual red and brown reindeer art. This is awful, and is only going to get progressively worse as the snow builds and builds. Right now the weather isn’t that bad, the snow isn’t even sticking to the ground and—oh.

Gnawing at your lip, your fingers brush over the cold window, a clear view of the landing strip you should currently be boarding. The touch is icy, and the pads of your fingers are enveloped in little rings of fog at the sudden warmth nudging the glass. Upon closer inspection and a squint of your eyes reveal that in fact, the snow is now sticking to the ground. Big, fat clumps are covering the freeway and destroying your Christmas plans.

Your fiancé will understand if you’re a little late for their Christmas Eve party, but you’re not sure if his parents will. You’ve been on livewire all week, wanting to at least spend the morning of Christmas Eve with your family back home. Knowing that your fiancé’s Christmas Eve party would run until very late, you booked a noon flight with enough time to get ready and impress his parents. Evidently, it was an ill-prepared idea.

Immediately falling into your terminal’s line, you hope that you can talk with the receptionist in hopes they could put you at ease.

“How soon will you announce our flight’s departure?” A sad smile.

“Is there any way you can put me on the next possible flight?” A shake of the head.

“Will the weather let up?” A frown.

Every bit of rejection weighs you down, and you’ve run out of questions to ask. For a receptionist, she’s not very receptive.

“C’mon lady, you’re holding up the line,” a voice tugs you from behind, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta get down to the city on Christmas.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes, wanting to slap the rudeness off this man’s face. Instead of falling back in line, you move to the side to glare at him. He’s unfortunately attractive, albeit in a rugged sort-of way—nothing like your fiancé. The leather jacket that he carries tall is worn and crackly at the collar. Wavy dark hair he constantly has to hold back, a gesture that looks flirtatious and to your chagrin the receptionist is definitely recepting to him.

“Your refund should be processed in about two to four business days, Mr. Jeon,” the receptionist murmurs, the simultaneously sultry and chirpy voice making you twitch in your spot. Maybe if you drank a cup of tall, dark and handsome you’d be getting the same kind of treatment.

“Thanks,” he replies shortly, and it’s then you notice the extremely large luggage next to him. It’s the size of you, and despite the broad shoulders under the baggy jacket, he lugs it with careful force, making sure not to bump into anyone as he wheels it away from the counter.

It seems that your trainers have a mind of your own as you follow him down the terminal. He side eyes you as your feet pick up the pace to match his long legs, but he waits for you to say something first.

“Why did you ask for a refund?” you ask, frowning at him, “the flight is only delayed.”

He scoffs, “Do you see the snow? They’re just saying it’s delayed so they can hold onto your money a little longer. Besides, it’s a win-win. I get my refund sooner and some other poor sap can take the ticket and wait until five in the morning.”

“Five A.M.,” you exhale to yourself, slowing down.

It would be too late by then, far too late. Your shoulders slump, people start to bump into you without a care.

“Besides,” you hear his voice say from your stricken form, “I had a backup plan.”

That’s when your feet start to burn up, and you whip around to pump your legs, catching up with the man who’s already far down the hall. “What kind of backup plan?” you blurt, raising your voice because the crowds are starting to get noisier and deeper the further you follow him.

He hooks his lips into a confused frown, “You’re awfully nosy.”

“I’m in a pinch, my fiancé’s parents will kill me if I don’t show up to their party tonight.”

“Your fiancé’s parents… will kill you?”

“That’s an exaggeration,” you cough, immediately feeling self-conscious, “they’d kill me with their eyes. They’re really big, really pretty corporate people. They have high expectations for their future in-law.”

“Ah, and you're the country pumpkin who managed to sweep the rich guy off his feet?”

“Something like that,” you reply, rocking on your heels, “my dad was his dad’s former secretary, and we grew up together.”

The stranger with a plan stops in front of a long line. It’s so long that you’re not entirely sure where it leads to. People are piling out the door two at a time, and you can see they’re trying to get through the process as fast as possible. The window leading outside is blurry and caked in white ice. He hooks one leg over his luggage, the metal and plastic case is so high that his feet barely touch the ground. Like a kid with a flat scooter, he wheels himself through the line.

“These lines are for busses going in the direction of our flight,” he jabs a finger out the door, “if the flight got cancelled I was just going to ride one of these,” out of his pocket he pulls out two tickets, flicking it in front of your face.

“Are there any tickets left?” your eyes bug, and you immediately pull out your phone to reserve a spot.

“Nah, been booked since last month.”

It’s then that your eyes zero in on the second ticket he has in hand. Both tickets are addressed to the same name. You lower your phone in your pocket, narrowing your eyes. “Why do you have two for yourself?”

He pats his luggage as a response.

“That’s not fair!”

“It is when you buy it, sweetheart.”

“A literal human could be in that spot, wanting to go home for Christmas!”

“You’re just salty you don’t have a ticket, don’t take it out on my luggage,” he feigns a pout, rubbing the handle of the heavy container, “you’re hurting it’s feelings.”

It doesn’t take long for you and the stranger to reach the end of the line. To others in line the two of you look like two companions bickering good-naturedly, but in reality the only thing you want to do is slap that smug smile off his face.

“You want my ticket,” he states.

“I want your luggage’s ticket,” you bite back, staring petulantly at where he sits comfortably between the handle.

Unbeknownst to you, the man’s face morphs into a teasing grin upon seeing you glare a little too hard at the silver and black case. It just so happens that your eyes gravitate to the middle of the luggage, at the apex between his long legs leading up to a pair of black sweats. Despite the soft, baggy fabric you can see how the bulge of his thighs outline the thin cotton, looking large and inviting which—

Fuck. You’re engaged. Why are you checking out some stranger’s thighs? Your fiancé also has nice thighs, think about those!

“How much do you want for it?” you cough, crossing your arms and turning to the side to hide your flaming cheeks.

“Who said I was offering?”

“I’ll pay that and then some.”

“With your rich-boy’s money?”

If your hands were not digging into your elbows and you weren’t so concerned about your gold-foiled manicure, you’d deck him. Do the holidays normally make this person so snappy? He simply flips his hair, and you catch the shaved ends of his sides.

“Three-hundred,” he says easily, and if he notices you staring he doesn’t say anything, “including any extra fees for my luggage.”

“Done,” you hold out your hand for him to shake.

“I’m Jungkook, if you care,” the man named Jungkook adds wryly, practically swallowing your small hand with his larger one. You shortly reply with your name, and he merely nods, “a thank you would suffice.”

“Thanks,” and it’s then that you manage a scarily pretty smile, one that Jungkook finds both alarming and amusing. It’s a catered smile, one that you’ve trained yourself to accomplish after hours in the mirror in fear of your fiancé’s parents seeing right through you. It’s the smile you give during work when you don’t give a shit but you need to suck it up. It’s a 9/10 success rate.

“Scary,” he shivers, and then you realize he’s the 1/10.

The only bus for you two to pile on is one of the smallest. Probably half the size of a regular coach bus, but at this rate you don’t care. You’ll fly by hot air balloon if the weather wasn’t so crappy.

“Taehyung!” you startle at Jungkook’s sudden belt, and he does a big, beefy-chested bro-hug to the driver. Ah, so he has connections. You watch the two interact from your corner, pulling up your hood to stop the rapidfire snowflakes from pelting your eyes.

The driver is a classically handsome thing, dark eyes and dark fluffy hair. His paperbag pants look absolutely frigid however, and his teeth are chattering as he regards Jungkook with annoyed eyes.

“Listen, so plans have changed—”

“As always, Kook.”

“—and I need you to do me another solid. Do you have room in the compartment for my babies?”

“The answer is, and always no. That’s why you bought two tickets.”

“I know but,” he gestures to you with a jab of his thumb, “like I said, plans have changed.”

“Jungkook,” Taehyung frowns, “trying to do some Christmas miracles? In this snowstorm?” Taehyung shakes his head, eyes flickering to the running bus. Most of the ticket holders are already on it. “I can save you two a three-seater, but there’s no room in the compartment. It’ll be a tight fight but—”

“It’s perfect. You’re dynamite, Tae,” Jungkook even has the audacity to reach his hands out and squish the driver’s cheeks, much to his distain.

The two of you are ushered quickly into the bus, leaving you in the very front diagonal to where Taehyung is sitting. The three seats are tiny, it probably barely fits Jungkook’s thighs with the large luggage nestled in the other two seats. The two of you suggest to put the luggage out in the aisle and take turns holding it, but Taehyung interjects that the luggage is a fire hazard.

“But not a human,” Jungkook decides, and he gestures for you to sit down in the available seat. You’re practically shoved against the window as Jungkook manages to squeeze his gargantuan luggage in the other two seats. He’s tall enough to grab the metal rungs of the bus, steeling himself in the middle of the aisle.

Taehyung doesn’t fight with that, and finally puts the bus into drive. Pulling out of the airport feels akin to leaving the eye of the storm. It’s going to be a long journey, and it makes you worry as to whether you’re going to make it on time or not.

Your favorite pastime is watching the window on a long car ride, especially when the snowflakes crystalize and melt away through the warmth of the vehicle. However, you’re irked. You thought Jungkook was a bit of a wank, a little too full of himself and far too mysterious for your own good.

Exhibit A, the luggage that’s currently threatening to wheel over and crush you against the glass. You wonder what’s so special about this luggage that Jungkook so desperately wants to protect, even so far as to buy its own seat. Sneakily, you lean over to smell the zipper. Surprisingly, it smells a little vinegary, the fumes getting you a little lightheaded within seconds. Your eyes dart to Jungkook, who’s currently engaged in conversation with Taehyung. You tilt your head and sniff again, confirming the slightly rancid smell.

It’s then you take in Jungkook’s form once more. He dresses a little schlubby, his clothes are old, his eyes are sunken in, and his luggage is filled with weird-smelling things.

Oh no. Is Jungkook a drug dealer?

Your fiancé’s parents would surely have a fit if this man gets arrested and you come up in the report as an accused accomplice. It makes sense, he would want to make sure that his goods are in his view at all times, and it explains why he so easily gave you his ticket for triple the actual price.

A giggle interrupts your thoughts. Yes, a tired, yet bubbly giggle. Jungkook’s face is pressed against his bicep, and you catch the fluttering of his eyes as he tries to keep up with Taehyung’s rambling. His grip is starting to loosen on the metal bars, and you’re worried that he might accidentally slip, or not hold tight enough in the event the car takes a sharp turn or slips on black ice.

“J-Jungkook,” it’s the first time you’re saying his name out loud, tasting it on your tongue as you regard him steadily, “why don’t we take turns sitting? I don’t mind standing for an hour while you sleep.”

He regards you with a sleepy smirk, shaking his head against the fabric of his jacket. “You’ll be flung in two seconds, besides can you even reach the handles?”

Good point, but Jungkook is far more muscular and if he does end up flying he’ll crash through the window and further hinder your commute. It’s why you choose your next words carefully, and you convince yourself it’s the only reason as to why you propose your solution.

“I’ll sit on your lap,” and since it sounds super weird coming out of your mouth, you tack on, “I’ll put your jacket over your lap as a barrier.”

He slacks, regarding you with a scrunched face. “Is the jacket supposed to make that situation any better? I’m fine standing like this.”

“This ride is going to take hours and you’re barely on your own two feet,” your point is made when the bus topples over a speed bump, and Jungkook looks awfully small as he moves to grapple the top bar with both hands, “my fiancé doesn’t get jealous, I’ve sat in plenty of friend’s laps before.”

“We’re not friends,” he blurts with a raise of his brows.

“Yes, I know that,” you’re a little insulted by the curt reply, but he still looks rather horrified that you’re proposing the following, “I don’t like it either, but I’m sitting in your seat and now I’m feeling guilty as hell.”

It’s a lot of shuffling and shifting after that. You try not to laugh as Jungkook rips off his leather jacket, folding it into a perfect square, ironing out the corners of the crinkly fabric as he gestures for you to take a seat. You try not to take note of how sturdy his thighs are, or how the muscle stretches across the seat so well that there’s no way for you to fall between the cracks.

“You’re going to sleep anyway,” you try to assure him, side eying him as he presses his forehead against the window, “it’ll be like being with a dead body.”

“Didn’t know you were into necrophilia, but whatever floats your boat,” Jungkook mumbles, eyes immediately fluttering shut.

