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cutesilyo · 3 years

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i know your eyes in the morning sun — an indophil fanfic

When a homesick Indonesia is unexpectedly taken out of his meeting for a day trip in Rome with Philippines, he isn't expecting much more than exhaustion ahead of him. Instead, what happens is a whirlwind of food, fun, and a surprising amount of reflection on their histories and differences as nations. And as he looks deeper and deeper in the other nation's bright eyes, he learns to come to terms with the feelings he's been ignoring for far, far too long.

Alternatively: a nation who's too attached to the past goes on a date with a nation whose entire philosophy is built on trying to live in the moment. Yes, there is kissing involved.

Also available on AO3, FF.net

—

“Tell me why we’re here again,” Indonesia groused.

“Unofficially, it’s because I’m busting you out of that damn meeting.” Philippines grinned, his purple eyes glinting mischievously under Rome’s bright sun. “Officially, it’s because we’re on a date.”

All Indonesia could do was sigh. He had arrived in Italy two days ago for a G20 summit, and all the meetings he’s had to attend since then had left him tired and restless. It would have been easier if it was like a normal ASEAN meeting, where he was at least familiar and friendly with all the members. But in the G20, he was the sole Southeast Asian nation there, and he found it difficult to get a word in everyone else’s chaos. Most of the time, he simply preferred to keep his head down and daydream about going back home.

It was during his third-favorite daydream (a peaceful afternoon at Borobudur, dressed in gold just like the old days) that Philippines had burst through the doors with his perpetually bright eyes and cheeky smile. Before he could even process what was happening, Philippines was happily dragging him out of the room while everybody else waved them goodbye.

And that’s how Indonesia found himself in his current predicament. Outside some random pizzeria in a foreign country, dazed out of his wits, and with the one nation who got under his nerves the easiest.

He really wanted to go home.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Philippines patted him on the shoulder with a laugh, and Indonesia couldn’t help but tense uncomfortably. “It's not like this is a real date, I just made up some lame excuse to get them off my back. Besides, you were bored out of your mind there, weren’t you? I bet you weren’t even listening. You were probably thinking about your temples.”

“No,” he denied, but the other nation simply smirked knowingly. He felt his face go red in embarrassment. “Well, can you blame me? I don’t feel right around all those Westerners . . .”

Philippines just laughed at him as they walked in.

There wasn’t much to walk into. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but just a small family-owned business that only had two round tables to the side. Other than them, there didn’t seem to be any other customers. Different flavors of pizza were behind glass, oddly rectangular in shape rather than the circular pizzas he was used to seeing in advertisements, but their names and prices went unlabeled. Even if they were, he doubted that it would help him much; while he was steadily getting used to English, the Romance languages were an entirely different matter.

“Buonasera,” the middle-aged woman behind the counter greeted them.

Indonesia could only nod awkwardly in response, but Philippines grinned cheerily. “Buonasera! Ciao bella, come stai?”

The two struck up a light conversation while he tried to decide what kind of pizza to get. He was used to thick-crusted, American-style pizzas, and he really didn’t see the point of eating something so expensive when a good terang bulan was always available. Besides, even if he didn’t particularly like pizza, he could see that the ones available here were an entirely different beast from the ones Pizza Hut sold at home. Much more greens and vegetables, for one.

Indonesia hoped he didn’t look too clueless when Philippines finally turned to ask him what kind of pizza he wanted. He just pointed at a random one and prayed for the best.

The other nation looked amused, but he didn’t comment any further. He just turned back to the woman and presumably rattled off their order in rapid-fire Italian that he could barely catch. They continued their conversation from where they left off, and whatever it was that Philippines was saying, it made the woman blush like a maiden. Suddenly, for a reason that he refused to name, he felt consumed by irritation.

His stony silence continued until the woman had given them their pizza, warm and each slice served in a small tray, and bid them goodbye. He’d barely given them a glance until they sat down on a bench just outside the pizzeria.

“So, what do you think?” Philippines asked him. He seemed more excited than he was. “This is your first, right?”

“I’ve eaten pizza before,” he grumbled.

“But this is different,” the other nation insisted. “This is pizza al taglio, Rome’s specialty! Come on, just start eating it already. I could hear your stomach grumbling since we left the meeting room.”

Indonesia stared at the pizza dubiously, ignoring how quickly Philippines was eating his own slice just beside him, before giving it a bite.

It was . . . good.

Not that he was going to tell the other nation that. He couldn’t bear the smug smirk that would be thrown his way.

Instead, he said, “It’s folded. It’s like a sandwich.”

“Boo,” Philippines stuck his tongue out at him. “If you must know, it’s called panino and it’s a lot better than eating it unfolded.”

“Unfolded,” Indonesia repeated. “You mean, like normal?”

Philippines gasped overdramatically. “I can’t believe you just said that! No, pizza al taglio is supposed to be eaten panino! Just ask Romano, he’ll say it's the best.”

“And I imagine if you ask Italy Veneziano, he’d say the opposite.” He took another bite, careful not to let any of the grease on his hands, and hummed appreciatively. “I think I ordered something different though.”

Philippines just laughed, a bit sheepishly. "I . . . may have taken the liberty of changing your order. The one you pointed at back there had pork sausage slices on it, so I got you something more halal. That one has arugula and mozzarella, and I know you like things a bit spicy, so I asked the lady to give you something more piccante. This slice has pepper flakes baked in the dough."

"Oh," he blinked, a bit stunned. Indonesia felt warmer than the pizza in his hands. "Terima kasih."

"Hey, as long as you're here with me, ako bahala sa'yo." Philippines stood up and grinned at him, eyes bright and his half-eaten pizza in his hand. "You know, the best thing about pizza panino is that you can eat them while we're on the go! How about we walk around the city, and I'll take you out on a real date?"

------

This was a mistake.

He and Philippines have never really hung out together much; either they only met for formal occasions or they were always joined by at least one other ASEAN member, so the chances they had to be alone were usually few and far in between. If he was being honest, it was probably better for his heart that way.

Still, he probably should've known better than to let Philippines take charge, because his definition of walking around and the other nation's idea of walking around were vastly different things. For one, he'd definitely rather be driving rather than walking anyway. It didn't help that he was still stuck in his stuffy formal suit and dress shoes, while Philippines was both comfy and stylish in his boots, jeans, and a fashionable overcoat. And though he preferred to get to his destinations as quickly and efficiently as possible, Philippines loved making stops at every little statue or shop that interested him. What's worse is that he couldn't just leave the other nation behind — between the two of them, Philippines was the only one who actually knew how to speak Italian and knew how to get around the city. His only choices were to suffer alone in a foreign land or to slowly murder his feet following Philippines around, and just this once, he'd rather swallow his pride.

"If only my motorcycle was here . . ." Indonesia sighed. "How long are you going to take?"

"Just a bit longer!" He heard Philippines shout from the back of the souvenir shop. "My neighbors would never forgive me if I didn't get them anything, you know!"

He was idly inspecting a small plastic replica of the Coliseum when the other nation emerged a few minutes later, proudly carrying about a dozen silver keychains in his hands. Indonesia couldn't stop himself from grimacing at them; in rupiahs, that was probably the cost of a plane ticket.

"You aren't going to buy anything?" Philippines said. He was fiddling around his pockets for spare coins. He seemed to have forgotten that his wallet was probably in the small leather bag he was carrying, and Indonesia didn't feel like telling him.

"Pass," he said. "I'll wait outside, if you don't mind."

Philippines shrugged, turning back to the cashier. "Suit yourself."

As soon as he stepped out into the cobblestone streets, he immediately felt restless for a smoke. The architecture, the weather, the people . . . it all just reminded him how far away from home he was. It was autumn in Italy, colder than it would ever get at his house, and with a sharp pang of his heart he realized how much he missed everyone.

He started worrying about whether Singapore had gotten enough sleep last night, because often the young nation would look at data until the sun rose, looking for where he could make himself stronger. And Malaysia got dehydrated too easily for someone with his water resources, so he always had to remind him about refilling his water dispensers every once and a while. Brunei had always been quiet, but he'd been too reclusive than was healthy these days; and even though Timor-Leste couldn't face him sometimes, he still hoped she was doing alright. He trusted Thailand and Vietnam could handle everything over at the mainland, but he couldn't help but be concerned about them anyway.

Then there was the nation he was with right now.

All of a sudden, he felt a warm breath on his neck and a whispered: "You're scaring the other tourists, mahal."

Indonesia barely held back a scream, furiously turning to face a mirthful Philippines that was clearly having the time of his life teasing him. "Would you stop scaring me like that? And don't call me mahal!"

Philippines just waved him off with a laugh. "Please, that was barely a scare. And you deserve it! I thought the way you kept staring at my bag was weird, but you meant to tell me my money was in it, right? Silly Indonesia, I can't know things if you don't actually say it."

"Don't blame me for your denseness," he shot back. "Besides, your idea of a date must be really sloppy if all you do is take me to tourist shops. Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Are you saying you wanted something more romantic? Oh Indonesia, how bold of you!" Philippines looked at him slyly.

He was suddenly reminded of how difficult it could be to talk to Philippines sometimes. "I just thought you'd take me to actual places, like the Coliseum. Or maybe a castle, I don't know."

They walked together in amiable silence towards a nearby bus stop. He almost cried in relief when they finally sat down after what felt like hours of walking. Maybe Indonesia was just feeling his age, but he was not nearly as full of energy as the nation beside him.

"I know you've been to the Coliseum before, so taking you there isn't nearly as exciting," said Philippines, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. "Just so you know."

"Everything always has to be exciting for you," said Indonesia, with a huff.

The other nation winked at him. "What can I say? I love a little thrill."

He couldn't help but be amused at that. Whether it was thrill rides or thriller horror movies, Philippines was always raring to go. Still, though he was grateful, he was starting to feel a bit guilty about all the trouble he put the other nation through. He knew Philippines could be impulsive, but he didn't think he was the kind of person to drop everything and fly to Europe just to rescue him from another boring meeting. "I've been meaning to ask, but how did you end up in Italy anyway? I'd hate to think that you spent so much money just to go here."

"Don't worry! I didn't come to Europe for you," Philippines grinned brightly. "You're just a stop on the destination. I'm actually headed to Munich."

Ah. For some reason, that only made Indonesia feel worse.

"See, when I'm in Europe, I like to start by visiting the Vatican," the other nation continued. "Then Germany said that he had a meeting in Rome too, so we were planning to catch the train together. Didn't you notice that he was rushing to end your meetings as quickly as possible? It's Oktoberfest, you know."

Indonesia nodded slowly. "I guess September does end next week . . . ?"

"Dios mio," Philippines laughed. "I mean the beer festival, not the month. I'd invite you to join us but I know you don't drink."

"Even if I did, I don't think I could keep up with you and Germany," he admitted, which made the other nation's eyes twinkle with pride. "That still doesn't explain why you decided to crash the meeting."

"That's just because you weren't checking WhatsApp, which I'm grateful for." Philippines handed him his phone, which was opened to the group conversation they had with the rest of the ASEAN nations. "Here, I bet you left your phone at the hotel or something."

He did, but that was beside the point. Indonesia took the phone.

The first thing he saw was a selfie of Philippines at the airplane, snuggled up under the airline's provided blanket. Just boarded from Dubai! Be arriving at Fiumicino by morning, anything you guys want?

Abang is in Rome too, isn't he? Malaysia had asked. In that case, the both of you should bring back gifts! I need the best cheese for my sea cucumbers. Also, remember the keychains.

Singapore had sent one of his custom stickers. The merlion was sticking its tongue out.

Stop being so mean to him, or else he'll end up crying to me again, Thailand replied.

Not my problem he's a crybaby, Singapore said. Then he sent another merlion sticker.

Vietnam sent a laughing emoji, and then: You should visit Indo while you're there. You know how sad he gets when he has to go abroad alone.

Malaysia sent a GIF of a crying scene from some old movie.

Eh? But if I'm going to visit him, I want it to be a surprise! Philippines had whined. If he goes online soon, he'll already know. No fun in that.

It should be okay. He's probably asleep now anyway. And he doesn't check his phone during meetings, unlike you, Thailand pointed out.

It will be good for him to see a friendly face, Vietnam added.

Take care of him lah, Singapore had said. Make sure he enjoys himself this time.

PIRI WAIT I HAVE A GREAT IDEA, chatted Malaysia. I'll DM you just in case, so abang can't find out. He'll love it, trust me!

Oh no, said Vietnam, Thailand, and Singapore in separate, individual messages, to which Malaysia simply replied with another GIF. Brunei even mustered the energy to send a worried-looking emoji.

The last message, sent earlier this afternoon, was a selfie of Philippines with a cheeky grin. He was standing just outside the meeting room, and he had sent it with the caption: He won't know what hit him! <3

Indonesia sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, until he was nudged gently.

"Come on, the bus is here," Philippines stood, putting his hands on his hips. Then he frowned at him. "Hey, Indonesia, is there anything wrong? You look a bit shaken."

"No, everything's fine, I just," he stammered. There was such a powerful feeling in his heart that he didn't have the capacity to explain. "Um, I don't have my phone with me, so. Please thank everyone for keeping me in their thoughts. Tell them I'm doing my best to make all of you proud."

The other nation stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

If Indonesia let a few tears drop while they were on the bus, Philippines was kind enough not to say a word.

-----

Their stop was on top of a hill. There was an impressively large monument of a man on a horse, but Philippines dragged him to the nearby café as soon as they got off the bus, and Indonesia realized that he was probably better off with a nice snack than looking at some old statue anyway. To be fair, he had been waiting for dessert all day long, and the crepes were warm and delicious and more than enough to satisfy his sweet tooth. He finished his in record time, and bought another one right after.