At first it was easy, ignoring the fact that you’re sitting on top of a human. The drive seems endless however, Taehyung driving further and further into a sea of white ice. You force yourself to thread your fingers together, sitting on the very edge of his knees with your back ramrod straight. Eventually, you tire out and relax against Jungkook’s lax body. Your face is centimeters away from Jungkook’s. Long, dark lashes, and a strand of equally dark hair falls in front of his eyes. His cheeks are flushed from the blaring heater, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

Hm, for a drug dealer, he smells pretty.

Despite the weird-smelling luggage that looms over the two of you, the white long-sleeved shirt he wears is soft to the touch and smells fresh.

You huff, and shift in your seat.

“Stop,” Jungkook mumbles into your shoulder, and you don’t have the heart to look at him.

“I’m sorry, it’s cramped,” you reply.

“I get that, but you don’t have to—hike yourself so far up here,” he sounds almost embarrassed saying it, and his hand shuffles to adjust his belt. “Literally can’t sleep because you’re making me pop a boner.”

“Why, I’m engaged!”

“God, I know. It’s like your personality trait or something,” Jungkook retorts, “just because you’re engaged doesn’t stop my body from reacting. I’m sure your fiancé has reacted like this, stop acting like a blushing virgin.”

You tense, your eyes glued to the window in front of you. How do you even make a comeback to that? Wringing your hands in your lap, you feel your palms sweat with nerves the longer it takes for you to reply. This causes the gears to run in Jungkook’s mind.

“Holy fuck, have you two not—”

“Shut up,” you hiss, turning your body around to slap him in the chest, “shut up shut upupupshutup!”

You make seething, burning eye contact with Jungkook. You expect him to have a shit-eating grin on his face, teasing you for your relationship. Instead, Jungkook is wide-eyed, mouth parted open like a confused guppy and his big bug-eyes looking stricken. He says nothing.

The road starts to get bumpier, and the drive swerves from time to time to avoid black ice. Neither of you are relaxed. Combined with the heart of the storm, your heart is currently wrung on electrical wire, pumping blood with a fervor you cannot stifle.

“I’m going to put my arms around your waist,” Jungkook murmurs softly, and you lift your arms slightly to see him lace his fingers over your belly button. “Like a seatbelt.”

You sigh, relaxing in his hold. Now it’s awkward. He feels compelled to hold you to keep you safe, even though he clearly finds it awkward you’ve already put him in this position.

Jungkook isn’t so bad, you think as you let your gaze linger on his hands. They anchor you to his lap, making sure you’re not jostling during the ride. He may have a razor sharp tongue and gets under your nerves just for the heck of it, but he’s kind of nice. Under the prickly leather jacket, there’s a softness to him you can’t help but gravitate to.

It’s dark outside, save for the speedily descending flakes and the dim lights of the highway. You’re sitting on the lap of a total stranger, yet it’s a stranger who’s holding your waist like he’s a seatbelt, a stranger who’s making you feel safe to say the words that have been haunting you for the past few months.

“I’ve tried to initiate sex,” you finally say. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want me, it’s already been two years.”

Your eyes turn red with bloody horror. Your vision blurred by the insanity of what you’ve just blurted out to this surprisingly kind stranger who’s offered his seat (both times) to you.

“I didn’t mean to word vomit like that. Forget I said anything—”

“Must be his loss,” Jungkook cuts you off, and when he says it doesn’t feel impolite at all. However, Jungkook doesn’t continue on, doesn’t give you rhyme or reason, just lets you linger on his reply like a madwoman.

Maybe it’s because you’re so touch starved, maybe you’re just seeing things, but for some reason Jungkook’s fingers feel more apparent against the seam of your jacket. They tighten a fraction, drum around the metal zipper that holds the thick fabric together. Your palms feel like a fountain, and you try to ignore the burn between your legs, the liquid heat betraying the commitment that sits on your finger.

You’re engaged to be married, you chastise yourself. All eighteen carats that symbolize that bond glare at you, bright and eager to make you feel guilty. The whole reason why you’re on this cramped bus ride is to get to your soon-to-be husband. Some pretty stranger with strong hands won’t change that.

“We’re here! Finally!” Taehyung cheers, and you realize now that you’re parked into a tunnel surrounded by other buses.

Jungkook and you wait until everyone steps off the bus. The pads of Jungkook’s fingers play an unsung tune, absentmindedly drumming to a song you can’t put your mind to.

“God, you can’t just pay the extra money for someone to take care of this?” Taehyung hauls the large luggage in the aisle seat, and you feel like you’re being revealed under a curtain, doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

You hop off his lap, scoop your backpack in your arm and scramble off the bus. The cold, winter air bites into every available pore in your body, replacing the warmth that Jungkook gave in the tiny bus. You hike the collar of your oversized turtleneck higher up your chin, prickling in shivers as you wait for Jungkook.

“I don’t remember Seoul being this, empty,” you say to yourself, frowning at the lack of humans past the bus station. You peer curiously at the dark, dark road off the terminal. There’s no flicker of light, or a skyline filled with bustling sounds and flickering head beams.

“That’s because we’re only halfway there,” Jungkook walks past you, luggage in tow.

“What?” you pull out your phone, it’s already 4PM and it’s pitch dark outside.

The snow is beating down as you two speed walk out of the hangar, reaching a nearly vacant parking lot save for a pure white minivan. You barely notice the vehicle with all the snow, blending in perfectly as wave after wave of ice beats down on it. The pops of rust by the tires, gaudy orange stripes is the only thing you can focus on as you try to make it to the car as fast as possible.

“Get in and start the car,” Jungkook practically shoves the keys in your hands, gesturing for you to take the passenger seat.

When you enter his car, you’re hit with a scent scarily identical to the one in Jungkook’s luggage. You nearly gag when you inhale too much, and your eyes flicker over to the lemon air freshener attached to the exhaust, trying its best to mask the smell. You vaguely remember all the warning stories your parents told you as a kid—never enter the white van.

Ohmygod, you’re in a white van and all of Jungkook’s drugs are in the back.

You shake your head, willing the car to start as you arch your back over the console to start it up. You’ve been around your fiancé’s parents too long, letting them fill your head with judgemental gab and crazy assumptions only rich people have about people lesser than them.

Once the car spurs to life, soft holiday music plays from a pop station. The front window of the car is absolutely covered in snow, you can’t even budge the windshield wipers to scrape the layer of ice off.

Suddenly, a blanket of ice slides off the window, swept to the concrete. You’re met with Jungkook’s toothy smile and horror-esque stare, and you have this jerk reaction to nervously laugh and jump in your seat. Your nails dig into the cheap fabric of your seat as Jungkook’s scary expression melts into a more softened one, as if happy to have gotten you to laugh in such sucky times. Jungkook continues to brush your windows, meticulously making sure no ice can cause any damage as you two go into the night.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Jungkook whips the door open, throwing the snow brush at the space between your feet.

As soon as he shuts the door, your stomachs growl simultaneously.

The two of you break into a quick laugh, giggles that overlap the twinkly holiday chimes and the packed snow crunching under Jungkook’s boots.

“After McDonalds,” Jungkook declares, setting up the GPS for a quick pitstop to the nearest fast food joint.

Ten minutes into the drive, you pull into a generic food joint, too starved to find gourmet McDonalds. You make it a point to flick your card and lean over his body to meet the cashier, telling him you’re spotting the meal. Jungkook doesn’t complain, and tells the cashier to add in a vanilla sundae for good measure.

Color yourself impressed, but you can’t help but gawk as Jungkook expertly sets up his food on the dashboard like a five-star meal, with fries in the cupholder and a burger unwrapped perfectly to catch any spills and to keep his fingers from getting greased up. For such a terrible snowstorm, he pulls out of the joint gracefully, a brief intermission in your long journey.

“So, is my fiancé’s place far from where you need to be?”

Jungkook shrugs, a stray fry hanging from his mouth. “It’s not far, not close either. I don’t mind, I like driving.”

��Do you drive around a lot?”

“Yeah, for work. It’s a little annoying that I have to spend Christmas alone, but it is what it is.”

Pausing on your speculation, you take a big bite of your burger. You were hoping that your conversation would spur on a little more detail about his drug-esque job. However, all you start to feel is the heaviness of your fast food meal, stemming from your chest and filling your grease-filled stomach.

“You’re spending Christmas alone?” you say, and you don’t mean to sound so sad saying it, but the thought of him being alone tonight makes you feel pinched with pain.

“I can practically feel your puppy-eyes,” Jungkook shakes his head, not even needing to look at you as he focuses on the road. “I’m fine, don’t you worry.”

“Do you wanna come to the party?” you offer, trying to sound as neutral as possible as you throw the suggestion on the dash.

“Not my thing,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, “with my line of work, I prefer to lay low.”

Trying not to feel a hurt by the sudden (but expected) rejection, you practically eat your burger whole, eyes glaring on the road. You surmise it’s a valid excuse, drug dealers aren’t exactly one for highly-populated areas and with your fiancé’s reputation, you’re sure his parents would smell Jungkook’s reputation in a micro-minute.

The drive isn’t anything special. You’re sure if it were spring, the foliage would be pretty and the sun would be setting into melty orange hues by now. It’s all black and white, boring shades that are aggressively pelting at the van and hindering your evening.

“So, what other character traits do you have?” Jungkook cuts through your semi-brooding, as easily as one slices through butter, “other than the obvious that you’re engaged, and that you’re getting married. And oh yeah, you have a fiancé!”

You scoff at his cheesy joke, folding your arms together. “I like spending time with my family. Watching movies under a weighted blanket. Plants.”

His stare dips away from the road for a fraction, enough for you to catch that he’s rolling his eyes, “Fascinating. Not a plant person myself. I like those cute little succulents though. Had a bunch of those in college.”

“I am also a ramen connoisseur,” you say pointedly, turning up your nose.

“Ah, are you?” you smile a little when you see Jungkook’s eyes light up at the mention of food, “what’s the criteria for good ramen?”

“Deep, creamy broth. Also, the egg. Gotta look like a custard-y, eggy sunset. It’s just,” you smack your lips together, mimicking a chef’s kiss, “perfect.”

He chuckles, and goes on to tell you a story about a ramen shop he’s visited on his travels. It’s one he declares that you need to visit, one he still dreams about often. It takes a ferry and it’s a bit of a trek, but he says it’s worth it, and the eggs are as custard-y and sunset-y as you’d like.

It’s between pockets of his story and pulling yourself out of this little bubble of a van you realize: are you flirting with Jungkook?

The longer this trip goes, the more your stares linger. They linger like the snow that sticks to the ground, unable to do nothing but cling. Layer after layer of confusing feelings, building up to a blizzard that you’re unable to quell.

“So, your family’s also going to be at your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook asks, poking at yet another one of your personal facets. He’s being blatantly nosy, yet neither of you seem to mind.

“Oh, no,” you shove your hands in your pockets, “they wanted to stay back in our hometown with the extended family. Y’know, the older members can’t really travel as much as they used to.”

“Ah, so you’re splitting up your time,” Jungkook drums his hands on the wheel, eyes drooped slightly as he continues along the monotonous road, “your fiancé couldn’t make it?”

“Couldn’t,” you reply lightly, “just, y’know, work.”

“Been there, done that,” Jungkook replies, “I’m sure he missed out though. What’s your family like? Are they the type to bake cookies until 3 A.M.? Oh, or do they get wine drunk and talk shit about their annoying cousins—”

“Jungkook,” the words fly out of your mouth before you can even think, “I’m engaged.”

The weight of your words holds differently now. A whole day has passed with this man, and you’ve developed an attachment that simultaneously scares and thrills you. Not an hour goes by that you have to think to yourself that you’re taken, to the point that you can’t even tell what’s in your head and what’s being spoken out in the air.

Instead of a snippy comment, a snarky retort of, “I know, I know!” like you anticipate, Jungkook stops the car.

There’s no human trace for miles, so it doesn’t scare you when he slows down and pulls off to the side. He gears the car into park, roughly pulling the handle. He lays his arm over the steering wheel, turning his body so he can face you fully. The heat in the car suddenly feels too cloying, and you shrink in the seat as he leans in on you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks, and from the looks of it, he’s genuinely hurt.

“I—Jungkook,” you plant your feet on the ground, trying to find some power in this situation, “I mean I, we—you just can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you feel like I’m trying to steal you away? Or, seduce you or something?” Jungkook is starting to talk himself into a stupor, eyes flickering from the window, to you, to behind you, and back to you. It’s almost jarring, seeing how self-conscious he starts to get without the presence of an audience. Gone is the smooth talker that you met at the terminal, willing to haggle it all for your cash. “Are you uncomfortable? Is it weird I have a crush on you?”

“Wait, you have a crush on me?”

He reels back, nearly pressing his head against the window. Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, exhaling deep from his lungs. “Adults still get crushes, y’know.”

“Yeah, but not to people you met eight hours ago.”

Jungkook arches a brow, “People fall for people in the most unlikely of ways.”

That singular statement hits you, hard.

Jungkook looks like he wants to get out of the van. He seems stuffy, and he unzips his coat and shoves it under his legs.

“You’re cute,” he echoes the statement like he can’t believe that in a short amount of time, he’s attached to you, “you seem to have good taste, you love family, and your personality isn’t half bad,” the last bit is meant to be teasing, a lighthearted way to end his bout of emotion, but it only makes you ache further, “And it makes me upset knowing that you have to keep convincing yourself that you’re in a relationship that isn’t as fulfilling as you hope. This whole drive, you’ve been anxious about going to his parents, worrying that you’re not going to make it on time instead of relaxing with your family. Where you actually want to be.”

“I also want to be with Jimin,” you say weakly, a half-hearted attempt to defend yourself.

You never mentioned your fiancé’s name until this point. It makes Jungkook stiffen a little, finally putting a name to the man that’s supposed to have your heart. It makes the relationship concrete, palpable.

“I’m sure you do,” Jungkook smacks his lips, evidently sealing the conversation to suffocate under the snow.

Jungkook puts the car into drive, sliding back into your current route.

“And to answer your question, Jungkook. No, you having a crush on me is not weird,” and smaller, quieter, you reply, “because it’s weird that I might have a crush on you, too.”

You know that Jungkook catches your statement, because he cranks the volume of the radio harder, effectively shutting you out.

The first thing Jungkook says when you finally reach the Park’s house is: “Wow.”

His van looks completely out of place, parked on the side as limos and Escalades drop off more and more people into the large estate. It’s pouring with elegant piano music, and the large window in the middle of their home reveals a century-old chandelier, crystals beaming and winking against the hundreds of guests that lie underneath.

The rest of the way driving was almost painfully fast. After that awkward wave of emotion, neither of you said anything. Well, you didn’t at least. Jungkook attempted to clear the air by singing along to the Christmas songs on the radio, but it only further attracted you because to your chagrin—Jungkook’s a pretty good singer.

The estate isn’t in Seoul persay, it’s a sizable plot of land that definitely comes from old money. It’s decked up like the North Pole, lit up and tiny crystal lines dotting the expanse of the rooftops. The snow certainly adds to it, and many guests are outside taking pictures of the picture-perfect holiday show. The blizzard has finally subsided, leaving a clean blanket of snow across their yard.

You scoff to yourself. What they find to be a Christmas miracle only derailed yours.

Jungkook stares at you while you send a quick text to Jimin. You tell him he needs to come fast, because you don’t want his parents to see you all sweaty and dressed like you’ve been traveling for hours.

“Oh, uh,” you finally take a look at him, and you immediately regret it because you’re getting sucked into his gaze, “I think you put my bag in the trunk?”

“Right,” he shakes his head, “follow me.”

He tilts his head down when he’s outside, as if the snow’s going to start back up and drown him. Your thumb scratches the ring on your finger as you hop out of the van, effectively popping the bubble the two of you have been sealed in for the better half of the evening. Is this going to be it? Is the last you’ll see of Jeon Jungkook?

All those thoughts evaporate when Jungkook opens the trunk.

There’s no drugs.

In fact, you don’t even know what to think. The van is absolutely filled, wall-to-wall art supplies and canvas carefully lined up like Tetris blocks to avoid damage. The floor of the van seems to receive the brunt of the messes, and you catch recent paint stains and spray cans stacked to the side. It explains the smell.

There’s some clear cases in a corner, protecting completed prints that are already framed. Your eyes cling to a vibrant hyacinth, coral and satin blue petals bunching in the middle of a black background. It’s absolutely gorgeous, if it wasn’t for all the paint lying around, you’d think it’s real.

Jungkook’s an artist.

“Holy shit, I thought you were a drug dealer,” you blurt, and you want to smack yourself in the face.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook jerks his head towards you, “did you think I was a drug dealer this whole time?”

“N-no,” you frown petulantly, letting Jungkook loop your arms through the straps of your backpack. “Maybe. You were very shady.”

He laughs, a genuine laugh. It confuses you, the way he tucks his hands in his pockets and bends his back over to look up at you through his dark lashes. It’s like nothing’s wrong, like he’s trying to erase the past eight hours and leave with no qualms. You don’t know if that comforts you or terrifies you.

“So, you were willing to let a potentially dangerous man be your travel partner for eight hours so you can make it to your fiancé’s party?” Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to the front door, “you must really love him.”

“I do,” you say the phrase like it’s second nature. Rehearsed. Practiced.

“Merry Christmas,” Jungkook pulls out his hand, and you don’t hesitate to grasp it.

Liquid heat sparks through your skin, one that tingles from where his large palm encases yours, all the way to your heart.

“Merry Christmas,” you echo, and your feet feel like lead as you back away from him.

Jungkook waits until you go inside the house, even though the valet is side eyeing him and mentally telling him to leave already. Turning your back to him is rough, like you’re without snowshoes and you’re trudging through snow.

The goodbye feels rushed. Your heart is cold and heavy. Unfortunately, by the time you realize you haven’t paid Jungkook for his bus ticket and the ride, it’s too late. Jimin has already pulled you in his awaiting arms, and Jungkook has peeled out of the driveway.

“You look awful,” Jimin coddles you, dusting the invisible dirt off your jacket. You know Jimin means well by the statement, but you can’t help but feel a little unsupported by his words. You did all you could to make it to Jimin in time for this party full of faceless, nameless people. And yet, Jimin inadvertently manages to put you down for finally making it.

The hallway is relatively empty, save for one staff member who cleans the wet linoleum floors whenever someone with snow steps in. You can easily make out where the heart of the party is, the tinkly holiday music playing from the speakers, along with all the bodies huddled by the extra large Christmas tree that is brimming with presents.

You do feel like a wet noodle, in comparison to Jimin and Namjoon’s complementary pinstripe suits. Jimin’s deep burgundy suit pops in the endless hallway of marble and light wood as he quickly leads you upstairs to a spare room for you to change. Namjoon’s more muted grey still looks stunning on him, cutting his tall figure nicely. You think it’s cute that Jimin made an effort to match with his assistant, not making him feel out of place in this big party.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Namjoon interjects softly, gesturing to the garment bag hanging on the boudoir, “I picked out your dress.”

“I’m sure whatever you bought is beautiful,” you assure softly, stepping fully into the room. It’s an extra bedroom, you’re assuming it might be yours.

“We’ll give you some time to freshen up and get ready,” Jimin squeezes your arm, a touch you can barely feel due to the puffiness of your down jacket. It’s just an awkward escape of air to you, a sssttt that you catch Namjoon hiding his smile for, “we’ll walk around a bit and bring you some food.”

“I want cupcakes,” you blurt impulsively, and the two of them laugh on their way out the door.

Once you’re finally alone, you strip yourself bare. Jacket, shirt, socks, underwear. You make quick work of taking a hot, damp towel to wash your arms and legs, scrubbing your face of any oil and dirt from the day. You wrap yourself in an indulgent fluffy robe, the plush material comforting you as you flop on the bed.

It’s been a day.

You take a five minute cat nap, the weight of the day taking its toll on you. When you finally flutter your eyes open however, you see him.

It’s not exactly him, it’s his art. It’s mounted right atop the headboard, a large blown up painting of a tiger lily. The orange and gold flecks flicker and go perfectly with the decor of the room. The piece is longing, aching for you to go back to two hours ago when you could’ve phrased your words better, balm the situation into something to salvage. This must be a sign, you think. Upon closer look, you see the signature Jeon JK etched in silver in the corner. Who knew the Parks were buying Jeon Jungkook’s work, the world is smaller than you’d originally thought.

It ignites you. You rip the zipper of the garment bag, pulling on the slinky glittery gold dress Namjoon picked out for you. It’s gorgeous, and you don’t know how he managed to find your proportions, but you figure an assistant of his caliber has access to many things. You don’t have much time, so you slap on some light makeup and swipe some highlights across your eyes. By the time Jimin returns, you’re pulling your hair up and out of your face.

Jimin walks to the bed with a pretty red velvet cupcake, “You look beautiful,” he says immediately, and you follow to sit with him at the foot of the bed.

You don’t hesitate to grab the cupcake from his tea plate, nearly shoving it in your mouth. You definitely need a rush, something to curb you over for the plans you have tonight. “Sugar sugar,” you chant like a mantra, and you don’t care that your lipgloss is smudged and crumbs cling to your cheeks.

Jimin just rubs circles onto your thigh, letting you eat and relax. He knows you’re not a fan of these kinds of parties, preferring to wallflower it, preferably at a wall closest to the buffet. His touch is comforting, and you chew slower in order to prolong the inevitable. It takes a beat for you to finish your cupcake.

“I need to talk to you,” the two of you blurt at the same time, and you point and giggle at each other like you’re still five year olds tinkering in the sandbox.

Jimin pouts, “Can I go first? Mine’s kind of important.”

“Mine’s also really important,” you don’t mean to invalidate Jimin, but you really need to get this out. “I might explode if I don’t say this now.”

The blonde scrunches his nose, obviously weak to your unusual distress, “I guess I wouldn’t want that.”

You clutch his hand, the hand that holds the plain wedding band he picked out for himself two years ago. Your eyes flicker to how your ring kisses his, “Jimin. I love you, like really love you. I can’t imagine my life without you, you’ve been my best friend since we could crawl. But as I traveled down here, I realized that even though I love you, I think I’m not in love,” you wince at how cheesy that sounds, “I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough, but the whole trip down here made me realize I don’t think I can commit to this.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” you gasp, watching relief wash over Jimin’s features. You’re not even done with your whole spiel and he’s already unbuttoning his blouse, “this makes what I’m about to say a whole lot easier.”

“Jimin,” you trail off, squeezing his palm, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, I think I’m in love.”

Your jaw slackens slightly, seeing the sweat that lines Jimin’s slicked back hair. He must’ve been thinking about this all night, waiting for you to tell you this. Your chest aches, weighing in on all the sudden facts. “Who is it?” you ask.

Jimin shrugs, “The man who does my taxes and makes sure I sleep at least seven hours a night.”

“Namjoon,” you conclude, eyes moving to the sealed door. You think Namjoon is waiting out there right now, silently supporting you two as you go through this. Of course, Jimin’s parents would be livid if anything would tarnish his reputation. A broken engagement would be sticky to cover up, and Jimin falling for his assistant is a headline right for the books.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers, despite the room being vacant he feels the need to keep his words short, “You came all this way to hear this. But I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” His soft fingers make a beeline for your ring finger, removing the diamond band, “And by the way, I love you too. Which is why we’re going to come clean in the morning and work this out with my parents, together. I’m sorry if you felt obligated to follow me all this time just because our parents did.”

“Hey, like you said, we’re in this together. Both in and out,” you chastise, pulling your engagement ring from his grasp and holding it to the light. “Can I keep this? Instead of an engagement band, it can be our best friend band. I’ll even get it re-sized so it can go on another finger.”

Jimin pulls you into his arms, crushing you. The silky material of your dress bunches and rides, but you don’t care. The two of you can’t help but be a little crybaby-ish about it, feeling much like your younger-selves when you had to pull each other out of trouble.

The two of you walk out of the bedroom hand-in-hand, and Namjoon is leaning against the banister in the hallway, a soft smile melting on his tanned skin.

“I’m so happy for you,” you gush, hugging Namjoon tightly. You’ve only known the man for a few months, but you can tell he’s taking care of Jimin and that’s enough for you.

“I… really thought you’d be more upset.” Namjoon marvels, patting your back.

Jimin interjects, “I think she’s found someone hotter than me.”

“Impossible!”

You could stay at this party, lay low until you and Jimin have to confront his parents in the morning. They suggest to get all the food they need and sneak out to the home theatre. The three of you hustle it down the stairs to another part of the house, in order for you to make your getaway and avoid Jimin’s family.

“Hey,” you stop in front of another painting, pulling the two men to a stop. Your eyes lock on a framed droopy peony, tipped with pink dye. You realize you can’t stay here, not when someone’s home alone tonight. “Namjoon, I need you to locate someone for me.”

Jungkook does not expect to see you at his front door.

You’re stunning, and look as breathless as he feels. The liquid champagne number that hugs your frame does things to him, and he’s strangely attracted to the fact that you paired this expensive dress with your snow-drenched trainers.