"Ah, there's that smile," Philippines teased, once Indonesia had returned to their spot. "I was wondering where it went."

He was too engrossed with his enjoying his food to respond, but he motioned go on.

"It's just—I've seen you with tourists, you know." Philippines delicately sipped on his drink, slow and careful like an old cat. "Remember when we had that ASEAN hang-out at Bali? The restaurant near our hotel was full of foreign customers, and the staff was overwhelmed, so you decided to help the staff serve tables and entertain the guests. You seemed really friendly there."

"You knew about that?" Indonesia flushed with embarrassment. He thought he managed to sneak out successfully; it was at the point that Vietnam and Laos got crazy drunk, after all. "Well, it's very different dealing with foreigners at my home and actually being in a foreign place."

Philippines hummed contemplatively. "I think I get it. You feel more in control when it's them coming to you, rather than the other way around."

"Yeah, I suppose so." He crumpled the wrapping paper in his hands. "It's different for you though, right? I think you're more used to foreigners than I am."

The other nation laughed nervously. "I'm not sure Boracay and El Nido can even compare—"

"I'm not talking about tourists."

He knew, of course, that Philippines met with many nations as part of his duties, but he had always taken to this role so naturally that Indonesia could only assume that his history had given him a leg up. Spain was stricter on imposing his culture on the other nation than Netherlands ever was with him, or England with Malaysia and Singapore. America was just as obnoxiously stubborn when he colonized him right after. And although he never forgot his roots as part of Southeast Asia, Philippines also kept much less of his pre-colonial culture and history than the rest of them. Anything before Spain took him away was hazy and, as far as his memory was concerned, he had spent his youth growing up with the Americas and Europe — and with his mannerisms and how close he was with the Western nations, he certainly acted like it.

When Philippines arrived at the meeting earlier, everyone was accepting him with open arms. Spain had fondly ruffled his hair and America invited him to a party at his place next week. France had cooed adoringly at how much he had grown since his youth and England reminded him that he was due to visit London's hospitals in the next month. Germany's cheeks were pink as he asked how he was doing and Italy immediately began talking his ear off about food recipes and restaurants. Mexico began crying with joy at the sight of him, while Argentina and Brazil embraced him like family. It was a miracle that the both of them were able to leave as quickly as they did; he was sure that they'd make Philippines stay for at least another hour, if they could.

Meanwhile, Indonesia's own presence was always forgotten. The only time he was talked to the entire meeting was when Australia made an awkward half-joke, half-apology about the spying issue again.

"I guess it's easier for me to relate to them," Philippines admitted, a melancholy look in his eyes. He was looking down at his still half-eaten crepe with an oddly bittersweet smile on his lips; the sun, only just beginning to set, cast a dark shadow on his face. "And for them to relate to me. But I would be lying if I said I don't feel out of place with them too, sometimes. Despite everything, we're still very different. Besides, all the cultural similarities in the world can't make up for the fact that I'm so far away from them all. There just isn't enough opportunity for me to talk to them as much as they can talk to each other."

Indonesia didn't know what to say to that. He settled for a neutral, "I'm sorry I brought it up."

The other nation waved it off. "I'll forgive you if you take a selfie with me later."

He didn't have any choice but to accept.

As he waited for Philippines to finish his food, Indonesia took the time to observe the other people around. Many of them were trying to take a picture with the huge statue, but there were also families walking around with their happily enthusiastic children. If he looked farther, he could see busts of what he assumed were various historical figures lining the pathways. Going by the number of cars that had been parked just across them, it seemed like the park was of good interest for both tourists and locals alike. There were enough people to suggest that the place was well-loved, but there were nowhere near the crowds he'd see when he passed by the other popular tourist destinations. The statue of the man with a horse was large and grand, but he didn't recognize it; he was sure that, whatever this place was, it wasn't featured on the usual travel brochures.

"I'm curious," he said slowly, "as to why you're so familiar with Rome."

Philippines gave him a wry twitch of the lips, sitting his chin on the palm of his hands. "I thought we were done talking about me and the West?"

"This is different," he defended. "I'm just asking why you know about this place. Italy never took us anywhere like this for the G20 formalities."

"Well, of course he wouldn't," he said, idly swirling his drink around. "Just think: if you have a nice and peaceful park that's meant more for relaxation and you also have more famous and historically significant places available, then you would rather take your visiting diplomats to the latter, right? So Italy takes you to Palatino and Campidoglio instead of here. If it were you hosting the meeting, you'd take them to Monas instead of Taman Surapati."

Indonesia thought about that for a moment, but no matter how much he wanted to argue, he was forced to accept that Philippines was right. Then he frowned. "But you just take everyone to Luneta."

The other nation winked. "It's to my benefit that Luneta just happens to be both historical, relaxing, and beautiful. Makes my life a lot easier."

"You're not actually answering my question," he pointed out.

Philippines simply hummed, leaning back on his chair. His hair was blowing in the cold autumn breeze. "There's not much to say. I've had to visit a lot recently, since Italy is full of my migrant workers, more so than anywhere else in Europe. But when we were younger, Romano used to take me here often. The things he'd say — well, now that I think about it, I think you could relate."

He almost choked on his spit. Indonesia had never been in much contact with Romano, especially as his younger brother was always the one who represented Italy in their meetings, but he couldn't see any similarity between him and that foul-mouthed, angry brat. At the very least, he liked to think he was much more friendly and polite.

Uncharacteristically, the other nation didn't take the opportunity to laugh at him this time. Instead there was only a faraway look on his face, pensive as he stared out into somewhere unknown.

After a moment, Philippines finally said: "Do you still remember being with your old empires?"

Indonesia stilled.

"I know I don't, but you were old enough to remember living with the other maritime nations together as Nusantara," the other nation continued. "There was a glory that you could remember living before Portugal and Netherlands came to your shores. You weren't Majapahit, but you carried his legacy and his blood; just like you carried Srivijaya's.

"Romano lived at Spain's like I did, you know. He liked me for some reason, probably because I used to get sick all the time and couldn't really annoy him as much as the others. One day, he took me to Rome for the first time. I was so amazed at finally seeing all the old ruins I used to read about in books, and then when I looked back at him, he was crying. He told me it was like he could never escape the shadow of his grandfather."

Philippines' smile was terribly bittersweet. "I remember thinking that, for the first time, I was grateful I couldn't remember who I was before Spain came. And ever since I met you again, I kept wondering if you ever felt like Romano did. Maybe you had all that burden on you and you never told us. Maybe you felt lonely too."

He remembered.

Back when all of them were just children, back when he had never seen fair skin except for when he traded with the Eastern Asian nations up north. China and India, of course, were always present. Vietnam was older, and despite all the fighting she did, it never looked like she was ever frazzled by it. Myanmar was the same, but because he was so distant and preoccupied with his own kingdoms, Indonesia saw him the least. He would see Khmer more often when she had to pick up her sons, cheerful Thailand, friendly Laos, and belligerent Cambodia, from whenever they decided to come by. In their household, Malaysia was already energetic, but he was always doubly so whenever Singapore was around; those were the days that the smaller nation still admired his brother. Timor Leste was still sweet and shy, hiding behind him at every hint of danger. Brunei, quiet as ever, spent his time diligently picking flowers for a young Philippines across the sea. Steady, dependable Majapahit had welcomed them all with a smile, and taught him to do the same.

Indonesia grew up without ever really knowing what loneliness was. Even after Majapahit had already faded away, Netherlands had visited him much more often than was necessary or appropriate for a normal colonial relationship. And though he was separated from the rest of them, his siblings were never too far from him either.

So he had to take care of them too, when he could. He had to, because he was the one who remembered the most about what life was like, before. He had to, because he was the oldest. He had to, because that was what Majapahit taught him. Whether he began to feel more and more weary as the centuries passed by and his own territory expanded didn't matter, because being able to take care of as many people as he could — that was the greatest power any nation could ever have.

Of course he remembered. He never let himself forget.

A gentle nudge from Philippines shook him out of his silence. Softly, he said, "You don't have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable. Believe it or not, even I know when to back off."

"Sorry, you just caught me off-guard," he said, taking a moment to compose himself. Then Indonesia sighed. "You're not normally so serious. I was completely unprepared."

Philippines pouted. "Is it really all that surprising? I just thought, since you asked me a pretty personal question just now, it's only fair that I do the same to you. Answering that made me feel sad, so you needed to think of something that made you sad too! At least the both of us can feel sad together, instead of just me being sad all on my own."

Indonesia felt his eye twitch. "Your logic is really something."

The other nation just laughed, as if nothing happened at all. Then he stood, his grin wide and his hand reaching out to him, and said, "Come on, it's a complete waste for us to come here if all we're going to do is sit around! You can see all of Rome from Gianicolo, you know."

They watched the sunset from the hill's peak, and seeing the yellows and oranges being reflected in Philippines' purple eyes made for a pretty sight. As the sun shone its last light on the ancient ruins of the Roman Empire, Indonesia felt strangely at peace for the first time since he arrived. Maybe he'd even ask Philippines to properly introduce him to Romano one day.

-----

The Eternal City was beautiful even at night, but Indonesia just felt tired. He could sense that Philippines still wanted to go around with him — he mentioned something about taking him to a turtle fountain? — so they settled for slowly walking down the hill. They chatted about mundane things like food, gaming, and the merits of motorcycles over bikes, and it was unexpectedly nice. For some reason, Indonesia felt as light as air. He still wanted to go home as soon as he could, but he slowly realized that he wasn't all that opposed to just spending time with the other nation either.

"Say, Indonesia," Philippines suddenly said. "Do you know how to get back to your hotel?"

Indonesia took that back. He wanted to go home immediately.

The other nation giggled. "Don't tell me that you don't even remember which hotel you're staying at?"

He quickly turned his head away. He willed himself to look anywhere but the other nation, but he could still feel how Philippines was staring at him.

"Ah! I get it now," Philippines said, delightedly. Indonesia internally cursed himself. "Let me guess. You didn't have any plans of going anywhere but the meeting, the hotel, and the airport, so you thought it was fine if you left your phone behind and if you didn't care to remember your hotel's name. And, you kept falling asleep at the hotel shuttle that takes you to the meetings, so you can't even tell me about the nearby landmarks! My, how careless of you, Indonesia!"

"Why are you so smart," Indonesia grumbled, "for the most stupid of things?"

"I don't hear any denial," Philippines sang. "Well, whatever, that works out for me. Unless you're game for scouring through the dozens of hotels around the city, I guess I have no choice but to take you back to my place, huh?"

He faced Philippines, who was scrolling through his phone again, and said, "You don't have to do that. You can probably just ask Italy which hotel he arranged for me. I can take a taxi."

The other nation hummed. "Going from his Instagram stories, he looks like he's too busy partying with the others. Looks like France even brought out his special wine for the occasion. Hey, would you want to party with them? The bar they went to is just a few stations away by metro."

The last time he went to a G20 party, he and Germany were made to strip so that everyone could stare at their pecs. The expression he made must have been grim, as Philippines immediately backtracked. "I'm going to take that as a no."

Indonesia sighed. "Well, I don't want to disturb Italy and I don't want to waste any money trying to find another hotel. If you're really fine with me staying with you for the night, then I guess I have no problem with it either."

Philippines stopped in his tracks. "Eh? You're not going to make a fuss about it?"

Indonesia tilted his head, quizzically. "And you are?"

For some odd reason, the other nation seemed flustered. He was gripping the strap of his bag tightly and his cheeks were pink. "Well, you know, you're normally so averse to any of my ideas, and you always seem so annoyed with me. I thought, for sure, that you were just going to argue against me again . . ."

"Do you really think so lowly of me?" Indonesia frowned. "I wouldn't have been with you all day if I hated you."

That seemed to perk Philippines back up. He could practically see the sparkles in the other nation's eyes as he faced him and gleefully said, "Ha! You've admitted it! So if you don't hate me, does that mean that you actually like me, Indonesia?"

He couldn't hold back a smirk. "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Philippines just laughed, cheery and bright.

When they stepped down from the bus, Indonesia was surprised to be faced with a block full of old apartment buildings rather than a fancy hotel. Evidently, the other nation was familiar to the residents; one old lady had grasped him firmly by the hand with a gummy smile as she engaged them in small talk. Philippines then took him to the second building on the right and led him through a few flights of stairs to a dark, wooden door.

The apartment was small but clean. Two bedrooms and a bathroom, then some communal space with a worn sofa and a dated television. There was a kitchen with a countertop, rice cooker unplugged, and more than a few succulents sitting by the window. The other nation's usual travel bag was still on the floor, a duffel bag easily recognizable by the numerous flag patches stitched by the sides as a memento for all the countries he had visited. A small corner was developed into a personal home altar, figures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary surrounded by flowers and golden crosses. Even though it was emptier than Philippines' own home back in Manila, it was still undeniably his in its coziness and warmth. All in all, it was modest and good; certainly more than what Indonesia expected for an apartment that the other nation probably only visited a few times a year.

"It's cute. It fits you," he said politely.

"Aw, you think I'm cute," Philippines teased. He was hanging his overcoat on the coat rack, which was a bit too tall for him — a sliver of skin showed only for a moment before being covered again by his turtleneck top. Indonesia pretended he didn't see. "Please go ahead and sit down, make yourself comfortable. Oh, won’t you take off your suit and place it somewhere? The good thing about Europe is that it’s a lot cooler here, so you can still wear it tomorrow without worrying about sweat and stuff."

“I knew that, at least.” He placed his suit on a nearby chair and sat down on the sofa. Philippines set a saucer full of biscuits at the table and gave him a glass of water, which he gratefully drank. As the other nation sat down beside him, Indonesia couldn’t help but ask, “Is this place really yours?”