You showing up at the wee hours of the morning was the last thing Jungkook thought would happen. It’s nothing short of a holiday event, you look like you’ve just walked out of a gala and then ran a marathon to reach him.

He thought when he said goodbye, it would be the last time you’d cross paths. At first, he was okay with that. After all, feelings come and go, and spontaneity only works a percentage of the time. Seeing you presently however, throws all those half-hearted concedings out the window.

“Hi,” you finally say, drinking from the fact that you actually found him.

“Hey,” Jungkook breathes, “you look, beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you smile.

“So, is this about you not paying me back for the ticket?” Jungkook suddenly feels guilty, having dipped out of Jimin’s manor once he saw him appear at the door. It was unrightful jealousy, and because of that he needed to drive away as fast as possible. “Because honestly, it was me messing with you. I really don’t need the money.”

“I figured, from the fact that I had to take the elevator up to the penthouse of the building.”

“So then why are you here?” Jungkook wobbles on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to do with himself.

“My ex-fiancé is in love with someone else,” you lay your cards out just like that, and Jungkook’s unprepared to deal.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry—”

“Let me finish,” you cut in gently, “my ex-fiancé is in love with someone else, and that’s okay. We’ve been best friends since we were little, and we want nothing but happiness for each other. And for me? Happiness is right in front of me.”

You bite your lip, and Jungkook fights down the urge to run up and pull you into his arms. You must be so cold, running out without a jacket and rushing to his home. However, he lets you finish, and he holds himself down by clutching the door frame as casually as possible.

“I also have a big, fat crush on you,” you say boldly, “and I had to tell you as soon as I could. It took a twenty-minute phone call and some serious leverage from Jimin’s company to figure out where you lived. That receptionist is definitely not letting me use my frequent flyer miles next flight.”

“You harassed an airport receptionist just for me?” he smiles wanly, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m touched.”

“You make me excited to try new things, to be spontaneous and do things for myself,” with every statement you take a step further, and soon enough you’re in his dimly lit apartment. The plush couch in his living room looks awfully warm and comfy, and the light music that plays from his speakers is soft and soothing. “So, let’s spend the holidays together and see where this goes. And go to your art gallery tomorrow, because I did research you on the drive and found out you had to rush here because of a big show.”

“So you’re actually a stalker?” Jungkook teases, tugging you over to the couch.

He takes the lead, plopping himself on the couch first and inviting you to sit next to him. You take a detour and plant your body atop of him, and with an ‘oof’ the two of you are sinking.

“A stalker and a potential drug dealer does sound like a promising pair,” Jungkook jests, his hand palming the silky material of your ruched up ball gown.

“I’m sorry,” you pout, wrapping your fingers around the long tresses of his hair, “can you please stop bringing that up? It was judgemental of me.”

“I like when you’re judgemental,” he pokes your puppy-faced cheeks, ruddied with embarrassment. “I like picking fights with you and getting you all riled up.”

“Will you rile me up now?”

Sexy, he thinks. He figures a vixen has been hidden under you, one suppressed by a complicated engagement and many other factors he’d love to learn about in the near future. The situation at hand however, is far more pressing. Your body is finally warming up, and Jungkook tries to ignore the weight your body is causing, re-igniting an ache he felt hours ago when you two were squished against each other in the coach bus.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” you declare, and you look a little frustrated that Jungkook is taking so long to process this information, “and I hope I take your breath away.”

You taste like sugar and the softness that comes with the holidays. It’s tender and oh-so comforting, and Jungkook can’t help but squeeze your hips closer as your lips brush fervently against his. The feeling is both new and old, and Jungkook figures you’ve finally uncoiled a flame that you can no longer quell.

Soon enough your kisses turn hungry, and Jungkook has to remind himself that you two have only known each other for a total of twelve hours, and he isn’t sure of what’s appropriate to jump to due to the speed of your relationship. Once he feels the first roll of your hips, a liquid heat that Jungkook can’t help but return back, he pulls away from your soft lips. Not too far, but a few centimeters apart so that Jungkook and you can catch your breath.

“We should take this slow,” he starts, trying to make a reasonable impression now that you’re a guest at his home and finally settled from their long trip. “I really, really want to get to know you. And you’re so beautiful and I really do want to have sex but—”

“Jungkook, I have not had sex with someone in two years,” you speak with a depraved tone, as if it’s been centuries since you’ve been touched. He can’t help but throw his head back and laugh, “a night full of sex sounds like the best last-minute present ever.”

You bring his hand over to your core, the shiny glassy material of your gown doing nothing to hide the glimpses of pleasure you’re minutes away from experiencing. You whine desperately at the thought, and Jungkook’s a goner.

“Well, I guess I’m about to pull a Christmas miracle,” he murmurs against your lips, ready to work his magic.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #kwritersworldnet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst

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drabbles-mc · 3 years

Text

First Impressions: Part 2

Juice Ortiz x F!Reader

Part 1 can be found Here

Warnings: just fluff and a nervous Juice

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Been marinating on the request for a second part for a while now. I love Juice and it’s so hard for me to turn away any kind of request for him lmaooo. Hope you guys enjoy!

SOA Taglist: @garbinge @adela-topaz-caelon @masterlistforimagines @mijop @chibsytelford @xladymacbethx @i-just-read-stuff @kkim120 @toni9 @unicornucopia-fuckers @shadow-of-wonder @punkgoddess-98 @paintballkid711 @black-repunzel99 @jitterbugs927 @mrsstevenbuchananstark

You were getting ready to leave work when your phone vibrated on your desk. You paused, looking down at the number. It wasn’t in your contacts, but you picked it up anyway, having a very singular hope for who it was.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Juan,” he paused for a beat, “From T-M?”

You chuckled, “I remember. I was hoping to hear from you,” you spun slightly from side to side in your desk chair, “Was starting to worry you took off with my car.”

He laughed, “No, no, nothing like that. It’s, uh, it’s good to go, though.”

“Really?” they’d had your car for a couple days, and you were on the brink of losing hope that they’d be able to fix it.

“Yea. So, uh, if you wanna come and pick it up, you can.”

“Holy shit,” you laughed in disbelief, “Alright, yea. I’m just getting ready to leave work. I’ll be there in thirty? Is that alright?”

“I’ll be here,” there was a softness to his tone and you could almost picture the smile on his face.

“Perfect. See you soon.”

You hung up the phone and finished packing up your things as quickly as you could. Tucking your bag onto your shoulder, you made your way towards the front doors of the building. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect—right before your phone call you’d gotten the notification that your ride was ready for you. Hopping into the car, you gave them the new address, relieved that they didn’t seem bothered by the last-minute changes.

When they parked outside the compound, you thanked them once more and gave them an extra tip before hopping out of the car. You walked onto the lot, and it all felt much quieter and emptier than when you’d been there a few days before. It was technically after business hours, sure, but not by much. You spotted all the bikes lined up and you assumed that that was the reason for it being so quiet, not the fact that it was after five o’clock.

You made your way towards the garage bays, one of them housing your car. You looked around but there were no mechanics in sight. You gnawed at the inside of your bottom lip as you scanned for Juice, or really anyone who could help you out. When you saw that the garage was truly empty, you made your way over to the office. Rapping your knuckles lightly on the door, you waited for a response.

“Come in,” you recognized the woman’s voice from your last visit.

You peeked your head inside, a sheepish smile on your face, “Hey. Sorry, I know it’s after hours but—”

“You dropped your car off the other day, right?” she gestured vaguely at you with the glasses in her hand, “Juice took care of you?”

“Um,” you fought the urge to stammer, “yea. He called me a little bit ago, said my car was good to go?”

She nodded, “It is. Let me go grab him—the boys yanked him aside for some other business,” she gestured to the chair, “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

You did as she said, holding your purse in your lap as you looked around the office. You knew that there must’ve been a method to the madness, but you were truly surprised by how many forms and business cards covered what seemed like every inch of wall space. There were a few stray papers still on the desk, and you wondered if any of them were for you. Just as you were about to try and take a look, you heard the clicking of the woman’s boots as she walked back into the office.

“Juice will finished getting you squared up,” she tucked a few papers away, and handed the rest to Juice, who had walked in a couple steps behind her with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Thanks, Gem,” he said, his voice a little soft as she grabbed her bag to leave.

“Don’t mention it. Just make sure the guys don’t yank you away next time you’re supposed to be doing shit,” she turned to you and smiled, “Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You nodded, intrigued by the entire interaction, “You too, thank you.”

There was a nervous smile on Juice’s face as he sat down across from you, “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I was planning on being out here when you got here. But the guys needed help with some stuff.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, “It’s really not a problem,” you paused, “Am I gonna cry at how much this is gonna cost me?”

He laughed, shaking his head, “No, no. I got you a good deal on parts and shit. And, uh, I didn’t get you for labor.”

“What?” you shook your head, “Juan, no, come on. You, you can’t do that.”

“Sure I can,” he smiled, “Really, it’s fine.”

You hated the feeling of accepting charity from someone, especially someone you didn’t really know all that well. It was one thing if he was just getting you a good deal on a couple parts, but this was different. Accepting help with anything had never been easy, let alone when it came to money.

He saw the hesitation on your face and waited for you to meet his eyes, “Hey, think of it this way,” he chuckled as he slid the paperwork over to you, “It’s about what you saved me in bail charges when you found me on the street.”

It got you to laugh, and the playful spark in his eyes was difficult to turn away from or say no to. Finally, you gave a slight nod as you handed over your card and started to sign the papers. His eyes didn’t stray from you as he ran your card. He knew that he should reel it in, but he also didn’t know if this was going to be the last time he ever saw you. The fact that he ever ran into you again after that day on the street was nothing short of a miracle. He wondered when his luck was going to run out.

“Alright,” he forced himself to think about the situation at hand, “I think that means you’re all set.”

You slipped your card back into your purse, “I really can’t thank you enough.”

“No need to thank me,” he smiled as he stood up from his chair, “It’s what we do here.”

The two of you walked out of the office to see that someone had already moved your car out of the garage bay that it had been parked in. You didn’t think much of it until you saw the confusion etched into the features of Juice’s face. His eyes immediately went to the other building on the lot, and your gaze followed. You saw a few men sitting out on the picnic table—you recognized two of them from your previous visit, but one of the faces as new to you. Juice shook his head slightly as he continued to walk with you to the car.

“So you should be all good to go,” he smiled as he leaned back against your car, “but if something else goes wrong just, y’know, give us a call.”

“Do I need to use the T-M number? Or do I get to use your personal hotline for that?”

He couldn’t meet your gaze as he let out a nervous chuckle, “Either one will work,” he cleared his throat, “Lemme get your keys.”

He opened the driver’s door, expecting to find the keys under the visor where they always put them if they had to leave the keys with a car. When he didn’t find them there or in the console, he let out a sigh. Knowing exactly where they were, he cast a glance over at the men sitting on the table.

Jax had the most satisfied grin on his face as he twirled your keys around his finger, whistling and gesturing for Juice to come over, “I got ‘em.”

Juice rolled his eyes, knowing that he was getting set up to get you roped into something with them. He didn’t know what, exactly, but he had no desire to find out. He offered you an apologetic look, “Gimme a sec, I’ll go grab your keys.”

You laughed, nodding, “Whatever you gotta do.”

You watched as he jogged over to the men at the table. You couldn’t see the look on his face, but the satisfied grins and smirks of the men facing him were enough to tell you that they were definitely giving him a bit of a hard time about something. More likely than not it had to do with the puppy-dog look in his eyes whenever he was looking at you.

“Y/N,” Jax called over to you with a slick smile, “c’mere!”

You could only imagine the look on Juice’s face. But still, you obliged to see where exactly this was all going. You tossed your purse into your car before walking over. Juice was shaking his head apologetically at you as you approached, which provided a stark contrast to the looks of glee on Jax and Opie’s faces.

Tucking your hands into your back pockets, you offered them all a smile, “Hey. Something I can do for you?”

“Nah,” Jax rested his elbows on his knees, “just wanted to say hi, make sure your car is alright.”

“Hard to tell that if I can’t put the keys in the ignition,” you quipped with a smile, “But I’m sure it’s fine. I did leave it in the hands of Charming’s Intelligence Officer, after all.”

Juice looked over at you, and you could tell that he was caught between laughing, and melting into the floor. Jax still held your keys securely in the palm of his hand, and you wondered what exactly he was waiting for to relinquish them. Part of you wondered if they simply wanted to watch Juice squirm a little bit more under the microscope before letting you go on your way.

“Juice mentioned that there was something he wanted to ask you,” Opie spoke up with a smirk as he lit a cigarette.

You raised your eyebrows, clearly knowing that they were throwing him under the bus for something, “Oh, really?”

Juice shook his head, “No, no. It’s not—it’s nothing.”

You weren’t going to push it, knowing that there were enough people doing that already, “Right. Well, if no one has anything to ask me,” you glanced back at Jax and put your hand out, “I’d really love to have my keys back.”

“You got plans tonight, dalrin’?” Jax asked as he tossed your keys over to you.

You caught them, shaking your head, “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

“Want some?” Opie asked.

You chuckled, not missing the expression on Juice’s face, “Depends on the offer.”

Jax smiled, “We’re havin’ a party here tonight. Nothin’ crazy, just the guys and some friends.”

“Oh,” you tossed the keys back and forth between your hands, “I’m some friends now?”

“Well,” he chuckled, “I figured you were, especially based on the way Juice ta—”

“You don’t have to,” Juice cut him off, trying to come to his own defense, “It can be a lot, so, you know, don’t feel like you have to.”

You smiled, finding his nerves endearing, “Right. Well, I’ll think about it.”

Jax nodded, a smirk still tugging at his lips, “You know where to find us.”

“I sure do,” you looked to Juice with a soft smile, “Walk me to my car, Juan?”

He nodded, eager to get both of you out of the current conversation, “Yea, sure thing.”

As the two of you walked away, you could hear the murmurs and laughs between Jax and Opie, and you didn’t miss the fact that Juice shot them a look over his shoulder as you made your way towards the car. You lightly bumped your shoulder against his own in a playful attempt to get him to loosen up a little bit.

“You really, uh,” he nervously scratched the back of his head, “don’t feel like you have to show up or anything because of Jax. He’s just, you know…” his voice trailed off.

You smiled, leaning back against the door of your car. You waited for him to meet your eyes, “Do you want me to stop in tonight?”

His eyes grew a little wider at the question, “What?”

You folded your arms over your chest as you watched the shifts in his expression, “I’d be more than happy to stop by later. But only if you’d actually like that. Because, and correct me if I’m wrong,” you chuckled, “I have the feeling that Jax’s invite has nothing to do with him actually wanting me to be there tonight.”

Juice’s heart sped up inside his chest as he tried to formulate a response to what you were saying. He swallowed hard, slowly nodding his head, “Y-yea. I’d…I’d really like that.”

You smiled, nodding, “Then I’ll see you later.”

You went to open the door and he reached out, gently grabbing your hand to get your attention. You could see the nerves in his eyes still, “They’re probably, uh, they’re probably not going to let up,” he nodded towards the men at the table, “You know that, right?”

You laughed, “That doesn’t surprise me,” you gave his hand a light squeeze, “I’ll see you later, Juan. Okay?”

He nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly, “Okay.”

#soa #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #juice ortiz #juice ortiz x reader #juice ortiz x you #juice ortiz imagine #my writing #juan carlos #juan carlos ortiz #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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mrsmaybank · 3 years

Text

JJ Maybank x Reader

JJ and the reader are soulmates, lovers, dating, best friends.

TW: Language, Weed, Non-graphic sex scene.

A/N: Haven’t written for JJ in a while. Hope you like!

“Are you high?” JJ asked me, grabbing my face, his tone afflicted with betrayal.

JJ and I were notorious amongst our friends for bickering, specifically about my personal favorite plant, ganja ranja.

I cupped his face so we were both holding each other by the cheeks. “Only off life.”

I opened my eyes wide to show just how white the whites of my eyes were. “See?”

“Good.” He said, laying his head down on my lap. “I was about to beat your ass.”

“Fair.” I replied, and it really was. I’d be mad if he smoked without me too. “You want gum?”

He nodded his head and opened his mouth in a smile.

“Here ya go.” I spit my gum into his mouth and we both smiled in satisfaction when he caught it.

Pope flared his nostrils in disgust. “You guys are gross.”

To anybody else, Pope was right. But for me and JJ? Shit man, that’s just the way it is. Classic JJ and y/n. Nothing gross about two friends sharing gum.

JJ sat up and swung his arm around my sunburnt shoulders. He started in a fake serious tone, “We are trying to reduce waste, Pope.”

I smiled in agreement, “Yeah man.” I looked around in search of my turtle-loving hippie girl friend. “Kie you proud?”

“That's what, a three-story fall to the deck?” I heard John B. He was balancing on the roof of this construction site, a soon to be second home for some Kook.

“I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival.” Pope said.

“Jump John B! I’ll catch you.” I smirked.

Pope and John B kept going at each other, Kie was back and rambling about turtles, but my mind tuned it all out. My focus was on JJ, on how the blue of his eyes matched the blue of the ocean. No words could do the beauty of that color justice. I kept staring at him, my haze only broken when I heard him say to John B, “Don't spill that beer. I'm not giving you another one.”

“Whoa! Oh, shit.” John B’s beer hit the deck as he struggled to regain his balance.

“Of course you did.” JJ shook his head.

Pope laughed, “Smooth.”

“A-plus.” I added.

“Dumbass.” Kie agreed.

“Hey! Hey, uh, security's here. Let's wrap it up.” JJ said, leaning over the railing of the house.

He grabbed my waist, and pulled me close, looking into my eyes. “Sup baby. You wanna get outta here?”

I slapped him, “In your dreams!” We started to laugh and run the fuck out of the building at the same time.

The guards shouted directions at each other and we just kept being our hilariously disrespectful selves.

“Hey! Stop!” The guard almost begged.

“I got him!” Shouted a guard. I looked over my shoulder, and there was was JJ spinning his way out of a guards grip.

“Not much of a hugger!” He was free. Like always. He always managed.

I ran as fast as I could to the van, adrenaline fueling each leap.

“Come here, you little pricks!” The guard yelled.

“Bus is leaving!” I heard John B shout from the drivers seat of the van.

“You're gonna give him a heart attack.” Kie said.

“You're so close! You can do it. There you go. They don't pay you enough, bro.” JJ tossed him an empty beer can.

“JJ, stop. Stop!” Kie reprimanded.

“Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished.” My blond friend retorted.

This was so Pogue cliche.

The next couple days were a blur. I was high for a lot of it, so thats a contributor, but still. Total blur. John B almost had to go to foster care on the mainland, a whole ass nightmare. Now there was a hurricane?

Damn, nobody can catch a break around here.

I decided I’d have to stay at the Chateau with JJ and John B for the duration of the storm. I just couldn’t stay at my own house for the amount of time it would take to wait out the rain and possible flooding. Hell no.

The three of us really hit the dirt in the family department. But I think we handle the lack of parental figures pretty well.

I sat on the couch and started grinding some bud. Weed is a great way to pass time.

Three minutes into actually rolling, the first one was looking quite beautiful if I do say so myself. It got hot, hotter then usual anyway, so I took off my big Led Zeppelin shirt, leaving me in a once-white now beige bikini top.

I heard the door creak open and JJ walked in, a smile plastered on his stupid hot face.

“That’s a fucking sight.” He muttered under his breath

“‘Scuse me?” I said, finishing up rolling the last of the bud.

“I just-“ he took a deep breath, “So gorgeous.”

“Thanks JJ.” I said, doubting but secretly hoping the compliment was sincere.

“Not talking to you.” He sat down next to me and snatched a J from the tray, placing it in between his lips. He sparked and took the first hit.

After a couple coughs, he gave me a high smile. “Talking to this.” He pointed to the smoking cylinder in his other hand.

“No J for JJ!” I teased, carefully but swiftly stealing it back. I took a long hit, inhaling every ounce of smoke, and not noticing JJ scooting closer. Much closer.

His hands traveled to the loops of my denim shorts. “You don’t look bad, though.” He licked his lips, “There’s nothing better than seeing a girl who looks like you rolling up.”

“This is nothing but lust and that’s why it works.” I reminded myself at the less then romantic comment.

Casual hook-ups between me and JJ weren’t anything new, but the crew could never know. “No pogue-on-pogue macking” is a rule. And besides, it's not like they meant anything, we just got bored.

He took the joint from my mouth and took a hit before gently putting it out, hands going to the nape of my neck, as fingers tugged me closer.

Our lips finally met and I swear, I was on fire.

God, has he always been this good of a kisser?

“JJ, John B-” I did my best to stop him.

He kissed me again, “He’s surfing the surge with Pope.”

I put my hands in his hair pulling as the kiss further intensified, “Without us?”

He laid me down and hovered over me, “I’m having much more fun.”

He started kissing and sucking on my neck, I let out small whimpers as I felt more of him on me.

“Fuck.” His breath hitched. I laughed and tugged on his shirt.

“What's playing?” He asked, taking off my shorts.

“It’s called Florida Kilos. One of many masterpieces created by Lana Del Rey.”

He brought the joint back to his mouth, lit it again and blew the smoke looking over his shoulder. He brought it to my lips, as I was ripping I could see him trying to listen to every lyric. This was one of my songs. JJ has good taste in music.

I got on top of him, his hands immediately going to my waist. I dramatically flipped my hair and started to lip sync the song. I was totally messing around, but JJ seemed to like it, if you know what I mean.

I danced on top of him, mouthing every lyric, “You like your little baby like you like your drinks, cool.”

His eyes widened in delight and I tried not to smile. “White lines, pretty daddy, go skiing” My hands caressed the muscles in his arms, and now his chest.

I cupped his face, “You snort it like a champ, like the winter we're not in.”

That was enough to light an accidental fire of passion.

————

I rolled off JJ breathing heavy, and similarly, he was practically panting. He placed his head on my bare chest, and I massaged his head as he drew circles with his fingers on my belly. That was different than anything we’d ever done. Not physically, but emotionally, yeah. That didn’t feel like a casual hook-up. It felt too right, in every way.

I picked up the J in an attempt to get too high to think. It was practically done already, I got the last couple hits.

“Let’s go to Miami one day. Get really high and dance.”

I laughed, “Yeah.” I got up to shower, grabbing my clothes.

“Where you going?” he asked me, his eyes like a lost puppy.

I shifted awkwardly, being stopped in my tracks, completely naked. “Shower.”

“Alright.” as I walked towards the bathroom, I heard him put his shorts back on and head to the kitchen, probably for a beer.

The hot water felt nice, I could feel the permanent salt in my hair slowly being washed away. I practically screamed as I heard the door open.

“Fuck! JJ! Busy!”

“Not like I haven’t seen that before.” He took a swig of his beer and put the toilet seat down, taking a seat. “Did that feel different?” He stared at the wall.

I sighed relieved, at least I wasn’t crazy. “Yeah. Kinda.”

He put his beer down on the sink counter, “Good, good.” He started to take off his shorts and I felt a knot form in my abdomen. “What..What’re you doing?”

“Showering. You’re taking kinda long.”

“JJ, I-”

I stopped protesting when I felt him behind me. The water hit us both. I had never done anything out of the realm of casual hook-ups. This was so….intimate.

His hands traveled to my waist, hugging me from behind. I felt him place soft kisses on my wet back. I just closed my eyes.

“I feel you, pretty baby, feel me.” He recited from our new song. I smiled. His arms slipped away and I turned around. He was starting to shampoo his blonde hair.

“What’re you doing?” I looked at him confused.

“Washing my hair?” He smirked and put the bottle down. “What? Did you think I came in here to have sex with you?”

“I-no, just-”

“Oh alright.” He smiled again. What an ass.

We got out together, sharing a towel. I gave it to him to cover up and put on a clean bikini bottom. Swimwear was always appropriate attire in the Outer Banks. I wiped the steam from the mirror and stood in front of it. JJ got behind me, hugging me again, admiring how I looked, bare in his arms. “You’re so beautiful.” I smiled and enjoyed the sight of us together, before something caught my eye. A dark purple mark right on my neck. “JJ you idiot! How am I supposed to explain this Kie? Or John? Or Pope?”

He just admired it, giggling. “Pope probably doesn’t even know what a hickey is. As for Kie, and Johhny B, just- make something up.”

“Fine. Fuck, I left my shirt in my bag, outside.”

“I’ll grab it.” He put his shorts back on and went. I sat on the sink and tried to think about what had just happened, JJ and I showered together! And had, meaningful sex? Fuck, man.

JJ returned, eyes widening as he did. “What?”

“You look so hot when you sit on a sink.” I laughed, it was so specific and random it made it funny.

He grabbed my legs and lifted me up, spinning to push me on the wall. I could see his back and my legs wrapped around his waist in the mirror reflection. We heard the Chateau door open and John B shout.

“JJ! Y/N!”

Our eyes met in panic, “Gimme my shirt.”