“My government didn’t buy it for me like all our other properties, if that’s what you’re asking,” Philippines said, reaching out for the biscuits. There was an audible crunch as he bit into one of them. “One of the Filipinos living here bought it for her son, but he decided to move in with his girlfriend. She thought it would be a waste of money to abandon it, so she gave it to me. When I’m not here, it gets rented as an Airbnb. We share the profits. It’s actually pretty good passive income, you know.”

Indonesia gave him a wry smile. “You always find an opportunity to make money, somehow. I’d say it’s America’s influence, but I know for a fact you’ve been this way since we were kids.”

"My skill is all mine, thank you very much," the other nation boasted, leaning back into the sofa with a self-assured smirk. “I don't suppose there's anything else you remember about me from those days? I assure you, if you thought I inherited my charm from Spain, you'd be dead wrong.”

Your hair used to be so long, he immediately thought. He had taken care of it meticulously, washing it with several oils so it was always smooth and wonderfully scented. Gold adorned almost every inch of his body, painstakingly crafted with the tiniest details, contrasting beautifully with the vibrant textiles used for his clothes. Even as a child, Philippines was already used to traveling often — Tondo and Seludong would take him up north, Butuan and Sulu down south, Sugbu and Panay at the center, and a dozen more kingdoms in between. He loved his boats the most, and Majapahit would patiently humor him by letting the younger nation talk his ear off about the latest developments his different kingdoms had with their boatmaking.

Not that he had ever tried to listen in, or attempted to make prolonged conversation with the other nation. At the time, Indonesia was too busy trying to handle Malaysia and Singapore’s chaos to pay much attention to anyone else. He hadn’t gotten to know Philippines all that well until they met again centuries later; older and more jaded, irrevocably shaped by the circumstances their colonizers had placed them in.

Sometimes he wondered what life would have been like if things had turned out differently. But he didn’t have the energy to waste his time despairing over it all again, not when Philippines was still looking at him so expectantly.

“Your eyes haven’t changed,” Indonesia decided to say. “And as for everything else I remember, there’s nothing I haven’t already told you about before.”

Philippines smiled at him fondly, “You’re as terribly succinct as ever.”

Indonesia smiled back, “And as always, you’re just as annoyingly persistent.”

For a long moment, they just sat there on the sofa in silence — easy and comfortable and bathed in the apartment’s warm, golden light. The windows were open, and guitar music from the neighbors was softly permeating the room with its slow, relaxed melody. It was during these kinds of moments that Indonesia's heart felt full; that all he's been through in the past few centuries were worth it, if it meant he could enjoy more days like this. The mood was right and he felt good; perhaps if he was braver, he would have had the confidence to make the most out of it.

Eventually, the moment passed, and the other nation stood. "It's so late already! I should probably get to preparing our dinner. You can freshen up before we eat, if you want."

"Right," Indonesia said, hastily standing up as well. "Ah, may I borrow your phone? I just need to check on something."

Philippines didn't really answer, but he heartily belted out the lyrics to some old love song as he brought out a pot and a chopping board from the kitchen cabinets, so he took it as a yes. Ignoring how the photo for the lock screen looked suspiciously like the sunrise at Bali, he put in the PIN code — 8862, how sentimental of him — and was immediately bombarded by the number of notifications he got. There were messages from everywhere: SMS, Facebook Messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter, Telegram . . . it's really no wonder that Philippines was named both the texting and social media capital of the world. Indonesia had no interest in intruding on the other nation's privacy though. As he ducked into the bathroom to wash his face, hands, and feet, he did a quick Google search for sholat times rome.

If he was home, he wouldn't have needed to Google such a thing; the mosques would have already blared adzan through the loudspeakers, reminding everyone in close vicinity that it was time for prayer. His overseas workers would sometimes complain to him about how difficult it could be to pray once they were abroad, that strangers would sometimes gawk at them in public or their employers wouldn't give them the time or space to do it properly in the office. Indonesia often had nothing to offer them but his sympathies. Tonight, he decided, he would pray for them.

"Are you going to pray?" Philippines called out. He was placing a tray in the oven. "Head to the back, go in the room on the right. It should be peaceful there."

"Thank you," he said, and when he opened the door, he was greeted with a welcome surprise.

Though the room was otherwise plain, a vibrantly orange prayer mat stood out — Malaysia's picking, no doubt. Indonesia raised his hands facing kiblat, slow and reverent, and made the mental note to thank his brother later. Thanks to this, he felt significantly less alone.

-----

Philippines made a quick sign of the cross as he sat down on the table. He grinned, "Let's eat!"

It was a modest meal: baked fish with lemons, Filipino-style chop suey, white rice, and a bowl of what was unmistakably Indomie Mi Goreng. While Philippines had poured out a glass of white wine for himself, Indonesia had a glass of orange juice. The other nation was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal, though Indonesia chalked that up to hunger; Philippines ate quickly and ravenously, shoving spoonfuls of rice and noodles into his mouth without pausing for so much as a single breath. Indonesia felt tired just watching him.

Once they were finished, Philippines patted his stomach with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, that's the good stuff."

"My compliments to the chef," Indonesia said, which made the other nation giggle. "Though I have to say, I would have cooked it differently."

"I know, but then it'd take longer and I was already so hungry — I'd even go as far to say that I was absolutely famished." Philippines groaned, slumping in his seat. "I mean, I know we could've just eaten at some trattoria down the road, but I needed rice. And I wasn't going to settle for some dumb risotto, no matter how delicious it would be. You get me, don't you?"

"It isn't a full meal without rice," Indonesia agreed.

The other nation nodded seriously. "I always felt like something was missing while I was growing up. It wasn't until I was allowed to go back to Manila that I figured out that it was rice. I haven't looked back since."

Indonesia had always known that Philippines had lived in Europe during the centuries that he was a Spanish colony, but hadn't thought any deeper about the smaller implications that had on him. Some things were obvious — his devout Catholicism for one, and the conspicuously Hispanic human name he used in his daily life — but little things like this caught him off-guard. He said, "I'm sincerely very sorry to hear that."

Philippines did nothing but take a long sip of his wine. "No need to pity me so much, it's in the past now. I don't really think about it."

"I'm not pitying you," he muttered, though he wasn't able to look Philippines in the eyes as he said it. Then, louder: "I'm just realizing that there's still so much I don't know about you. I'm your neighbor, and I don't even know what your childhood was like."

Philippines smiled at him, but it was strained. His face was saying I don't want to talk about it even as he softly confessed, "I don't know all about your history either, Indonesia. Not enough. The sentiment goes both ways. And as for my time with Spain . . . well, what is there to say, really? He said he would take care of me, and he didn't. Not in the same way he took care of the others. Whether that's a blessing or a curse, I don't think I'll ever really know. I just know that it's over now, and I'm grateful.

"I bet your experience was different though." The gaze the other nation leveled on him was nothing less than dangerously curious. His purple eyes were filled with strong contempt, but contempt for what, Indonesia didn't know. "Like I said, I don't know the specifics. But I've been told your relationship with Netherlands was something else entirely."

"He and I weren't—" he stammered, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else.

But the way Philippines was looking at him made him stop. He took a deep breath and calmed himself; the other nation deserved something more honest than that.

He still remembered how tightly Netherlands had gripped at his arm, decades and decades ago, his scarf flapping helplessly in the wind. Despite all the things that had gone unsaid between them and the years that they spent together, the blond was still unbearably silent. He used to admire that stoic demeanor; tried to emulate it when he was feeling overwhelmed, always so determined not to embarrass himself or the empire. Back when Netherlands had declared him the emerald of the equator, the crown jewel of his power as a nation . . . it had taken all he had to choke back his pride. It had taken all he had to keep his secret, that budding idea that he was meant to be more than just somebody else's precious colony.

Indië, Netherlands had pleaded, and suddenly the great Dutch Empire had seemed so small.

"It was different," he finally said. "But I don't think it was any better, in the end."

With a bittersweet smile, Philippines simply raised a toast. "To tomorrow."

In answer, Indonesia downed the rest of his orange juice in one go. This time, Philippines' laugh was more genuine, and he couldn't help but stare.

He had noticed this before, of course, but now — with the other nation elegantly sitting across him, his purple eyes glittering bright, and the wine glass so tantalizingly close to his lips — Indonesia was stricken by how right at home the other nation looked. Even Singapore, who probably had the most business with the Western countries out of them all, was more guarded whenever he stepped foot on European soil. Yet Philippines wasn't out of place here in the same way that Indonesia felt, and had instead carried the same easygoing attitude he had during their own ASEAN meetings. As much as the other nation's energy and eccentricities irked him sometimes, he also found himself in awe of him as well.

The others were right. If Philippines hadn't come, he would've spent all his free time wallowing around in his hotel room just feeling sorry for himself. But instead, he was enjoying himself more than he thought he would. Hesitant as he was to admit it, he almost found himself wanting to stay in Rome a little bit longer, if it meant the both of them could spend more time together.

"You're not leaving for Munich anytime soon, are you?" Indonesia said, daring to be hopeful.

Philippines rested his cheek on his hand. "If I remember right, the tickets Prussia bought for us were for tomorrow morning? He gets way too excited about Oktoberfest, you know."

Why do I even try to be happy, Indonesia thought darkly.

"Ah, don't look so glum! You have me all to yourself for the rest of the night," Philippines winked. "But I have to warn you, Pien is having his precious beauty sleep in my bedroom, so if you have any special requests we're going to have to be very quiet about it."

"Nothing like that," Indonesia quickly said, his face hot. "I just thought, I might as well treat you to somewhere nice. As a thank you for, uh, taking care of me today. But my flight back home is tomorrow night, and you're catching the morning train with Germany, and now I'm starting to think that we don't exactly have the time . . ."

The other nation waved it off. "We're nations, mahal. We have all the time in the world. Besides, we'll be meeting again for the APEC conference coming up in November, right? I don't mind waiting until then."

"But I do," he grumbled. "And again, don't call me mahal."

Philippines finished his drink and set his glass delicately on the table. "You can promise me that you'll let me sing half the songs when we go karaoke with the others. Or that you'll pay for my food the next time we have a group dinner. Oh! When Thailand makes a mean comment to me in the next meeting, you have to defend me. Say something like Filipino BL series are better than Thai BL series, that'll really get him going."

He was suddenly reminded of how frivolous the other nation could be sometimes. Either that, or worryingly low-maintenance. Indonesia built up the courage and forced out, "I'd rather make it up to you when the two of us are alone."

This time, it was Philippines who was staring. Flustered, Indonesia rambled on. "I just mean—you know, you spent all this time with me even though you didn't have to. So it's only right that I spend more time with you too, just the both of us. It's not good enough if the others are there too."

Philippines offered, "We could watch a movie before we sleep?"

"I'll probably just pass out in the middle."

"Maybe you can make breakfast for us tomorrow?"

"You gave me snacks, dinner, and a place to sleep, there's no way just a breakfast is fair."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to spend a night over at your place?"

"It's not about you, not really. It's just, I want to do something for you. Something you want."

"I've been telling you what I want, but you keep saying it's not good enough, I don't understand—"

"It needs to be special, okay? Is it so bad that I want to do something nice for you—"

"It's not bad, I just don't get why you're being so picky about it. Like, isn't doing me a favor enough for you? Isn't this just about paying me back? What is it that you want to do with me exactly?"

"No," Indonesia stressed, feeling like he was about to lose his mind. "I want—"

He paused.

What did he want, exactly?

Philippines just smiled at him, patient and knowing and just the slightest bit sad, and stood. He was carrying his plate, and as he passed by Indonesia he gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When Indonesia looked up to face him, the other nation's eyes were soft. "I know I've said this to you before, but I'll say it again. I can't know things if you don't actually say it. Alright?"

Then he walked away to the kitchen sink, absentmindedly humming to himself, leaving Indonesia all alone at the table. The words I think I want you died on his lips.

-----

Later, after reflecting during his night bath, Indonesia found himself in a panic.

He wasn't a complete idiot. He's known for a while that Philippines was the only one who could fluster him like no other, but he often chalked that up to the other nation's cheeky character rather than anything else. His attraction to Philippines wasn't surprising either; it was no secret that he liked looking pretty, and to be honest, Indonesia has had worse crushes. But he was also steadily coming to the conclusion that his feelings went deeper than mere infatuation, and he couldn't help but wonder: why fall for the other nation in particular?

Philippines was an ally, someone he had founded and managed ASEAN with in a show of regional strength. Philippines was a friend, someone he had spent countless days with over the years along with all the other people he treasured in his life. Philippines was a stranger, someone who still felt so foreign to him despite everything. He could trace out the curve of his smile in an instant, and at the same time, he didn't have the faintest idea what the other nation was doing in the 1920s. He knew that watching a cheesy romcom was the surest way of brightening up his day, but not the exact nature of what Spain had done to him as a colony. And, for the life of him, he still didn’t understand the slightest bit of how verb conjugation in Tagalog worked — which felt especially embarrassing the day he found out that Philippines had been putting in the effort to learn both Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Melayu so he could communicate with the rest of the maritime nations better. He'd understand his own heart easier if he fell for Malaysia or even Netherlands — people who he had shared a deep and culturally signifcant history with in his extremely long life as a nation — but Philippines was, to put it sadly, not like that to him.

And yet, as Indonesia stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, all he could think about was how much happier he looked now compared to his bleak and boring morning.