He tossed me the shirt he brought, and it was NOT mine.

“JJ! This isn’t mine!”

He winced, “I wanted to see you in mine.”

“Fuck JJ! Wet hair, coming out the bathroom, half naked, together, and this FUCKING THING.” I pointed to the dark hickey on my neck. “How’s that gonna look?”

“J? Y/N?”

We stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to look as casual as possible.

“What….?” John B laughed, “Did you guys just shower together?” He gave a questioning, but surprisingly eager look.

“What?” I replied. “Nope, no way. That’d be weird.” Unlike JJ, I was a pretty shitty liar.

“Holy shit.” John B dropped his backpack. “You guys are totally fu-”

JJ rushed to his side, “I’m gonna stop you there buddy. You wanna beer?”

“Yes, but this conversation is not over. We have all night to talk about you and Y/N.” JJ guided him to the kitchen and I just shyly smiled.

We all sat back down on the couch and enjoyed Marley and a cold one. I made guac and we feasted on that and tortilla chips.

John B shifted uncomfortably, pulling something from his seat. My Led Zeppelin shirt. I winced and JJ looked away.

“Did you guys bang on our couch?” John B cringed.

“No, our friend Y/N, was just hot. Because……… it is very hot. So she took off her shirt. To cool herself down.”

“JJ, you’re a very good liar. But you know who isn’t?” He smiled and slowly turned his head in my direction. “Y/N? Did you-”

I merely looked at him in disappointment and embarrassment. I didn’t want John B to be mad at me, he was like my brother. JJ hit me the awkward smile.

“Hey.” John B gave me a hug, “I’m not mad. That Pogue-on-pogue rule is stupid anyways.” I felt lucky to have John B as a friend. He always knew what to say.

“You guys are sappy.” JJ laughed. “Let's spark!”

We smoked about three joints the three of us, and let’s just say we were rocks we were so fucking stoned.

The hours passed, and the storm had started to make landfall. John B went to his dad’s room and passed out. I felt for him always, from experience I can say losing your dad sucks.

JJ had claimed John B’s bedroom forever, and we’d slept together there before, but I think we both sensed how this time might be different.

I layed down first, tired and coming off a high. JJ came in, smoking another joint, passing it to me to take off his shirt and lay down. I took a couple hits and put it out. I was afraid it was going to be awkward, but JJ and I were too close for anything to be even remotely weird.

I pulled him close, big spooning him and humming in his ear. He turned around and our eyes locked.

“I don’t like seeing you with other guys.” I was a bit taken aback. “I never have. It just wasn’t my place to say before.”

“And it is now?” I say smiling.

“Well now you know how I feel.”

“Have you always felt like this?” I asked.

“Not always. But for a while.”

I caressed his face. “Took you way too long to admit it, pussy.” I kissed him sweetly. We could hear the storm destroying everything outside, but I don’t think either of us cared.

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Text

Accidental Family

Hey folks! This is one of two fics for the six month celebration of this blog! Woohoo! Blood on the Ice is one of the most popular series I've written, and expanding it into Josie’s (@prohibitionincurls ) Winging It world with her was unbelievably fun. Disclaimer: one of the OCs has ADHD and it is a central theme of the story--while Josie based some of his characteristics on her own experience, we both recognize that this is not a one-size-fits-all situation. Thank you again for six amazing months, and I hope you enjoy!

Lots of love,

Eve <3

TW for mentioned injury

“Oh my god, they’re gonna kill me,” the kid whispered in a wavering voice, sounding much younger than he actually was as he left the penalty box.

“They’re not going to kill you,” Bowie soothed, still watching the tunnel where Remus had disappeared mere minutes earlier. From what he saw, there had been a bit of blood, but the bruising didn’t look too bad. Then again, there had barely been enough time for anything to visibly swell before he was whisked away.

“Can I just stay in the box?” Felix cast a look toward the Lions bench and his voice cracked. “They can’t yell at me in the box, right?”

“Hey. Look at me, Marty.” Bowie took him by the shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. “The Lions are good guys. They’re not going to hurt you, but you did just fuck up one of their best friends. What would you do if someone hit me in the face?”

“Come on, man, I’m a terrible fighter. I don’t know how well I’d be able to defend your honor after something like that. It was an accident. Do you think they know it was an accident? Should I go tell them?”

“I know. They know. Loops definitely knows. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re a little cold at first.” He ruffled the rookie’s hair and turned back to the game; the Lions were moving fast and brutal, slicing right through their defense for yet another goal. Shit. Felix clearly felt bad enough already--losing the game wouldn’t make him feel any better.

They ended up losing the game.

Bowie had figured it might happen; he would have had the same fire if it had been his teammate that got clocked like that. Hell, he used to have the same fire when he and Remus had played together, so he completely understood.

That did not change the fact that once they got home, Felix was still borderline inconsolable. The 18-year-old wasn’t technically billeting with them, but the apartment he was renting just so happened to be in the same building, on the same floor, and right across the hall from his and Simon’s. This led to an informal adoption of the rookie and he was around their house at least five times a week, if not more.

Felix Martin was a good kid, and that idea was confirmed when Kronk immediately took a liking to him; the cat loved nobody but the three of them. Bowie was grateful that he and Simon were there to quell some of the homesickness that came from moving out to a new city on his own for the first time. The transition was always tough, but they could provide a little support.

They parted ways from the team when the bus got back from the rink and drove to their building in silence. Once they made their way up the stairs and down the hall, Felix moved to go back to his apartment.

“Nope,” Bowie said immediately, placing a hand on his shoulder and steering him through the door to his and Simon’s place. It wasn’t a good idea for Felix to be alone right now--there was nothing to do alone after a loss aside from beat himself up about it, and Bowie would be damned before he let that happen.

Simon and Kronk were perched on the couch, but they both moved into the kitchen as soon as the door clicked closed. Simon took one look at the pair and carefully wrapped his arms around Felix; the kid practically melted. The three of them stood there for a moment until Simon pulled back a bit and tilted his head toward the living room. Felix nodded and Bowie followed the two, sharing the couch with Simon while the rookie curled up in the large armchair diagonal to them.

He...well, if Bowie was being honest, Felix looked like hell. He chewed his lower lip like an anxious beaver and fiddled with the loose threads of the closest armrest; everything about him screamed discomfort. Bowie caught Simon’s worried glance in his periphery and let out a slow breath, trying to relieve at least a little of the tension in the room.

“You don’t have to relive it if you don’t want to. I saw the game. But if you want to talk about it…” Simon trailed off with a significant look.

Felix sighed and his shoulders caved in a bit. “It was just one of those moments. All of a sudden, I didn’t really have a grasp on what was going on, which feels like shit because I’ve been doing pretty well so far. I dunno. It was just...bad.”

That was it. Bowie knew Felix had seemed a little off. When Felix mentioned he had ADHD at the start of the season during one of their ‘getting to know your neighbor’ chats, Bowie hadn’t thought much of it. But as they grew closer, he began to notice when Felix forgot to eat or drink, or got overwhelmingly excited about something, or when he suddenly spaced out. It wasn’t just Felix being Felix.

The whole team stepped up and became intensely protective, of course. They not only helped him remember meal times, but also scheduling, directions, and everything in between. Bowie felt especially responsible for reasons he didn’t entirely understand--there was just something about the kid’s sweet heart that struck a chord.

He also knew that Felix was highly emotionally intelligent, but had no concept of whether people liked him or not. He was someone who assumed the worst, all the time. So, Bowie decided to do the only thing he knew would work: after a few more beats of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his phone out, tapped a few buttons, and pressed ‘call’.

“Hey, Remus, are you alive?”

An amused snort came from the speaker even as Felix blanched. “Hello to you, too, Bowie. Jeez, you’re worse than Sirius. I’m one hundred percent alive, just a little swollen. Your rookie’s got a helluva shot, but maybe tell the kid to hit the puck and not my face next time.”

Felix flushed red and put his face between his knees, though hearing the laughter in Remus’s voice and knowing that he was okay clearly took some of the weight off his shoulders. Bowie whooped internally and shot him a quick, reassuring smile.

“Yeah, the kid’s got spirit, but he’s also got ADHD. He’s great most of the time, but sometimes under extreme pressure he can’t figure out where the fuck he--or anything else around him--is. Something about focusing or neurons firing the wrong way, maybe? Either way, it’s why he’s a terrible fuckin’ driver.”

Felix flopped back against the chair with a groan. “How the hell am I supposed to know how far away the cars around me are based on the mirrors? And how am I supposed to park?!”

Remus’s laugh echoed once again. “Don’t ask me, kid, I’m not allowed to drive, either. Not because I’m ADHD, but because I’m terrible at it.”

“You can say that again!” a muffled voice called from behind Remus.

“Please excuse my fiance,” Remus said politely. “He’s a jackass who’s trying to make me lay down again.”

Felix smiled, though it was a bit pained. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize earlier. That stick was totally on me. And--I mean, I heard some of the guys talking afterward and it sounded like you got pretty banged up, so I’m really sorry. Like, really sorry.”

“Hey, woah, you’re fine,” Remus soothed. Bowie recognized his ‘talking to newbies’ voice and hid a smile in the cuff of his hoodie. “It’s the name of the game, after all. Did Bowie ever tell you about the time I accidentally checked him into a wall? Or when I broke his visor with a puck? For context, this was when we were on the same team.”

“Or that time you kicked my legs out from under me and sent me sprawling across the ice during practice.”

“That one was on purpose.”

Bowie glared at the phone, but Felix was snickering and his grin was genuine. It calmed him a bit. “Thanks, Loops.”

“No problem, kiddo.” Remus paused for a moment, then mumbled something inaudible to someone in the background before clearing his throat. “Bowie.”

“Yes?” Remus had never been a wild card, per se, but he certainly had a knack for asking strange questions out of the blue.

“Did you accidentally adopt a child or do my ears deceive me?”

Bowie was about to laugh at the absurdity of it, but then he took a moment to think, looking back and forth between Simon and Felix. “Fuckin’--maybe I did, Re, but he’s ours now. And if that’s the case, I’m going to formally request that you tell your fiance to quit being mean to my son.”

Remus laughed on the other end of the line. “Will do. Felix seems like a sweetheart, I’m glad he’s got you two.”

Bowie nodded with a slight smile, even though Remus couldn’t see him. “So are we. I can practically sense Sirius hovering, so go let your boyfriend fuss over you for a little while.”

An offended noise came from Remus’s side, followed by a lower laugh and the click of the call ending.

Simon looked Felix dead in the eyes. “I’m seconding the ‘kid’ thing. You may just barely be a legal adult, but it doesn’t mean we can’t adopt you. Congrats on your new gay dads.”

Felix’s bright laugh sent a wave of relief through Bowie. “You guys are only, like, eight years older than me.”

“Silence, spawn,” Simon said, pointing a playful finger at him as his grin widened into something sweet and lopsided. “Now both of you need to come eat something. I made cookies while you were getting pushed around for a living.”

Bowie was still worried about Remus’ face--he made a mental note to call the next day to check in--but all his concerns disappeared as Felix scooped the cat up for a snuggle and followed Simon into the kitchen. They may have lost the game, but he would lose a million Cups to keep that moment forever: his Simon fussing over them both, his cat purring in pure bliss, and his kid settling into place at last.

#remus lupin #sirius black #bowie #felix martin #simon #sweater weather #coast to coast #lumosinlove #coops #hockey #adhd #blood on the ice #found family #prohibitionincurls #collab #fanfic #my fic

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authorkun · 3 years

Text

[𝙎𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙖𝙡 𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙖𝙘] (004)

"𝘾𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙗? 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙣~"

"Why are we here again? And why aren't Gojo or M/n with us?" Itadori questioned. "A possible special grade showed up and the mission was strictly given to us. Besides special grade sorcerers like them have better things to do then deal with something like this." Fushiguro answered as the three arrived at the 'detention' center. 'I wonder where M/n is?' The pink haired thought to himself. "Hurry up Itadori!" Kugisaki yelled behind her towards the male.

"Huh? Right!"

With M/n and Gojo

Miles away, the spoken pair sneezed at the same time. "Hmm must be the wind." M/n shoved his hands in one of the many pockets sewn into his jacket. The two were heading towards the principal's office on the campus.

"Why did he say he wanted a meeting with us again?" M/n playfully groaned, his voice still a little scratchy from the day prior to yesterday. Gojo chuckled from next to him. "Dunno. Knowing him it could be just to have tea." Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

"Eh, either way I wonder how Yuuji and the other first years are doing?" Gojo shrugged. "Not sure."