He changed into the clothes that Philippines had laid out for him on the bed and had a brief thought of just going to sleep for the night. Pramoedya, if he were still alive, would chide him for such cowardice. Indonesia ended up at the other nation's door, nervously trying to build up the courage to knock. But Philippines must have heard his footsteps, as he called out: "I know you're out there! Just come in!"

Just like him, Philippines had already bathed and changed to more casual sleepwear; he was wearing a loose sweater and shorts that showed off his legs. He was sitting upright on his bed, looking amused at whatever he was staring at on his phone screen, and his face broke out into a warm smile when he saw Indonesia hesitantly trudge inside his bedroom. Pien was already sound asleep in a little makeshift bed on the desk.

"Sit here," said Philippines, while he scooted over to give him space. Indonesia gave him a look. "I'm being serious. Just move your arms a bit and—yeah, that's it. Aren't we cozy?"

Now they were both sitting on the bed, with Philippines between his legs and his arms around Philippines' waist. Cozy was certainly a word for it.

"Now you're just teasing me," Indonesia grumbled, but he didn't move away either.

"Me? Tease you?" Philippines fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Why, I'm just a poor tropical nation made to suffer through the unbearably cold Autumn months in the Northern Hemisphere! I'm severely in need of some aid and assistance, but I'm sure you and all your hundred active volcanoes can keep me warm for tonight."

"You're horrible, you know that?" he said, though he was unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. Philippines laughed with him, giddy and gleeful. "You don't know how anxious I was before this. It's not fair that you can just make all that go away so easily."

Philippines leaned back on his chest, smug as a cat. "Call it a gift. By the way, our neighbors want to know how you're doing. Anything you want to say?"

Now that he was right behind the other nation, he could see that his phone was opened to the ASEAN group chat. It seemed like everyone was spamming the chat with pictures of their pets again. Indonesia rested his chin on Philippines' shoulder and said, "I'm doing just fine. Tell them I mean it this time."

If the other nation was flustered, he betrayed no signs of it. He had now moved on to chatting with the other ex-Spanish colonies; they were all talking in Spanish and Indonesia couldn't understand a thing. "I'll tell them when I'm sure it won't get buried by everything else. But, you know, that's really good to hear. My influence, I hope."

Indonesia buried his face in Philippines' neck as an answer.

"So needy," Philippines murmured, who had put his phone down to pat his head. "Perhaps you really were lonely?"

"Not as lonely as you used to be, I think." At this, Philippines stilled. Indonesia tightened his hold on the other nation's slim waist even further, almost afraid that he would drift away. "About that question you asked, earlier at the cafe . . . I don't feel burdened by how great my old empires were. I've felt the pressure to make them proud, but I've never felt like it was a burden. Their legacy is my life and my connections to all of you, you know? I've certainly never felt like it made me lonely.

"And then there's you, and I know it's not the same for you, because you can't even remember — and that's fine, Singapore doesn't really remember much either. But Malaysia remembers enough for the both of them, and then there's me, and I remember the most, but then there's you, and you don't have that."

Here, Indonesia exhales a shaky breath. "Spain took you, and America took you, and Japan took you, and that's four centuries of you just being gone from me. We're neighbors yet we're so different, to the point where we don't share the same language, the same religion, the same food, the same history . . . and you have friends all over the world and you seem so happy all the time, but I don't think I've ever realized how lonely you must feel."

All Philippines did was sigh. "I told you not to pity me."

"I'm not pitying you," said Indonesia. "I'm just sorry."

All this time, he had been so in awe of how Philippines found it so easy to adjust to Westerners and Western culture when he himself found it so difficult. But now, with the realization that the same ability to connect with others may have also translated to an inability to connect with him and the rest of ASEAN, that same awe felt so bitter. How many times had Philippines stood awkwardly to the side when he spoke to Malaysia and Brunei in his native language? Kept worryingly quiet when they were wistfully reminiscing their pre-colonial pasts? Tried to tell a joke to lighten up the mood during a meeting, but because of differences in culture and history, it just fell flat?

Indonesia was startled out of his thoughts with a painful pinch of his cheek.

"Of course you're going to be sorry if you make me sound so depressing," Philippines pouted at him, annoyed.

He sputtered, "What? I mean, I just thought—"

"Do you take me for an idiot, Indonesia?" He pinched Indonesia harder, which made him yelp. "Don't you think I'd be well aware by now of where I stand with all of you? That after sixty years together, I would've realized that I wasn't as involved in your history as everyone else is in maritime, or everyone else with each other in the mainland?"

With a huff, Philippines let him go. Indonesia tried to soothe the sting of it by putting his hand on his cheek. He almost didn't hear the other nation murmur, "Do I seem that pitiful to you?"

"Not pitiful at all," Indonesia scrambled to reassure. Philippines leaned back on his chest, still looking a bit miffed. "I don't know. I just had this sudden thought that maybe we're just a bad reminder of how much Spain and America took away from you. Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with us."

Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with me, he thought, though he kept that to himself.

Philippines simply stared up at him, eyes bright, and said, "Well, if you only realized it today, then maybe you should've considered that it isn't actually a problem."

"You could just be very good at acting like nothing's wrong," Indonesia pointed out.

"Or you can think about this: maybe there really is nothing wrong in the first place," Philippines said, a wry smile growing on his face. "I founded the association with you, you know. Maybe the rest of you were there because of old ties or whatever, but I joined precisely because I wanted to build new ones. I don't really care if I feel awkward sometimes. I'd certainly find it boring if all of you were exactly like me anyway."

The other nation was so carefree about it, but Indonesia still felt conflicted. He admitted, "Maybe the problem is just that I feel awkward. I have no idea how to approach you as a nation."

"So don't approach me as a nation. Approach me as a friend," Philippines said, not unkindly. To get the point across, he put his hands over Indonesia's in a show of comfort. "You're allowed to act outside the interests of who you represent, you know. We're people too."

Indonesia kept quiet. There had been times when he privately felt like Philippines was his exact opposite — a lively, energetic person that focused more on his human side rather than the nation side, and someone whose duties were considerably more worldly than his own: having to regularly travel to dozens of countries to check on the millions of Filipino citizens that were working abroad. Meanwhile, as such a large and diverse country, Indonesia tried his best to ensure that every single one of the people that lived within his borders felt heard. It was difficult sometimes, but it always felt meaningful to him — his people were his essence, and he couldn't let politics force him to forsake them again. Acting for his personal interests felt as foreign to him as leaving his house sometimes. Not that he never took time for himself; he tried, but a lot of the time he had to be convinced to do so. Sometimes Singapore would invite him for another tour around his house, or Malaysia would drag him into some new restaurant where they would inevitably fight over the food. But more often than not, it would be Philippines pushing him and the other Southeast Asian nations out of their shells and setting up parties, taking them to his fiestas, and prodding and annoying all of them until they would finally agree to ASEAN hang-outs like the one at Bali. Indonesia could admit harboring a deep suspicion for the other nation before, thinking that he was more in line with American interests rather than his own, but over the decades that suspicion had faded. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, he had grown on him, and now Indonesia couldn't imagine his life without him anymore.

He didn't know much about the Philippines as a nation, not much more than he needed to be aware of for the sake of diplomacy and the association. Yet as the years went by and he got to know more and become friends with Philippines the person, he discovered someone who was equal parts obnoxious and endearing, foolhardy and clever, petty and proud and unbelievably kind. And as he looked at him now, there was something in the curve of his smile and the light in his eyes that told him that things would be alright if he took things a step further — something that told him that the other nation had been anticipating this for a long, long time. Heart over head and heart over country, it emboldened him to take the leap.

"I don't want to approach you as a friend either," Indonesia murmured, and because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and kissed him.

Philippines sighed happily into his mouth as he kissed back, warm and blooming under his touch. Their kiss was relatively chaste — Indonesia had seen the other nation make out with others for a drunk dare with more passion than this — yet he couldn't complain. It was sweet and soft and lasted only for a moment, and more than anything, it was a promise: that they can take things slow, and that they had all the time in the world to get to know each other better.

Their foreheads touched, quiet and tender, and Philippines laughed softly. "It's so ridiculous," he said, his eyes filled with mirth, "that I've been waiting for so long for you to realize your feelings, and when the time finally comes that you do, you managed to confess without really confessing at all. Only you, Indonesia."

"I'm shy," he said dryly, and the other nation burst into laughter. "If you wanted a real confession, you probably could've done so yourself."

"Ah, but there's no fun in that! I like the thrill of being chased, you know," Philippines preened, wagging his finger in mock admonishment. Then, more shyly, he admitted, "Besides, if I made a move on you before you were ready, you might've just pushed me away or feel forced to return my feelings even if you didn't. If I waited, at least I could be sure you wanted me too."

"So all those jokes you made before were supposed to be you holding back? How subtle," Indonesia teased, his eyes crinkling. He held the other nation closer, smothering him with small kisses all over until what little sadness on his face disappeared and was replaced with giggles and brightness. He turned Philippines' head to face him properly and said, "I'm scared that I won't know how to balance my duties and my personal life as well as you do, and I'm scared that we'll be too dissimilar to really work out. But until the day that our differences force us apart, I'd be happy to spend my time with you."

Philippines pulled away from him slightly, an oddly vulnerable look in his eyes. "You're sure you really want something with me? That this isn't too far out of your comfort zone?"

"Oh, it's very out of my comfort zone," Indonesia said. "But recently, I've been learning that maybe it isn't so bad, you know. As long as I'm with you."

"As long as I'm with you," Philippines repeated, with a growing smile. "I like the sound of that."

They continued talking well past midnight, at some points laughing so hard and arguing so loud that poor Pien was startled awake by all the noise. And as the other nation reached out and pulled him under the covers so they could hold each other until the morning, he found himself reaching back. They kissed until their lips were red and they got so tangled up in each other until they couldn't distinguish between their own bodies anymore; despite how differently the day turned out from how his usual trips to Europe went, Indonesia swore that the unfamiliar city never felt so much like coming home until that night.

-----

"Where the hell is my sweater," Philippines groused.

"You threw it on the floor last night, it should be under your bedside drawer." Indonesia kissed his forehead and, keenly aware that he was not a morning person, gave him a cup of his precious coffee. He could tell his efforts were appreciated when Philippines greedily gulped down the scalding liquid. "Selamat pagi, sayang."

The other nation only pouted at him. "Don't call me sayang."

"After all the stupid things you've called me through the years? I'll call you however I like, thank you very much," he shrugged. "Besides, I'm not the one who has to leave in a few hours."

Philippines groaned as he pulled his clothes over himself. "This is so stupid. We finally get together and now we have to be separated like this? I mean, I'm really glad and I like you a lot and all, but I really wish you had a better sense of timing right now."

"I think you'll live." Indonesia hid his smile behind his cup. "I mean, you were the one that said you don't mind waiting until November to see me again."

"You just keep making fun of me," Philippines whined, cuddling up to him. Pien had even jumped up to nuzzle his neck, evidently just as clingy as his owner. "Where's the romance, Indonesia? The sweet nothings in my ear? The poems and songs you surely must've written while you pined for my presence? Am I to despair forever, having only been loved by a phantom version of yourself that will never return?"

"You've been watching too many telenovelas," Indonesia said, quickly setting both of their cups somewhere else before they had any accidents. At this, the other nation gasped dramatically and collapsed across his lap. Despite himself, he started chuckling at how ridiculous Philippines was being — really, how could he not find him so endearing?

Then Philippines suddenly turned serious. He stared up at him, his gaze piercing. "If you don't want me to go, I can just make up dumb some excuse again, you know. Just say the word."

Indonesia humored him. "And why wouldn't I want you to go?"

"Because I can't be there for you if you feel alone again," he muttered, expression tense and his mouth downturned in an angry frown. "I just feel bad that I'm leaving you so soon."

Yesterday, he would've been right to be worried. Indonesia probably would've found some roundabout way to say that he'd much rather for Philippines to stay just until he could see him off at the airport later that evening, if only to stave off that achingly empty feeling of waiting to go home and resenting time for moving so slowly. Philippines would have laughed and teased and inevitably posted about the day's events on his Instagram, to which Indonesia would look increasingly more exhausted with each new update, but he nevertheless would have allowed Indonesia to get away with delaying his plans to make him more comfortable.

But as it was, now Indonesia only remembered the way the other nation's eyes had twinkled in excitement when he mentioned Munich, so it was little trouble for him to simply smooth back Philippines' bangs and lightly say, "Actually, I was planning of sightseeing on my own today."

"Oh?" Philippines looked surprised — and pleased. "You are?"

Indonesia couldn't stop himself from flushing in embarrassment. Really, it had only been a passing thought he had after finishing his morning prayers, but . . . "All of you are always going on about how I can't enjoy myself abroad, so. I figured it was time I gave it a try."

Though Philippines probably knew he was still rather uncertain about it, he smiled anyway. "Well, as long as bring your phone this time, alright? I'm always just a text away if you need it."

"And here I thought you'd say some cheesy line about me never truly being alone since you'll always in my heart," Indonesia said, and Philippines was startled into laughter as he sat back up. "Don't worry. I've survived a long, long time without you by my side. I can take a little longer."

Philippines pecked him on the cheek, sweet and domestic. "Not too long, I hope. I can't wait to see the look on Thailand's face when we walk into November's meeting hand in hand. Maybe I should make a vlog about everyone else's surprised reactions."

"Whatever you like, sayang." Indonesia smiled as he stood, his hand reaching out. He pulled Philippines into a kiss — a deep one this time, slow and sensuous and full of all the things he felt too strongly to properly express in words — that left them both breathing heavily by the time they pulled away. Feeling uncharacteristically suave, he whispered, "Though I would prefer it if, in the short time that you're still here, you keep all your focus on me."

"Always, mahal." Philippines smiled back, eyes as bright as ever. "Always."

-----

Notes:

Title comes from the lyrics of How Deep Is Your Love, but specifically, it's a reference to the Christian Bautista cover. Bautista is a Filipino singer, and his cover was very popular in Indonesia a few years ago.

There are a lot of things I've had to simplify and outright ignore for the sake of story, most egregious being the fact that Indonesia actually wouldn't be the sole Southeast Asian nation in a G20 meeting. The chair of ASEAN is a permanent guest invitee, and since the current chair is the Sultan of Brunei, Brunei would probably in the meeting as well. Alas, Brunei isn't canon yet as of this writing. Sorry, Brunei!

Mahal and sayang are both terms of endearment in Tagalog and Bahasa Indonesia respectively, but with a catch! Mahal is a word that also exists in Bahasa Indonesia, but the meaning is "expensive" rather than "love" — in Tagalog you can use the word both ways. Sayang is a word that also exists in Tagalog, but the meaning is "What a waste" or "What a pity" rather than "love" — in Bahasa Indonesia, you can use the word both ways. So essentially, you have Philippines and Indonesia trying to be sweet to each other, but the other interprets it as a weird insult instead. It's really funny and really cute.

More detailed notes and references on my previous Tumblr post here!

#indophil #hws philippines #hws indonesia #aph philippines #aph indonesia #hws #mine

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polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump day 20 - Betrayal

Summary: “How bad?” Tony asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

Or, Peter just wanted a coffee.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72739866

------

It’s not everyday that Peter is pistol whipped in the face by a Starbucks customer.

Today, however, is that day.

He’s at the front of the line, finally, and just as the cashier hands him his change a man wearing a crudely cut ski mask shoots two bullets into the ceiling. Everyone screams, ducks, and through the mass panic Peter hears his handful of change roll across the floor.

“Are you kidding me-”

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!”

Peter listens, trying his best to keep calm as he assesses his surroundings. The store has six customers and two employees. Another masked individual joins the first, also holding a gun.

That they’re not afraid to use, apparently.

Slowly and praying not to draw attention, Peter’s fingers close around the watch Tony had given him for his birthday and presses the side button three times. He’s only used the distress signal once before, and Tony had been at his side to help within a matter of minutes.

These idiots won’t even know what hit them.

The first man crosses behind the counter and shoves his gun into the barista’s face. “Open the register.”

For a minute, Peter thinks she’s going to refuse, her eyes set with anger and fear. As if getting the same sense, the man with the gun presses the barrel hard against her cheek and she whimpers. “Now,” he repeats, and she obeys with shaking hands.

Even though she complies, the man steps closer, his trigger finger tensing as the first inch of the barrel practically disappears into her face. Spidey sense screaming, Peter stands carefully, hands outstretched, “hey, hey. Come on man. Ease up. She’s doing what you asked-”

“On the ground,” the second criminal yells at him, spit flying from his mask. Peter freezes on the spot, eyes glued on the trembling barista. For one terrible moment, he’s brought back to a dark alley, his hands pressing down desperately on Ben’s chest.

“The register’s open,” Peter reasons, “let her go.”

“Looks like someone’s trying to play hero,” the first robber sneers. He pushes the barista aside and she falls onto the floor with a strangled yelp. “Grab him.”

Peter doesn’t flinch as the man’s accomplice obeys, digging strong fingers into his bicep and dragging him out of line. His back is brought against the man’s chest and the gun is pressed into his throat. He swallows at the pressure and keeps his eyes trained on the first man, who’s stuffing a duffel with cash.

Outside, there’s sirens.

“Damn it!”

The first man slams the empty drawer closed, throwing his gun out widely, “which one of you called the police?”

Peter almost laughs. Almost. “Are you kidding? You would’ve heard it if someone called. It’s a small room, buddy-”

A sharp pain in his face nearly sends him crashing to his knees. Blood pools onto his tongue but he keeps it there, not wanting to scare the other customers. Through the aching pulse in his head he hears a couple of them gasp.

“Not the time to be smart, kid.”

“Well you’re the ones who decided to rob a Starbucks of all places.”

Before Peter can even suck in a breath, he’s hit three more times, all where the first blow had landed. This time he does fall, and the man kicks him in the ribs for good measure when he’s down. The force of it has him gasping and somewhere in the distance Peter hears a kid crying.

Don’t think about Ben, don’t think about Ben.

“Police are here. Damn it. What do we do?”

Peter hears shuffling as he tries to reorient himself, his head spinning like a top. He only makes it to his elbows before his jacket is grabbed at its shoulder and he’s manhandled to his feet. He sways but stands his ground, wiping the blood off his chin with his sleeve.

“We take him with us.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to argue as he’s dragged to the entrance by his neck. Through the glass and a rapidly swelling eye, Peter sees a semi circle of police, completely closing off an escape. He thinks he sees a flash of red and gold, too, but he can’t be sure.

“Walk, kid. No funny business.”

And he does, grateful, above everything else, that no one got hurt.

With a forceful shove, Peter is thrown out of the store, the grip on his neck still strong. He knows it’ll bruise in the shape of fingers, that he’ll stare at it in the mirror later and shudder at the memory of the touch.

“Drop your weapons!”

Peter yelps as the back of his knee is kicked in, forcing him to the ground. One of the men grabs his hair, forcing his head back, and sticks his gun underneath his chin. “Make another move and the kid gets it!”

It’s only now that Peter realizes his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Tony is here, standing on the sidelines of officers, his eyes blown wide with panic before his expression is cut off by his helmet.

He feels too dazed to be relieved.

“Let the kid go!” he hears one of the officers yell.

“Let us go!”

Peter chuckles again, and he’s not sure why. He feels warm blood dribble down his chin, and the grip tightens in his hair until he’s sure it’s going to be pulled right out of his scalp.

Whatever the men holding him had thought this was going to go, it must not be working, because one of the hisses a “get up” in his ear. Peter tries to listen, but he feels shaky and weak, and mostly just lets himself be dragged. He ends up back against the man’s chest, the gun pressed so forcefully into his temple that the opposite side of his head nearly touches his shoulder.

Only now does he let himself be afraid.

He could die.

Not as Spider-Man, not as a hero, but as himself. Right now. At Starbucks, of all places.

In front of Tony.

His mentor would never forgive himself.

“Walk,” the man hisses in his ear, and Peter stumbles obediently along with them as they step away from the door. The police follow them with their guns but otherwise don’t move.

“Where are you going to run?” Peter chokes. “It’s already too late.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s no way out of this.”

“I said shut up!”

Peter gasps when his head is hit again, his vision whitening at its edges. He must slump because the man struggles to keep him vertical. Somewhere in his fall Peter hears a familiar blast of repulsors and the hostile touch leaves him instantly. He falls to the cement, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows.

There’s a sudden rush of movement and Peter winces at the sheer loudness of it all. He hears muffled curses, boots hitting the pavement, the hostages inside the store cheering-

“Peter?”

And then there’s Iron Man, crouched down beside him and lifting up his chin gently with a metal-clad hand. Peter blinks away his double vision and musters a weak smile. “Hey man,” he wheezes, “coffee break?”

Tony doesn’t laugh like Peter hoped he would. Instead, he feels the armour shift under his arms and he’s lifted up, up and away. He jams his eyes closed at the sudden vertigo and lets out a tense breath when they land together on a nearby rooftop. In a second Tony is out of the suit and sitting beside Peter, his hands ghosting over the blood and bruises on his face.

“Concussion?”

“Look at my face. What do you think?”

“Cut that sass, kid. I have enough for the both of us. Anything else hurt?”

“Uh, my pride?”

“Ha. Funny. Now tell me the real answer.”

Peter sighs, and somewhere in the middle chokes on the blood in his throat. It makes his ribs flare and the wince he makes must be enough for Tony to piece two and two together.

“How bad?” he asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

He sighs again and this time it’s easier. He lays down against the pavement in hopes it’ll stop the world from spinning while Tony hovers beside him like a worried mother hen. “Didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“So let me guess,” Tony says, “you smart mouthed them.”

“Yep.”

“Course you did.”

Peter groans, poking gingerly at his swelling eye. He can barely see out of it anymore, which is highly unfortunate. “I lost my change. And I didn’t even get my drink.”

“Well, you’re alive, so that’s something.”

“Starbucks is expensive, Tony. I was treating myself.”

“I’ll buy you the whole damn Starbucks company if it’ll stop you from getting your face smashed in.”

Peter laughs at this. It makes his ribs burn. “Deal.”

Tony is quiet for a minute. “Feel up for a flight back home?”

Home.

He smiles.

“Only if we can pick up a coffee on the way.”

“Good God, kid. Look at these grey hairs. No seriously, I want you to look at them.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, head lolling slightly as Tony pulls him back up by his arms. Before they lift off, Peter is surprised when Tony wraps him in a hug. He blinks, then relaxes into it. It feels as if some of his pain is leaking into Tony.

He feels better.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

Tony pulls away, ruffling his hair softly, his scalp still sore. “How couldn’t I? You were smart for once in your life and actually used the panic button I gave you-”

“Smart enough for a coffee?” Peter smirks, a cut on his lip stinging.

Tony looks at him solemnly and shakes his head.

“Grey hairs, Pete. Grey hairs.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday20 #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #hostage situations #hurt peter parker #gun violene #protective tony stark #protective peter parker #peter parker whump #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #hope you enjoy! <3

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yutahoes · 3 years

Text

Valentine’s Day

A little Valentine’s treat. 😁 Gif is not connected to the story, I just love how he smiled at the end.

genre : fluff

word count : 1.3k words.

tag list : @ailoveyuta @yutazen01 @aiforyuu @cosmiclatte28 @2-3-t-i @puzziw @dreamlesswonder86

It’s Valentine’s Day. The time that you hated the most in the world. Not that you’re anti-love but working as a server in one of the most famous restaurants in towns made you annoyed at the thought of Valentine’s Day.

“You know if you’re really annoyed, you can just go home early.” Your co-worker, Jungwoo, claimed. You shook your head. Extending time meant more pay and you can’t miss that opportunity.

By eight pm, the restaurant was already full of couples that you’re annoyed at how it smells like different scents of flowers. You swear you’re going to puke when you see another couple enter the restaurant holding hands. The door opened and you forced yourself to smile to welcome the customer. “Hi.” he greeted and your face fell that instant. He’s pretty. “I have a reservation under Yuta Nakamoto.” You checked the tablet that has the list of guests and nodded, asking him to follow you.

You directed him to a table for two. Maybe he’s on a date. Well, it’s Valentine’s. “I’m Y/N. I’ll be your server today.” You introduced as protocol and he smiled at you, nodding. “If you need anything, just let me know. Do you want me to bring you the menu now?”

He shook his head and you thought that he’s somewhat cute. He gave a heavy sigh before you could leave, calling your attention. “Do I look alright?” He asked nervously that made you smile. Truly cute. “I mean, my mom just set up this date and I’m not sure if I look fine.” A blind date. Isn’t that cute?

You smiled at him. “You look great.” He thanked you and you excused yourself to serve for the other tables.

It was a normal work night except it is much more taxing now because of the incessant requests of other couples. Really, why can’t they just do a date at home? It’s more romantic. While serving salad to a couple, your eyes drifted to Yuta who is still pretty much alone on his table. Did he come too early? It’s been almost fifteen minutes. He looked so nervous that he kept playing on the napkin on the table that you found adorable.

When your eyes met, you just gave him an encouraging smile. “Are you alright? You’re sweating. Do you want to change tables?” You asked but he shook his head, claiming that he’s just nervous. “I’ll get you some water.” He quietly thanked you.

“He’s cute,” Jungwoo claimed as you put water in a tall glass. You rolled your eyes at him, saying that he’s on a date. “Bummer.” And you chuckled.

He smiled when you handed him the water then went to other tables to serve them. It’s been an hour since the guy came but he’s still alone. He had almost five refills of water and you watch as he grew fidgety within each second. “Do you think the date is still coming?” Jungwoo asked. Some couples were giving him a pitying look, especially those who came before him. You glanced at Jungwoo before your feet dragged you to where he is.

“Hi.” You greeted. “Do you want to eat first? I mean, we have appetizers. It’s not that heavy.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. Of course, I have to order first.” You handed him the menu and he took time to scan it. “I don’t think she’s coming so I’ll order alone. Can you recommend something?” God, he’s so pitiful. For a handsome guy, he doesn’t deserve any of this on Valentine’s Day. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled then bit your lip. You overheard a couple nearby talk about how he was stood up for his date on Valentine’s and you felt worse for him. “Well, Risotto is our best selling dish and it’s good for two…” You stopped, you were trained to say those words.

You cannot take this anymore. You can’t bear making him feel bad about himself. You wrote something on your notepad then handed it to him. “Can you give me a minute? I’m going to transfer you to Jungwoo.”

Your co-worker was surprised at your sudden decision but you were already removing your apron. “Just give me half an hour. I’ll help clean the kitchen.” He was just chuckling, shaking his head.

Yuta looked at the note then at you, smiling when you sat in front of him that earned glances from other customers. You did inform him that you’ll pretend to be his date. “Sorry, I forgot that your mom told me that you’re coming here.” You heard words like ‘She’s his date?’ ‘He waited an hour for her?’. At least, the comments are now directed to you and not him. Jungwoo gave you a knowing look when he ordered the risotto and some wine.

It was awkward at first. You don’t know anything about him. Like a blind date. A real blind date. When he started sorting the celery from the pasta, you giggled at how picky he is. When dessert came, the choco lave cake that you always wanted to try, you were both laughing at random cat pictures in his phone. It’s almost closing when you finished the small serving of cake.