Opening the sliding door, the two were met with Masamichi sewing one of his doll-like corpses. "It took you long enough." The second-year merely chuckled, as he sat down on one of the cushions presented before a small table. "No need to be hasty, what's the rush anyway?" M/n questioned, while pouring the contents of the teapot into the three cups. "A new case from the higher ups." Masamichi threw a folder in the (h/c-ette)'s direction.

"Ah, straight to business I see. Same boring cases the old cowards want us to solve, huh?" Malice dripped from the insult clearly chosen for the elders. Masamichi gave a sharp look before sipping the hot liquid. "You know how they are. The case was given straight to you though, so take it seriously." M/n rolled his eyes at the remark. "Special grades?"

"2 of them which have recently popped up on their radar were located on the outskirts of the city. Your train tickets have been arranged and it shouldn't take you more than two days" The monotonous tone boring the two sorcerers. A shadow casted upon M/n's face as he stood, turning to walk back through the screen doors.

"I'll have it done in one. Tell the old hags if they want to keep sending me on these simple missions, I'll just have to finish the job myself. It's no fun taking the danger from these trips." A sharp sadistic thread lacing itself between his words. ('Finishing the job' meaning offing himself.)

"Till next time, ta ta~" With that, the door slid shut a loud 'thud' echoing the now silent room. A small smirk played at the tip of Gojo's smile. "Arrogant as always." The older exhaustedly rubbed his eyes from under his glasses. "It'll cost him one day."

Timeskip with the first-years

"It feels great to be in the skin again. I wonder where those pesky seniors of yours are." Sukuna held a look of mock confusion. "For the meantime, I'm taking this brat's body hostage." A crazed smile laid upon his lips. Plunging his hand into Itadori's chest, the wrenching sound of the searching hand filled the tense silence.

'Schlopk' The clawed hand reappeared, except now, it was blood filled while Itadori's heart was roughly pulled into the curse's grasp.

"Well then, what are you going to do, Jujutsu sorcerer?"

With M/n

"I guess your the one's causing trouble right?" M/n let out a low chuckle, as the curses growled standing on-guard. "Well we can't have that now. They never said you were going to be this ugly." A teasing voice mocked them. A split second later, a punch was thrown from behind him. Catching the fist, he jumped back a few yards.

"If that's how it's going to be then, I won't hold back." A boyish smile graced his features before disappearing. In a flash the curse that had attacked him was on the ground, with its arms missing. A hiss was thrown his way before the injured had jumped off away.

"Let's dance mon amour~"

_______________________________________________

Soft pants had escaped from the male, as he stood straight. A hiss of pain leaving as a deep cut made itself known. "Fuck, that's gonna leave a mark." He mumbled. A sudden white pain struck M/n from his thoughts as he glanced down.

"Oh joy, I've been impaled." M/n sarcastically commented before spitting up a handful of red. A sickening laugh of some sorts bellowed from the third presence. A sharp spike like appendage pierced through M/n's stomach. "Fine then." A small flash of red and black flickered by the curse's face before the appendage was cut through. Another three slashes, and the apparent special grade, had been delimbed.

"Bandits copy: king of cursed energy." Small sparks of red and pink emit from his clasped hands. With a flick of his wrist, his opponent fell. Another pile of fine dust gathered next to M/n's feet.

The very prominent gaping wound seemed to take its toll though, as his vision got blurry. A painful chuckle vibrated his chest as he weakly fished his phone from his many pockets. Clicking on a contact, he pulled the device to his ear.

'Ring'

"What do you want L/n."

M/n let out a breathy laugh at the cold tone of the receiver.

"Not even a 'hi', or 'how are you'? Jeez you hurt me."

"Shut up. What do you need."

"I'm in outskirts of Tokyo, you're in the area right?"

*sigh* "Yes, but I'm busy. Make it quick."

A cough racking his body cut M/n off before continuing. A small puddle of blood starting to form around his feet, as he dragged himself to the nearest bus stop bench.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Bus stop on twenty-third..sending location...mission."

The line went dead as M/n weakly closed his eyes, leaning himself up against the post.

Nanami

Across the town a few miles, the receiver of his call held a worry look. "Damn you L/n. What did you do now?" The blonde had gotten into his car and started down the roads directed.

A few minutes later he pulled up to an old beaten up bus stop. Looking closer, he saw the body of the male. 'Did that fool fall asleep?' Getting up from the driver's seat he got closer to the male.

"Why'd you call me out here? Oí? Are you even awake?" The male stayed unresponsive. "Oí, come on L/n." M/n slowly fluttered his eyes open. "You came."

"Yeah, now what do you want-?" M/n shifted his arm, showing his shirt quickly staining with an all too familiar red color. Nanami's eyes widened at the sight, quickly grabbing onto M/n to drag him to his vehicle.

"Shit! What happened?!" The blonde held a worried expression, as he laid the second-year down on the backseats. "Special...grade." A weak smile was sent towards the blonde. "Thanks Ami-san." The childish nickname had pissed Nanami off many times before, but now he was only filled with worry for the male.

Rushing around front, he got into the car, driving off towards the other side of the city. "Stay awake a little longer M/n! Dammit!" "St-a...a...iv...." His senior's words became mixed and faded, as he drifted unconscious. 'Shit shit shit! The school's 20 minutes away. Stay in there M/n.' Nanami struggled grabbing his phone from his pocket while driving at speeds that we're undoubtedly against the speed limit. With his blood-stained fingers, he shakily clicked on the contact he had dreaded.

'Ring'

"Hey Nanami-!"

"Fuck! Shut up! Tell Shoko to set up her stuff."

"No hello? And what for?"

"L/n! He suddenly called me out of nowhere! Those stupid fools need to stop giving him suicide missions!"

Gojo's face paled.

"What happened?!"

"L/n is dying is what's happening! I'm twenty minutes away from the school, and he's losing blood."

A sight of Getou passed through Gojo's head, as his face contorted into worry. 'Dammit!'

"Keep him responsive, and I'll tell Shoko."

His voice shook as he cursed himself for bringing the past death up.

"I don't know how much longer I can keep him awake. Tell her it's a piercing wound all the way through the left lower abdominal region."

The call abruptly ended with that. Jogging towards the medical wing, Gojo slammed open the door. A startled Shoko looking back at the worried male. "Yes?" She questioned.

"L/n, puncture wound, all the way through lower left abdomen." The white haired male manage to ramble out. A look of confusion turned into understanding, as the female started pulling out the needed. "We just need to pray he gets here before we're to late." Shoko shook her head.

Timeskip 45 minutes

Bringing Nobara to the infirmary was beginning to look a difficult task, as several people stood crowded around the door. Familiar and unfamiliar faces stood gathered around. "What's going on?" The question made necks turn. "Ah you guys are back-!" Gojo was cut short as a gruff looking old man in a formal kimono gave a sharp glare.

"Get them out of here!" Gojo and Masamichi nodded before ushering them towards the dorm common room. A confused expression grew as Fushiguro was lead to the empty room. "What's happening?" He asked once more.

Both Teacher and principal gave an unreadable look. "Where's L/n?" The small seemingly harmless question led to Gojo uncharacteristically fidgeting with his hands.

". . ."

Megumi was uncomfortable by the unusual silence. "Who were those people back there?" The raven head asked moving onto another question. Gojo shook his head, letting out a sharp sigh. "Elders." "What are they here for sensei?"

"Th-They don't think L-L/n's g-gonna make i-it."

"What?"

{Previous} {Next}

#jujutsu kaisen #seme male reader #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x male reader #jjk itadori #jjk nobara #jjk sukuna #jjk satoru #jjk megumi #top male reader #gojo satoru x male reader #sukuna ryomen x male reader #itadori x male reader #jjk nanami #megumi x male reader

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rinkrats · 4 years

Text

Their first night as teammates, housemates, doesn’t go well. Crosby remembers (Eric) Neilson walking off the bus.

“There’s this big guy, the best mushroom cut I’ve ever seen, full of energy, right away just hootin’ and hollerin’ at the bus station after a long trip. You can tell right away, just a great guy to be around. Seemed pretty normal - and then he said (laughs), he said: ‘Make sure you open my window tonight’.”

They had bedrooms next to each other in their billet’s basement.

“He said that he was going to wait at the billet to make sure that he was there if there was a curfew call, but that he needed his window open to get back after curfew. So, I’m thinking to myself, ‘Okay… here we go’.

So I go into my room and sure enough, I fall asleep. I totally forget that he’d asked me that, and I wake up around 2 or 3, and I hear this banging and crashing, and I have no idea what it is. I can’t tell where the noise is coming from. It’s my first night there, obviously I don’t know my billet that well at this time, so I just kind of shake it off and go back to sleep. At that time, I totally forgot what he had asked me.

So I go back to sleep, wake up in the morning. Supposed to wake him up for the practice in the morning. So I open his door. It’s freezing cold in his room. I look up and the window is just demolished. And I’m thinking, ‘Oh… I forgot to open the window’.

He just rolls over, and he’s so pissed off at me. I think he just sighed and said, ‘What did I ask you?’ (laughs) I said, ‘Yeah, I know. Sorry, I totally forgot. I fell asleep.’ It wasn’t a great start.”

Luckily, it’s easy to forgive a guy who’s about to turn your franchise around.

Neilson and Crosby quickly become best buds. A local Mazda dealership gives them a sponsored car. Crosby doesn’t have his driver’s licence yet, so the dealership puts his name and number on the passenger side door. 87, Crosby. And on the driver’s side: Neilson, 29.

“It’s Driving Miss Daisy. Like I’m his personal chauffeur, right? Everywhere Darryl needs to go, I take him. But it was kinda fun. We had a good time with it. Taught him how to drive a little bit. We’d go to the parking lot and he was an awful driver. Still is a bad driver, but he just never really got the hang of 10 and 2 and being able to check the mirror. He’s just pretty bad. He’s a lot better a hockey player than he was a driver, that’s for sure.”

Crosby can’t handle a stick. Now that’s irony.

These are golden days for the boys. With Crosby, the Oceanic go from the basement to instant contender. And Neilson has a driver’s side view of the future of hockey.

But one night, he almost blows that last chance the Oceanic have given him.

They’re out late after a game. Neilson is the driver. He’s taking home a couple of drunk teammates and there are girls in the back. He’s showing off. Comes around a corner, tries to do this emergency brake Tokyo Drift thing and loses control.

...An officer shows up, says: “Hey, I know it was a mistake. I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble. I just need one favour. All I want is two Crosby autographed cards in return.”

“I said, ‘Got it. Right away. Whatever you need’.”

A tow truck takes away the beaten-up Mazda and the officer drives Neilson back to his billet’s house. He runs into Crosby’s room, grabs the cards and a marker from his desk and shakes Crosby awake.

“‘Hey, Darryl, buddy, you gotta sign these cards for me, man.’ He’s a heavy sleeper. You know, Sidney Crosby, he’s hard to wake up and he doesn’t really remember a whole lot when you do wake him up from his beauty sleep. So I got him to sign the two cards, and go back up and give them to the cop.”

The next morning, Crosby comes down for breakfast.

Sid: “When I wake up that morning, I knew something was- I was like, what happened? But I couldn’t really - I was pretty out of it.”

Neilson: “Sitting at the table, I see him come up the stairs. And I look, and he’s got marker on his face, on his chest, everywhere. And I’m like, ‘Holy shit!’”

Sid: “He had gotten me to sign cards but he was in such a hurry or whatever, he just left the marker in my bed. So what happened was I had kind of tossed and turned that night.”

Neilson: “I was like, ‘Darryl, go look in the mirror, man’. And he’s like, ‘What?’. I said, ‘Go look in the mirror!’ So he goes and he comes back and he’s like, ‘What the fuck, Neilson?! What? What?!?! What are you-?’ He thought that we had pranked him, that we wrote in permanent marker on him while he was sleeping.”

Sid: “I thought, ‘Well, they probably just came home and, like, wrote all over me or something, while I was asleep’. But then I came upstairs that morning and he kind of told me the whole story, and it’s not what I was expecting obviously (laughs). Kind of an interesting way to wake up in the morning. ‘Car’s totalled, and I got you to sign a few cards’.”

Neilson: “He was pretty pissed off about that one. He was pretty upset once I told him the real story, and once we got the permanent marker washed off his chest and his face.”

...Neilson never makes it to the NHL. He becomes a journeyman enforcer, mostly in the minors. But he takes great joy and a mentor’s pride in watching Crosby become a superstar. The two remain close friends. Crosby writes “Darryl” on his gloves his entire first season in Pittsburgh. At season’s end, he gives Neilson and three of the Rimouski vets who nicknamed him a set of the gloves.