The customers had lessened now, probably on their way for the second batch of their date at home. Jungwoo was just eyeing you, gesturing his watch and you nodded at him. "Well, I had a good time Yuta. But I promised Jungwoo that this will only take half an hour. It's…" Your eyes widened in surprise, it's past an hour already? "Wow."

Yuta chuckled. "I also had a great time, Y/N. Thank you for saving me back there." You shook your head, smiling at him. "Sorry for taking your time like this."

Again, you shook your head. "It's fine. I don't have anything to do." He stood up and you both walked to the counter where the cashier is looking at you, smiling. "Unnie, just take out what I ordered…"

"No. No, it's fine." Yuta claimed, handing his card to the cashier. "I'll pay for dinner. I owe it to you, Y/N." You only smiled. He's so charming. "Bye, Y/N." And as he went out the door, you sighed at the thought that you're not gonna see him again.

Your co-workers kept on teasing you when you stayed to help clean the kitchen for the night but you just shrugged them off. And since you all worked until late tonight, the manager gave you a day-off for tomorrow that made you ecstatic. It's almost 12 when you finished your work and went out with Jungwoo to head home. "Oh my God!" He exclaimed that made you stop as well.

Yuta was in front of the restaurant. "Hi," He greeted, then handed you the bouquet of pink and red flowers he was holding. "I…" he started which made you raise an eyebrow at him. Did he wait for you? He glanced at his watch, "It's still not too late to greet you a Happy Valentine's Day…" Then he shook his head. "I mean, night."

"Well, it's late and it's dangerous for a girl like you to walk alone." Jungwoo then held your shoulder. "So I'm going to leave you two." Wait, what? He said it’s dangerous. "And have a nice Valentine's." He hailed a cab, even saying to the driver that he should hurry up.

Yuta laughed. "He's so cheerful." You nodded. He is. "Then, can I walk you home?" He laid out a hand that made you smile. Well, it is kind of chilly.

You took his hand, threading your fingers on his. "What are you going to tell your mom?" You asked, genuinely curious.

He smiled, pulling you closer. "That I had dinner with a pretty girl. Why?" You shook your head. "Wait, you don't have a boyfriend, right?" You shook your head, smiling. "Husband?" You giggled at him. "Valentine's is already over but can we still go on a date? A real date? Tomorrow?"

"Of course." You said almost immediately that made him chuckle. "Besides, chocolates and flowers will be on sale tomorrow. We can swipe the whole store." He laughed at that, nodding.

Who would have thought that you'll get a date on Valentine's Day? It isn’t so bad after all.

#yuta nakamoto #yuta #yuta fluff #yuta nakamoto fluff #yuta nakamoto imagine #yuta imagine #yuta scenario #nct 127 fluff #nct fluff

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parvulous-writings · 3 years

Text

Long time, no see // Mark Renton X Reader

Request: hello it could be a request about Mark renton where they were together, but they split up bc addition luwgo meet again in t2 happy ending

Requested by: @awesomemikaus

Summary: Mark Renton returns to Edinburgh after 20 years, with more than just catching up with the old group on his mind.

Warnings: Drug (heroin) addictions. Strong language. Angst.

Words: 2.26K

Notes: I think Ewan characters are slowly starting to become my brand. Not complaining, just observing. As usual, ask/submit box is open!

Key; Y/N - your name Y/L/N - your last name Y/H - your honourific (Mr, Ms, Mx, Dr, etc.) (Thought this might be helpful for those who use the interactive fics extension)

Not my gif

You and Mark had had a rather... Rocky relationship. This was not exactly surprising, given both of your situations. Mark was stuck in a rut with his addiction, and you were starting to be dragged down into that ditch with him from how much you were trying to help him. This had happened time and time again, and by that point you had reached your limit.

You had stuck by him through thick and thin for as long as you could, for as long as your heart would allow, but after a while you simply could not any more. So, you had broken up with him. It was gut wrenching, heart shattering to see his face fall when you told him you were leaving you, but you didn’t have to see it for long. He quickly shut you out- which if anything was worse. You wanted to speak with him, to talk him through why you had decided to leave in more depth, but he just ignored you. You got used to it after a while, not seeing him anymore, and occasionally talking to Spud- the only one of Mark’s friends you had really gotten on with to any degree.

About two weeks after you had gone your separate ways, Spud told you Mark had run off, leaving everything in Edinburgh behind. “Good for him.” You muttered in reply, shaking your head slowly. Spud left you alone for the rest of the day after that, and it wasn’t long until you hardly spoke to him either; Mark, Simon, Daniel and Tommy soon becoming nostalgic memories, reminders of your earlier, more reckless years.

Twenty years on, your life has changed, for the better in most areas. You’d moved uptown after getting a steady job- originally just as a cashier, but you’d worked your way up to managing one of the supermarkets. You no longer had to live down in the rougher areas of Edinburgh, and for that you were very glad. You had considered moving out of Edinburgh altogether, but there was something holding you back. A feeling of, well, home. Rough streets aside, you feel like there was nothing more familiar to you than Edinburgh now, and you’d learnt to live with the more undesirable side of everything. It’s just how things were. Occasionally you’d catch a glimpse of Spud, or Sick boy, and though you’d never speak to them now, they’d get you remembering. Memories of times long now passed would crop up in your mind, making you wonder “What if?” What if you hadn’t left Mark? Would he still be in Edinburgh? What if you had helped him through his addictions? Where would you both be now? But the question that often seemed to stalk your mind late at night was; what if Mark came back?

More often than not you pushed this thought away, not wanting to dwell on anything to do with Renton. His time in your life was over, you’d tell yourself, he’d run off to wherever, and there was not much chance of him coming back. Least of all coming back and seeing you. This was what you told yourself whenever your mind brought it up. It had been twenty years since you last saw him, why on earth would he come back?

These sorts of questions were pushed to the side during the day, when you were at work. Your days were usually the same, same old paperwork and phone calls, with a few instances where you had to step out to help your staff deal with a customer. However, this particular day wanted to take things in a slightly different direction. The first thing to be different was your assistant opening your door- which did not happen unless you asked for a coffee. Which you had not. You looked up from your papers, looking over at the young man, who cleared his throat. “(Y/H) (Y/L/N), someone wants to see you.” He gestured with his head out of the door. You sighed gently in response. “I’ll be out on the floor in a second, Stu. Tell them to hold on.” You replied, starting to temporarily wrap up your work, and Stu shook his head a little bit. “No, no, I mean they’re back here...” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb, and you started to frown in confusion. Your store wasn’t due for an inspection till several months down the line, and there wasn’t exactly any big news or concerns bobbing about right now. “Huh?” You voiced your bafflement. “Who is it?” You asked him, to which he promptly shrugged. “Dunno. Said he knew you donkey’s years back...” He told you bluntly, and you shook your head. “Tell him to go away, I have work to do. If he really wants to see me, and he does know me, then he can wait around. I’m not going to get in trouble for something as stupid as that. You know what my luck is like, Stu.” You begin to return to your work even as you speak. Stu nodded, and began to close the door. “Right you are.” He confirmed, leaving you to your papers for the rest of the work day.

The rest of said work day went by rather quickly, with you too absorbed in your work to even give a thought to the random person who had asked for you earlier. It had quite slipped your mind as you packed up your things, leaving the building into the cool evening air.Stu hadn’t mentioned the person either, so they must have left, giving you no reason to stick around. Thankfully it wasn’t too dark just yet, but a few streetlights here and there had already flickered to life, casting a strong orange light onto the things beneath them.

There was nothing special about this walk home, it was the same as any other. Drab, uneventful, quiet besides the hum of car engines as they passed you by. As you approached your home, you fumbled with your keys- the cold was enough to numb the tips of your fingers somewhat now. You had partially got through unlocking your door, when a voice made you look over you shoulder. “(Y/N),” It was a man, around his mid-forties it seemed, with short, almost mousy brown hair, bright and vibrant blue eyes. You knew those eyes, too well. Those were Mark Renton’s eyes.

“Mark?” You ask, disbelieving the sight before you. You turn away from your door, your keys pressing against the palm of your hand. “Mark, what are you doing here?” You asked him, moving forward until you were about six feet away from him. “How did you even find out where I live?” “I... I didn’t.” Mark admitted quietly. “I kind of followed you in my car.” “Followed me in your car?” You echoed, still in disbelief, and partly in shock now too. You hadn’t noticed him following you- you probably should have done, but you didn’t. This got you thinking, and you decided to voice these thoughts aloud. “Hang on... Does that mean that was you asking for me at work?” You asked, blinking over at him as he nodded gently. “Yeah... I know it probably wasn’t the best time to call for you, but I needed to see you, and Daniel- er- Spud, told me where you worked... Or at least where he last knew you worked.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke. You just stared at him for a moment, your mind working double time to try and process everything he had just said. Renton was back. He’d asked Spud where you were. He’d gone exactly where Spud would have told him. He couldn’t get to you, and thus had followed you home. He said he needed to see you.

“Mark. You’ve been gone for twenty years. What on earth could you need to see me for?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest. “Why come back now?” Mark sighed quietly, looking down at his feet for a moment as he took a slow breath. “I had a heart attack.” He tells you, bluntly. There’s no other way for him to say it, and there’s no point in sugar-coating it. “I’ve got a stent there now... Should last a few years, apparently..” He continued, putting his hands into his pockets. “It put a lot of things into perspective for me.. Made me want to come back here, for a little bit of nostalgia, I suppose.” He nodded slowly at his own words, confirming them to himself. You’re still stunned to silence for a moment longer. “What.. What did it put into perspective?” You ask curiously, clearing your throat quietly mid-sentence.

“That I was stupid fucker in my twenties.” Mark joked quietly, trying to lighten the mood, though he didn’t smile all that much. “Are you talking about the addiction to heroin?” You asked, clearly unamused, and he nods slowly. “Yeah.. Among a couple of other things.” He sighs gently, and at your questioning look, he continues to clarify. “I... I was thinking about us,(Y/N). I was thinking about what we had back then, and how stupidly I threw it away for a drug that almost killed me.”

You don’t know what you were initially expecting him to say, but it was certainly not that. Your shock clearly showed on your face, because you saw Mark’s expression shift slightly- mainly in his eyes- to worry. He was worried he’d overstepped something too quickly when he spoke his mind. He starts to speak again, “Look... I know it’s a little bit out of nowhere, but.. Could I come in? We can talk about it a little more...”He offered a warm smile to you, and to be honest you were starting to feel the cold chill in the air a little more now. You nodded, gesturing for him to follow.

“Alright... But you’re going to have to ignore the mess. I wasn’t really expecting visitors.” You mumbled, turning around to unlock and open your front door. “Don’t worry... I’m pretty sure that it’ll be much better than what we had twenty years back.” He joked in reply, giving you a little bit of a smile. You rolled your eyes, and dumped your keys on a small door-side table with a loud clink. “ “You want a cup of tea, or something?” You asked, being a polite host. He shook his head in reply. “No, thank you. I’m alright.” He gave you a smile, “I’d prefer it if we just... Talked.” He told you, as you led him through to your small-yet-homey living room.

You took a seat on the sofa, and he sat at the other end. He looked at you briefly, before averting his gaze to your coffee table. “So, you probably have some questions...” “Yeah, no shit, Renton. You’ve been gone for twenty bloody years, didn’t hear a word from you, then suddenly, you’re back in Edinburgh, wanting to make amends.” You sighed quietly. “So,what gives? Yeah, you said about the heart attack, but was that really the entire reason of why the hell you followed me home in your car?” You asked, leaning back in your seat as you folded your arms over your chest. Mark seemed to think this over for a moment. “Well, okay, maybe it’s not the only reason,” He admitted, finally moving his gaze to meet yours again. You gave him a look, prompting him to continue, and so he did. “I... I missed you. For twenty years, I’ve missed you. I wanted to take you with me when I left, but I couldn’t. I had to leave before the boys woke up, and you said you didn’t want to see me again. Which, I mean, rightly so, a lot of less than desirable things happened to the pair of us back then.” He was starting to ramble, his nerves starting to show and get the better of him. Whilst your were tired from your long day of work, so weren’t in the mood to deal with something too emotional.

“What’s your point, Mark?” You asked with a gentle sigh,trying to seem at least a little bit empathetic towards him. “My point is,” Mark echoed, “I miss you still. I want to apologise. And I want to ask for a second chance.” The third point of his caught you slightly off guard. Another chance? After what happened last time? You weren’t so sure, and that indecisiveness clearly showed on your face, as Mark rushed to continue. “It doesn’t have to anything major at the minute. Just like... A coffee, or something, so we can get to know each other again.” He provided a simple plan, which did seem very enticing. Unable to say no because of the happy memories you could recall of him- few as they may or may not have been- you started to nod. “Alright... I think a coffee sometime would be nice.” You started to smile a little bit, and Mark began to do the same. You sat in silence for a few moments, starting to lapse back into subtle behaviours the pair of you had when you were younger. You broke the silence after a little bit, “Would you like to stay the night?”

Mark smiled, starting to nod a little bit. There was the (Y/N) he remembered. “I would very much like to, yes.” He told you. You nodded, your smile returning.

“Mark?” “Yes, (Y/N)?” “I don’t know if any of the boys told you this, but... Welcome home, Rent-boy.”