To this day, Neilson refuses to say the name Sidney or Crosby. Sid is Darryl. Darryl only. Darryl forever.

-Beauties Episode 1, Oct 13 2020: Darryl

If you need some Sidney Crosby serotonin, Sid’s voice and some stories from his Rimouski days in this short podcast by James Duthie

#sidney crosby #a real boy #text

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 years

Text

Copycat: The First Young Avenger —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

Words: 2,429

Warnings: None.

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next chapter

Listen to: ‘I Was An Island’ -by Allison Weiss

xvii: Partners

Her winter break had been uneventful in the best way and would remain in her mind for all the right reasons.

When it was time to go back to the city, the twins were far better in combat, and they were entirely capable of controlling their powers.

Pietro was still unable to hold his tongue, though.

"Say hi to your boyfriend for us," He teased her. "We'll see if we can get to know him before the year ends."

"Hopefully, you won't know him at all," She retorted in a bad mood. "Are you done acting like a kid?"

"Turning fifteen has made you boring," He pouted. "You had a sense of humor before..."

"I still do, it's just that your jokes aren't funny," She said.

"Okay, we will stop," Wanda intervened. "If you promise we'll be the first to know if you ever have a crush on someone."

"Why do you care?" C.C. laughed. "It's so silly, having a crush isn't everything in life, you know? It's the last thing I care about, I don't know why everyone's so obsessed with it."

"It's not the last thing you care about," Pietro said. "I remember how eager you were to know how falling in love felt like— and now you say you don't care? You're lying."

"Maybe I changed my mind."

"Or maybe you're starting to realize how scary feelings can be," Wanda taunted with a little smile. "C'mon, C.C., don't be a chicken."

"I'm not a chicken."

"Don't be a scared cat, Copy—"

"Stop..."

"Don't be a baby..."

"Oh, fuck off, honestly," She grumbled.

The twins erupted into laughter, they engulfed her in a hug and wished her good luck on the second half of her year.

Since her midterms all ended up having high marks, Tony admitted defeat and handed her three VIP passes to the expo.

"Oh, just two," She tried to give one back, but Tony stopped her.

"One's for you, kid, you can go with your friends, seize the day."

"Really?"

"Yeah, go ahead. Consider this a test, if you prove to me you can spend a whole day out on your own without putting yourself or others in danger, I'll let you use the bus instead of having Happy picking you up every day."

"You just want your driver back, don't you?"

"Obviously," He taunted.

"Ned!" C.C. ran through the hall, elbowing people as she moved forward. "NED! I got them!"

The boy looked at the items she was holding above her head and his smile instantly grew wider.

"No way!" He grabbed the badge with his name and stared at it. "You're the best, C.C!"

Ned hugged her, the girl tensed and immediately stepped back, but her smile didn't falter.

"Not a problem, it was thanks to you that I passed my exams on time, I owed it to you."

"We should celebrate— lunch's on me today. Hey, have you seen Peter since the field trip?"

"No, why?"

"He gave me a call the day after," They started to walk towards the classroom. "He sounded really off..."

"Was he ill?"

"He was freaking out," Ned told her. "I answered the phone and the connection was awful, but he was talking fast and he said something about some guy trying to rob him?"

"Oh my god, is he okay?"

"He just sounded scared," He shrugged. "But I saw him last Saturday and he's looking good— like, really great."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't really put my finger on it..." He tilted his head.

C.C. walked into the classroom and saw Peter seated at the front row as usual.

"Holy shit," She froze.

"Told you," Ned muttered, walking past her without reacting. "Hey, dude!"

Peter and Ned did their terribly long handshake, which gave the girl enough time to analyze her friend's looks with extra attention:

He was no longer wearing glasses, his hair was slightly longer and he was filling his clothes far better than before... somehow his figure was easier to notice, but he was still the same.

"Pete, hi," She frowned a little. "Where are your glasses?"

"May gave me a pair of contacts as a Christmas present," He smiled at her awkwardly. "I look weird, right?"

"No, you look... you look great," Her voice didn't sound convincing, though. "Did you buy new clothes?"

"No?" He looked down at his hoodie. "I wear this all the time?"

"Really?" She insisted. "Did you gain weight?"

"C.C!" Ned scolded her.

Peter blushed, he shifted on his seat and scratch his neck tensely.

"You know how I got sick during the trip?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I..." He grimaced. "I got so sick I wouldn't stop going to the bathroom and I lost so much weight May had to take me to the doctor—"

"Ew," The girl and Ned said.

"...and once I got better she just kept feeding me more than usual, so I guess I gained weight."

"Man, I'm sorry," C.C. pouted, "you should've called me, Pete. It sounds like it was quite serious..."

"It's alright, my aunt took care of me."

"Wait, but the weekend you got sick you were outdoors," Ned frowned. "You said something about a guy..."

"No I didn't," He was quick to answer.

"Yes you did!"

"I mean," He glanced at C.C. "I mean... I may have, Ned, I don't know... I had a high fever so... maybe I was hallucinating and I called you because you were the first person that came to my mind..."

C.C. couldn't believe what she was witnessing.

Peter was lying!

Why would he lie? Was his illness more serious than he led on? But then he would be looking worse and not better, he even looked healthier than before... maybe she was just being paranoid, just because she was always expecting the worst it didn't mean that was exactly what was going to happen.

"Well, I'm happy you're better now," She stated, patting his shoulder briefly.

"Me too," He smiled.

"Show him the badge!"

"I almost forgot!" She searched through her bag and pulled out Peter's VIP pass. "I hope you're free this Sunday, tough guy..."

"No way!" Peter stood up and stared at his badge as if it were made of pure gold. "You got them!"

"I got them!" She showed him her own badge. "And he gave me one more so I could go with you!"

"That's awesome!"

Peter also flung his arms around her, he was now the same height as her, if not slightly taller. She was so confused she didn't push him away, and by the time she realized how close he was, Peter was already going back to his seat.

"It's gonna be the best weekend of the year, for sure," He looked back at her with the sweetest smile. "You're amazing."

Ned and Peter were too busy gushing about the expo to notice her attitude, C.C. sat next to Ned and hid her face behind her backpack, she was bright red.

"Oh, no..." She whimpered quietly.

"Maybe he started working out?"

"You don't look like that after only three weeks," C.C. clicked her tongue.

"Growthspurt?" MJ offered.

"Can we talk about something else?" The girl implored. "I seriously need to keep my mind busy with something else than Peter, it's making me uncomfortable."

"Why? Because girls are starting to notice him?" The girl teased.

"C'mon, not you too," She groaned, laying her head on the table. "I'm tired of this stupid—"

"Guys, guys have you seen the news?" Liz approached, she seemed excited. "There's a new superhero!"

"What? Who?"

"Look!" Liz showed them her phone, in it there was a youtube video of a random guy in red and blue clothes.

"Who the hell is that?" C.C. asked in annoyance. "A new superhero? Haven't we got enough with the ones we already have?"

"He's local, though," Liz couldn't contain her excitement. "Isn't it amazing? Now that the Avengers moved out of the city we were kinda defenceless, it's cool to know someone's looking after us again."

"I wouldn't say they're all gone," C.C. pouted, but she spoke so quietly Liz didn't catch it.

"Well, I just thought I'd show it to you, C, in case your uncle wants to ask him to join the Avengers," She beamed. "See you!"

"Bye..." C.C. waited until she was out of ear shot. "I don't like this new guy, Jones."

"Yeah, it's fishy. I mean, who fights crime in their pijamas?"

"I should inform Tony, just in case this guy's a weirdo."

"Totally," MJ took a big bite of her sandwich. "You should ask Peter for help, you'll have the perfect excuse to spend more time with him."

"Oh, go to hell."

She had it all planned out, calling Stark sounded like an exaggeration, and calling Fury was definitely too much, considering she'd been trained to handle minor threats, she decided to investigate on her own.

The girl went to bed at ten, earlier than usual but no one that knew her well enough was inside the tower at the moment, her suit was still hidden at the back of her closet, and she put it on quickly while F.R.I.D.A.Y was looking for the new guy.

"There's been a sighting near Brooklyn," It told her. "If you hurry you might catch him there, C.C."

"Thanks— can you open one of the wider windows for me, please?"

"Would you like me to select a blind spot?"

"Can you do that?" She approached the back of the room. "Yes, please!"

The window opened at the bottom left, she crouched in front of it and secured her lenses tight around her eyes.

"Feels nice to go solo," She muttered. "Go Copycat..."

She threw herself out of the window.

"Activate jetpack!"

Her body flung upwards, she had to dive back in order to stabilize her movements.

"Friday, update me on the position of the... what is people calling him?"

"People call him the spider-man."

"Really?" She frowned, trying to fly behind tall buildings to not catch attention. "But he looks nothing like a spider!"

"I believe it's thanks to his defense system: he shoots webs out of his wrists..."

The spider-guy swung across her line of vision, about twenty meters away.

"How about we ask him in person?" She muttered.

C.C. flew faster towards him, when she was about forty feet she slowed down so he didn't hear her coming.

"Activate camouflage mode..."

Her suit instantly darkened to match the nightsky, as soon as she landed, the masked guy stood up and turned around, but he couldn't see her.

"Hello?" His voice kind of sounded familiar, but it was muffled by his mask. "Anyone there?"

She circled him slowly, watching as he kept his eyes where she'd previously landed. It was clear that he didn't have professional training judging by his posture and size, he was also quite nervous, and he didn't carry any deathly weapons.

C.C. decided to speak.

"Over here."

The guy cursed louldy and shot something at her, C.C. moved a little and the substance flew past her shoulder.

"Turned off the camouflage, Friday," She said. "Before he pees his pants."

"Who's talking?" He squeaked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Her suit was pitch black again, she raised her hands in the air so he could see she wasn't going to attack him. "I just wanna talk, are you going to cooperate?"

"I— wait, are you an Avenger?"

He pointed to the small logo on the left side of her chest.

"Meh," She shrugged. "Young Avenger. I'm not supposed to go public yet. You can call me Copycat."

C.C. offered her hand, the guy shook it.

"I'm the... I'm spider-man."

She snorted. "Why though? What's your deal?"

"Ah..." He looked at his body as if trying to find the answer there. "I'm like super strong and sticky. I can... crawl around?"

"Do you lay eggs as well?" She teased. "Are your legs and arms hairy? How many eyes do you have behind that mask..."

The girl approached him without actually intending to touch, he stepped back anyway.

"No, I'm-I'm normal— I mean, I changed physically but nothing gross happened, I was a lucky guy."

"Very well, lucky guy," She crossed her arms. "I just wanna make sure you mean no harm and you're just trying to help others. If you tell me you're a good guy I'll believe you and leave you to it, but you gotta be honest, man, otherwise I'll call Nick Fury and he'll catch you so fast you won't even have time to throw one of your..." She looked down at the white substance on the floor, a few steps behind her. "Glue?"

"It's web— artificial web. I did it, it's really strong and it helps me..." He rambled. "Doesn't matter. Look, Miss Copycat—"

"Copycat, no miss at the front, that's stupid."

"Okay," He started again. "Copycat. I just wanna help others... and you probably can tell I'm new in this, but I'm pretty good at it, I don't know if you've noticed, but the Avengers are too busy to deal with regular shoplifters and creepy dudes lurking in dark corners, so I've been taking care of them."

There was a very sweet innocence in his speech, he sounded young, not older than twenty, and she felt the strong impulse to support his mission.

"You're right, the Avengers are too busy for that," She admitted. "I think I can help you."

Spider-man's shoulders relaxed. "Wait, really?"

"Like I said, I'm a young avenger, and I can tell you're kinda young too... I'm not supposed to be seen with the team yet, but that doesn't mean I'm not qualified to go out and help people. I like your idea, I can help you."

"That would be great... But are you sure the others won't need you?"

C.C. knew this was a risky idea, if Tony found out she'd left the tower to navigate New York's streets in the dark, he would freak out and send her back to the Avengers facility without even asking. But was it better to leave this onesie-wearing boy alone in the city, without nothing but webshooters as his only defense? He needed training, and he needed someone who could heal him in case he got injured in a fight.

"Don't worry about them, Webs," She replied. "Do we have a deal?"

He moved towards the edge of the building and stared at the people below. He looked back at her and nodded.

"I'm in."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@ieatpanicattacksforlunch @jesuswasnotawhiteman @23victoria@siriuslysirius1107 @greengarsstuff @itsyagirl01

#twoidiots writing #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #copycat fic

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