#trainspotting #t2 trainspotting #mark renton #rents #mark renton x reader #x reader oneshot #ewan mcgregor x reader #x reader requests

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simpsiren · 3 years

Text

coffee or me?

na jaemin x reader

description: you thought your life was getting boring when all you did was worked as a barista at your father’s coffee shop, that is until you met the med student na jaemin who keeps ordering an unhealthy amount of coffee everyday.

genre: barista!fem reader, med student! jaemin FLUFF!!

warnings: none

word count: 5,105

a/n: so i saw this post on instagram by @/pandawithnojams and decided to write a fanfic on jaemin hehe enjoy :D

your life was a little different from others. instead of further studying your interest, which was architecture after high school, your father immediately asks you to work at his 24 hour coffee shop, Anders, just beside a college. to make you feel worse, the college that was beside Anders was one of the colleges you thought of attending before being told to work.

althought you were not too happy with your father’s decision, you accepted it willingly. your father is the only family member you have left after your mother passed away 3 years ago and you wanted to help your father as much as possible so as to lighten his burden of taking care of himself and you.

“help me clear the tables, princess!” your father shouted from the back of the shop as you moved out of the counter to clear the empty cups on the tables. to be honest, you were starting to like working with your father. you worked as a cashier while you father would be at the back making the drinks, well that is during the day shifts. your father had the idea of you taking on the night shift as well so that you can practice making drinks while not getting stressed over the huge flow of orders that the shop would usually get during the day. you agreed to the idea as you thought of how your father would be able to rest during the night so that he would get plenty of rest for his aging body.

you shook your head with a soft smile as heard your father calling you princess. you were embarrassed that your father kept calling you that but you started finding it cute and you felt the care in his voice everytime he calls you that.

it was 7pm and your father was getting ready to get off his shift before you start your night shift at 7:30. you rushed to your father at the back with the stack of cups in your arms, being cautious of not dropping them. “let me help you clean up.” you said as you saw your father packing up his things. “i can do this myself, please. you dont have to worry.”

you placed the cups in the large sunk and walked over to your father and jerked his side with your elbow. “make sure you rest once you get home alright?” you started to pick up his items on the table, snatching your father’s bag from his hands and putting the items in. you felt his hand resting on your head. you looked up to see his wide and happy grin. “thank you for helping me, elizebeth.” he grabbed you by your shoulders to turn your body to face his before landing a loving kiss on your forehead. you smiled and hugged him tightly. you and your father stayed there away, fully embracing each other’s love. you pulled away shortly after, handing him his bag. he waved you goodbye one last time and you see him off.

you took your phone out of your pocket and one quick look at it and it told you that it was 7:45. you heard the bell on top of the door ringing and immediately went out from the back to attend to the customers.

you have been working till 3am now. it became less and less busy as time went on and you now only had two customers in the shop who were chilling and doing their own thing. fortunately, it finally gave you time to take a break. you pulled a wooden stool beside you and took a seat. you stretched your arms up, interlocking your fingers while doing so and stretching your back in the process, letting out a soft groan. you sighed as you let your arms fall onto your lap and slouched your body.

you leaned forward and rested your head on the palm of your hand, with your elbow on the counter. without you realising, you have drifted off to sleep. well, it was only a short nap. you were able to get some shut eye for about 20 minutes when you heard the ringing of the bell once more. you fluttered your eyes open and turned your attention from the counter top to the door, your eyes were only half open as you watch a figure walking towards the counter.

you heard the footsteps of the person coming closer and finally stopped. “what may i get you?” you asked in a lazy tone, not even bothering to sound like a happy and cheerful cashier at this point as you were not fully awake. you looked at the person standing across the counter, who was looking up at the menu board above the counter. he had round glasses and beautiful blonde hair that was very messy and edgy. a stack of papers were in his arms along with a laptop below it. he wore a large brown cardigan with a white turtle neck, and he looked about your age. with all the observations you made, it was no doubt that the guy was a collage student, and you guessed that he was from the collage nearby.

“can i please get a venti size iced black coffee with 4 shots of espresso? dont add the water, just ice.” his voice sounded as if he was sleepy or exhausted. you clicked your tongue and batted your eyes as you keyed in the order into the machine. you glazed your eyes over the order and sat up straight, tilting your head up to properly look at the man. “woah are you sure that is safe? its going to be very strong.” you warned the person. you have never known anyone who would order something this strong and intense of a coffee ever.

“its fine. i can handle it.” you told him the price and waited for him to give you the money. you placed the money you were given into the cash register and as you were about to give him the change and receipt, he snatches the receipt out of your hand. “keep the change.” with that, he walked away. you raised an eyebrow at him in awe and shrugged, watching him take a seat near the window and placing his stack of papers and laptop on the table.

you took one deep breathe before standing up and going to the back to get his drink ready. it didn’t take you long to make the drink since you were practically an expert in making black coffee, and since he didn’t ask for anything more, you were able to whip it up in a matter of 4 minutes. you poured the drink into a cup along with settling it on top of a small plate before walking out to serve it to him.

you went out and as you were walking towards the table the man was at, you gaped your mouth with shock and tried your best not to spill his drink. the table was scattered and covered with tons of papers and his laptop was placed in front of him, with his fingers typing away from the keyboard. you gulped as you reached there. “your drink.” you said, trying to sound polite as you waited for him to take the drink. you would have placed it down for him but you did not see the slightest bit of space that was not covered with papers. “oh sorry about the mess” he said in a quirky tone.

it took him awhile to realise you were standing there before he reacted though. you eyes were glued to his fingers for that short moment since you were impressed by how fast his typing was. he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and ruffled his hair before quickly running his arm over the table to push some of the papers aside. you placed the cup on the table and said a soft “enjoy your drink.” before going back to take your seat behind the counter.

you went back to the same position you were before, but this time, you were awake and wasnt able to sleep. you looked around the shop and realised that there were cups lying around due to the two customers who were in just now. you didn’t even realise they left you were that tired. you whined to yourself, realising that you have to get back up again to do work just when you took your seat.

you gathered up the strength you have left to stand up once more to clean up the tables. as you were picking up the cup and wiping the table clean with the cloth that was slung over your shoulder, you looked over at the one customer who was still here.

he was writing something on what looks like a worksheet, or perhaps notes. you couldn’t exactly decipher what major he was in based on the sheets of paper laying around the table. you were impressed that he could even fit that many stuff on a small table. he ruffled his hair and scratched his head, tugging on his turtle neck as he stretched his neck from left to right.

it made you chuckle softly in amusement. college really does seem stressful, but maybe he took a major that was difficult. from what your friends told you who did went to college unlike you, there are some majors that are more tiring and energy draining than others.

once you were done cleaning up the tables, you went to the back to clean all the excess dishes that was in the sink, which piled up to quite a height. after awhile, you were finally done with cleaning the dishes and you smiled softly as you thought of how you could finally rest, not entirely but it was still something.

you went back out to take a seat behind the counter and as you were about to close your eyes, you felt the presence of someone standing in front of you. you sighed and looked up to see who it was. “its you again?” you yawned as you took your phone out to check the time. 4am?! and he’s still here? “can i get the same thing i ordered just now?” you furrowed your eyebrows and rubbed your temples. “could’ve told me that before i cleaned all the dishes..” you murmured under your breathe, unaware that he was completely able to hear what you said since it was just you and him in the huge coffee shop.

“im sorry if its troubling you then its fine. although its a 24 hour coffee shop, to which there should always be somebody working.” you heard him say in a sleepy voice, you took this chance to look at his face once more, he looked cute to your surprise. you thought about all the guys that your friends met during college, partying in their dorms and shit. you wished you could experience that. although it sounds depressing, you were living a peaceful content life, not the stressful one that you see his customer experiencing. “um hello?” he asked as you shake your mind out of your thoughts and to reality, realising that you were probably staring at his face like a weird.

“shit sorry sorry ill get your drink ready.” as you were walking to the back, you turned around to see if he was still there, since you completely forgot about asking him to pay. instead, you saw him walking back to the table. you looked down to the counter and saw that there was money on it. you shrugged, assuming that he allowed you the keep the change just like his previous order.

you got his drink ready and went to his table. you saw him laying his head on the keyboard of his laptop, which his arms covering his face completely. you tilted your head as you thought about what to do. should you wake him up? just the drink on the table. you weren’t exactly sure. you let out a soft ‘uh’ as you reached out a finger to poke his shoulder to get him to wake up. “excuse me? your drink is here” you leaned forward slightly and whispered.

you watch the guy lifting his head up and licking his lips, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes. he looked at his surroundings before looking up to see you with his drink in hand. he didn’t say anything to you and just took the cup out of the hand. you scoffed and went back to the back of the counter. you played with your phone for awhile, realising it was getting pretty late and yet you see the same person typing away on his laptop and resumed working diligently. you let out a sigh and waited for him to get out the shop.

it was about 5am when you finally see him packing up his things, stacking the pieces of paper and laptop, along with packing his stationery into his white tote bag. he doesn’t look back and went straight to the exit, opening the door and left in the blink of an eye. you took this time to shut your eyes just until your father came and resumed working just like any other day.

a few days have passed now and you realised that it was the same guy who keeps coming in during your night shift to do his work till 5am. and everyday, he would order the same thing. tonight was no different.

“black coff-“

“black coffee with 4 shots of espresso. i know.” you simply said. “and you can pay me once i add your order of the same thing later when you get out.”

you wouldn’t consider him a regular customer but since he has only been coming in for a few days, but you felt that it would be easier if you just remembered his drink, to make it easy on the both of you. so, you head to the back to whip up the drink that you have already memorised and have it embedded into your mind.

you got out with the drink in hand, walking over to the same table that he always sat at everyday. “dont you think i should know your name if your going to be coming in here everyday?” you realised that he made an empty spot that wasnt covered with papers on the table, placing the cup down and folding your arms with your weight placed on your right leg.

“its jaemin.. na jaemin.” he gazes his eyes up to you while taking the cup of coffee and taking a sip, maintaining eye contact with you. you hummed and nodded your head. “well im elizebeth. elizebeth riza.” the man who you now know as jaemin nodded his head in response. he twirled his pen around his fingers before placing it down. jaemin ran his hand through his hair before resting his chin on top of his fingers interlocked together, with his elbows on the table. “im majoring in the medical field. if that’s what you’re wondering.” he said, gesturing his head to the papers scattered on the table. you looked at the papers, leaning in to get a closer look, and indeed, it was all related to the medical industry, which was not in your interest at all.

“i also go to the college just next beside the shop, if that’s also what your wondering.” jaemin emphasised on the ‘also’.

“you’re so... observant.” you looked out to the window behind jaemin. you saw the college being dimly light. you looked back down, only to see jaemin tilting his head down and writing something on his paper. “i need to be. its a requirement for my major afterall.” jaemin shrugged as he responded to you, not looking up at all. instead of walking back to your chair behind the counter, you took a seat in front of jaemin. the action made jaemin look up at you with a raised brow, clearly in confusion. “why are you sitting here?” jaemin mumbled as he pushed his round glasses up his nose and typed something into his laptop.

“well i dont really have to work. since you’re the only customer here at this hour.” you simply replied, slouching into the chair as you folded on leg over the other. “wont youre boss be mad or something?” he asked as he scratched the back of his head with his pen. you shrugged and chuckled softly, folding your arms. “my father doesnt mind.” jaemin nodded his head slowly as he was able to catch up quick to know that your father is your boss. “anyways im guessing you’re going to be a regular customer here since you’ve been coming for a few days now and i always take the liberty to know the regular customers of the shop.” you stated

that fact was wrong, clearly. you wanted to get to know him just so maybe you could get someone he knows form the college who majors in architecture to teach you about it. well, it may be because he was cute too, but you focus more on the other objective. despite what you just said, jaemin doesn’t respond. he continued working with full concentration. you hummed as you watch him work, wondering if you should even continue talking to him. you continued watching him work, occasionally scrolling through your phone and looking at the door once in awhile to check if any customers came.

you heard him took a sip of his drink and wrote something down. “your coffee tastes good by the way.” he complimented, again not looking up at you. although it didnt really sound like a compliment since his voice was very monotone and lazy, probably from the tiredness of working. “i used to go to another 24 hour coffee shop that wasnt so popular, but it closed down. so i headed here instead.” you put your phone faced down on the table and looked up to face him. this time however, his eyes were off his work and glued to you. you bit your lip and nodded your head. “that’s nice to hear. but why cant you work in your dorm or at the campus somewhere?” you were curious as to why he would want to come to a place like this rather than having an actually learning facility to do his work at.”

“my roommate always has someone over at my dorm so i cant really concentrate. its just something about coffee shops, you know? like the smell of the place helps to keep me awake, and the coffee of course.” he looked out to the window, admiring the night sky and the dimly lighted city. you did the same as well, but you also admired the person in front of you. he really was good looking and you couldn’t help but stare at his perfect features. “you really do have the same mindset as my father.” you whispered, peering over to the cup to see that it was empty. jaemin saw your. eyes and coughed lightly to get your attention. “can i get another cup?” he asked. you could tell he was draining of exhaustion and looked like he was trying his best to stay awake by breathing in the smell of coffee that was all over the place.

“sure. but im added only 2 shots of espresso thid time. you know its very dangerous for you to be drinking that strong of a coffee. more than 1 cup even. aren’t you a medical student? shouldnt you know this is bad?” you pushed the chair back and stood up, walking over to his side to take the cup. “i used to drink 6 cups a day when i went to the previous coffee shop. dont underestimate my tolerance.” you gaped your mouth in shock. “6 cups?! who the hell is that psychotic to pump that much coffee into their blood!” you furrowed your eyebrows as you looked down at jaemin, who seemed calm and had an innocent looking face despite your reaction. “medical students, dear.” jaemin said sarcastically in a sing song tone, you saw him rolled his eyes as well. you let out a soft ‘tch’ and left to do his drink.

“as promised. 2 shots of- jaemin?” you weren’t surprised to see him falling asleep in the shop once more. you stood beside him, realising that you see a post it note on his now black screened laptop that. you leaned forward, now getting closer to jaemin so as to read the note. dont wake me up. thanks.

you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow. dont wake him up? is he going to sleep here till dawn? why cant he just sleep at his dorm? you scratched your head as you think of what to do. you never had someone sleep overnight at the shop before. you know its open 24 hour but does it mean that you allow people to full on sleep here? you checked the time on your phone and realised that your father should be here any minute now. you shrugged and walked to sit behind the counter, thinking that you can just ask him once he’s here.

you waited for awhile till you see your father coming through the door. you immediately stood up and waited for your father to go to the counter to greet you. “morning, princess!” you father greeted with a smile and walked to the back. you greeted and followed your father. “father im not sure if its allowed but one of the customers who came to the shop at night id currently sleeping.” you said in an unquestionable tone. your father stopped walking and turns around to face you. “i would allow it if there arent many customers so if its gets crowded just wake him up alright?” your father replied to you with a soft smile. he’s always kind, and maybe too kind, but that’s what you love about your father. you gave a quick smile and rushed to the front when you heard customers starting to flow in since it was morning.

it was 9am and your father allowed you to take a break for awhile. you took this chance to sit in front on jaemin, who still had his head resting on his arms and his hoodie over his head. he looked like he was wrapped in a cocoon or something. you giggled softly. you picked up one of his pens that you saw scattered around and took off his hood and poking his hair with the pen.

you hear a soft groan as jaemin lifts his head up, yawning as his eyes fluttered open to look at you. “what time is it?” you blinked when you heard his voice. you keep seeing on the internet about how guys’ “morning voices” sound hot and wow did you experience it the first time when you heard jaemin, not gonna lie, he sounded hot. “uh its 9am. i think you should just sleep at your dorm.” you answered, trying to keep your cool. jaemin sat up straight and ran his hand through his blonde hair a few time before looking at you. “alright. thanks, for letting me sleep here.” he stood up and looked around. the both of you realising that there were a lot of customers. he quickly stood up to gather his things. bit by bit, you helped him stack up his papers and such.

“will i see you again tonight?” you asked as you handed him the stack of papers. he pushes his glasses and smiled softly. “sure.” was all he said before he walked past you and headed out the door.

weeks turn into months of jaemin coming to Anders and you began talking to him more. slowly but surely, you were getting pretty close to him and you felt like close friends. you would occasionally go out to dinner with him when he wants to take a break from work. by dinner you meant a random 24 hour food restaurant. it didn’t have to be all that fancy since every time you spend with jaemin, he was able to fill your time with smiles and laughs. you got to know him a lot more and well, the friendship just blossomed between you two.

“guess what?! its our 1 year friendship anniversary!” you shouted as you twirled your way to jaemin who seemed stress with his work. you frowned as you took a seat in front of him. “hey you good?” you questioned him with concern in your tone. “i have an exam next week. just a lil stress.” jeamin knocked his pen against his head a few times before writing something down. “anything i can help with? this is the most stressed ive seen you, its worrying me.” you leaned forward, pushing aside the laptop to see his face. jaemin looked up to you, pouting cutely. “6 cups of coffee?” you giggled as you stood up walking over to him and running your hand through his hair before flicking his forehead with your middle finger. “in your dreams, jae. im making you regular black coffee.” jaemin whined. you raised an eyebrow and gave him a disgusted look. “dont look at me like that. regular black coffee, just a lil bit strong alright?” jaemin nodded in approval. you smiled at him and made his drink.

you placed the coffee down on the table and sat down across jaemin. you yawned as you placed your chin on the table and watched jaemin drink his coffee. “how the fuck can you stay up everyday to do work? i can never.” you closed your eyes for a moment. “its what i need to do, love.” you always thought that the nicknames jaemin called you like ‘love’ or ‘dear’ felt as though the two of you were in a relationship but you tried to only think of it in a friendly manner.

“yeah well im gonna take a nap. if any customer comes in just wake me up alright?” jaemin hums and watches you fall asleep. he admired your sleeping state for awhile, feeling his heart flutter for a moment before resuming with his work. after about 30 minutes, jaemin sighed in satisfaction. at least he was able to complete almost half of his work. he realised that you were still sleeping. jaemin smiled gently and reaches his hand out to pat your head, running his hand over your head a few times. he rested his chin on his free hand, admiring you once more.

“jae?” jaemin jerked back a little when he saw your opened your eyes, gazing up at him. blood rushed to his cheeks. he felt his face getting hot, out of nervousness he chuckled sheepishly. “your hair felt soft.” he blurted out. you laughed as you sat up straight and rubbed your eyes. “sure it is, jae. yours is way softer.” you rolled your eyes and glanced at the table before making eye contact with jaemin. “are you done with your work?” you leaned forward a little. “hm? i can take a break.” jaemin said as he yawned while covering his mouth.

“hey el? come here for a sec.” you raised your eyebrow in suspicion, blinking at him a few times before standing up and walking over to his side of the table. you stood there, looking down at him for at least 30 seconds. “jae what do you wa-“

you let out a soft gasp when jaemin grabbed you by your waist, making you fall down onto him, your body pressed against his. you lay your hands on his shoulders as you widened your eyes at him. “i never got to tell you this. maybe its my tiredness, or maybe i cant hold it in anymore...” your body froze when he places his head on your neck, feeling his breathe against your skin as you shivered at his touch. you felt his hand that wasnt around your waist slowly creeping up to your chin, holding it gently as he guides your face to meet his.

“but i like you, so much, for so long.” you slowly but surely placed yourself on top of jaemin, sitting on his lap with your hand remaining still on his shoulders. “jae..” you whispered, intentionally going close to his ear. his head moves away from your neck and up to face you. “you think i didnt know that?” you giggled softly as your hands slide down from his shoulder to his chest, making him flinch slightly. “all the times we hung out and spent time together, all the cuddles and shit. it’s very obvious we like each other, jae. i was just waiting for you to make a move.” your murmured.

“shall i make a move now then?” you see the side of jaemin’s mouth curving up slightly. you tilted your head and batted your eyelashes at him teasingly. “technically you already did by pulling me to you but another move wouldn’t hurt.” you teased and waited for a moment. jaemin leaned his face close to yours, his grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you in closer. he looked at your eyes before looking down to your lips. you didn’t move an inch, but you were

so nervous. it was nerve wrecking. you’ve cuddled with jaemin plenty of times as friends, physical touch wasnt new in your friendship. but this, this felt so different. it was intense.

jaemin slowly connected his lips with yours. he brings his hand up to the back on your head and through your hair. you kissed his back slowly as you closed your eyes in satisfaction. feeling his soft lips on yours. although you thought that he wouldn’t be comfortable with kissing you since your lips were pretty chapped, you felt that the way his kisses you was gentle and filled with love.

you made out with him for awhile. his hands roaming around your back while you wrapped your arms around his neck and through his hair. the two of you pulled away at the same time, a string of saliva appeared as you two gasped for air.

“can i have coffee?” jaemin breathed out. you made a thinking face to tease him as you watch him pouting cutely. “coffee or me, na jaemin?” you laughed and swiped all your hair to the front. “you make me choose? how rude.” immediately jaemin pulled you in for another long kiss.

#nct ff #nct fluff #nct dream #nct #nct scenarios #nct jaemin #na jaemin #na jaemin x reader #nct jaemin x reader #jaemin #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct na jaemin #jaemin x reader

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haberdashing · 3 years

Text

Go To The Mirror, Boy!

Post-MAG 200, Martin has an unexpected encounter while going through his daily routine.

on AO3

It hadn't been all that hard for Martin to find a job in this new world, really, even in the middle of London, even without any paperwork to his name. It wasn't the first time he'd had to seek out jobs that didn't ask too many questions, after all, jobs that mostly just wanted warm bodies that did as they were told and paid in cash. They looked at him a little funny, sure, and Martin could imagine any number of reasons why, but he knew better than to pry about the details.

He was starting to get into a routine now. For the first few months he'd brought food from the flat that he was beginning to tentatively call home because it was cheaper than the alternative, but now he'd started eating out on Mondays (as a way to make the start of the work week less painful) and Fridays (as a reward for making it through the week) at some of the cheaper restaurants near his current job site.

Today was a Friday, and on today's lunch break he had decided to check out a little café that had caught his eye a few weeks back, an unassuming hole in the wall that offered a little of everything and didn't charge a fortune for it, going off of the menu out front.

The workers all gave him a warm smile as he entered, and one of them even waved at him--were they all really that friendly, he wondered, or just that desperate for customers? Probably the latter, Martin figured from his own experience working in food service, but it was hard to know for sure.

He looked at the menu and the food on display for a long moment before deciding on a ready-made slice of vegetarian pizza and getting a cup of ice water to go with it, and all throughout the transaction the cashier and the other workers behind the counter kept up with those wide smiles. Honestly, it was to the point where Martin was getting a bit nervous, starting to remember how often in his past a smile had concealed something far worse...

Then, as the cashier handed over his food, they said in a conversational tone, "Boss let you out a few minutes early today, huh? Must be nice."

"Wh-"

Martin didn't have time to finish his thought, though, because right at that moment the bell on the café's door rang out, and in walked... well, in walked himself.

It wasn't a perfect mirror image, truth be told. The man walking up to the counter was missing the scar on his neck, still had hair that was a bright and untainted red (and noticeably shorter than Martin kept it these days to boot), his skin was a bit less pale and his shoulders a bit more slouched... but there was no mistaking that the man walking up to the counter looked uncannily like him, as if they were twins.

Martin knew the reality of the situation, though. Honestly, being twins would be a lot easier to explain than the truth.

Martin took a seat at a table off to the side and began to eat, though he kept glancing at his doppelganger as the man ordered--also getting a slice of vegetable pizza and a cup of ice water, as it happened. Martin wasn't sure if meeting him was a good idea, though the expression on his face (and that of several of the workers) made it clear that he'd noticed the connection, so he figured he would leave the decision up to his other self to make.

The man that looked almost exactly like him didn't hesitate to claim the seat across from him, or to speak up once he'd gotten himself settled.

"...I don't suppose you've heard any weird family rumors about being switched at birth?" The voice was the same as his own, too, and though the man sounded awfully unsure of himself, it was hard to know whether that was a personality trait or just a side effect of the strange situation he'd found himself in.

Martin laughed a little as he shook his head. "Can't say that I have, no. You?"

"No dice." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "D'you mind getting to know each other a bit, in case people end up getting us confused down the line or something?"

"Fine by me. I work a few blocks from here, have for some months now. The name's Martin Blackwood."

His other self let out a surprised exhale, and Martin had to stifle the laugh that started to bubble up in response. "You're joking."

"Don't tell me. Same name, too?"

"Right in one. First and last. What are the odds?"

The odds weren’t that bad, really. Martin should have figured that there would probably be another him out there somewhere in London, working the same sort of menial jobs... but he didn't think sharing that information, getting into how he was from an alternate dimension and had probably helped unleash cosmic horrors into this in one, was his best move here. Instead, Martin just shook his head again and said, "That's wild."

"You're telling me."

The two ate in silence for a moment before Martin worked up the courage to ask his other self a question that had been on his mind since they first locked eyes on one another.

"I wonder if, if we've got anything else in common, like work history, or mutual friends... You wouldn't happen to know a, a Jonathan Sims, would you?"

The other Martin gulped down a bite of pizza, his eyes bulging out. "Jonathan Sims?"

"Yeah, that's the one, is, is that a yes?"

His other self's eyes narrowed, though there was no real fire to their stare. "How do you know my prick of a neighbor?"

"It's... it's a long story, really. So he's your neighbor, then?" A hint of shaky laughter sneaked its way into Martin's voice as he spoke. Part of him wanted to refute that Jon--this world's Jon--was a prick, but honestly... honestly, that wasn't a point he was willing to argue, even if the man had ended up growing on him quite a lot over the years.

"He is, and he keeps sending me these passive-aggressive noise complaints! First he threatened to send an army of cats after me if I didn't stop my dog from barking--I still don't know if that was meant as some sort of bizarre joke or what--and then he offered me harmonica lessons, of all things, but only if I stop playing loudly enough he can hear it through the walls! What's his deal?"

Martin had never gotten a dog, though he had longed to have one of his own all his life, and while he'd picked up a cheap, dusty harmonica at a thrift store once on a whim, he'd never actually worked up the nerve to try playing the thing. Little differences there, facts he quietly filed away for future reference... but that wasn't the most important thing now, was it?

"I don't know if I can explain his whole deal in the course of one lunch break, but..." Martin couldn't help but break out into a grin. "I really think you should take him up on those harmonica lessons."

#tma #tma spoilers #mag 200 #tma 200 #mag 200 spoilers #tma 200 spoilers #the magnus archives #the magnus archives spoilers #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fic #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #personal #my writing #where is jon? is he dead? is he waiting at home for martin? these are good questions

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ediths · 4 years

Text

Arrangement

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 6.1k+ (I AM SO SORRY THAT IT’S SO LONG)

Summary: Tom gives you an offer you can’t refuse

Warning(s): It’s not edited, sorry.

A/N: This is my submission for the throwback writing challenge that @naturallytom is doing! I hope you enjoy!!

Add yourself to my taglist here

Masterlist

How did I end up in this situation? You ask yourself as you stand arm in arm with the one and only Tom Holland. There were flashing lights all around you, temporarily blinding you. There was nothing that you could possibly focus on. Nothing at all, except for the way that he held you to keep you steady.

Oh, yeah, I’m crazy. You think as you begin to walk slightly farther down the red carpet in a dress that costs more than you make in an entire year at your job. But are you really crazy? Who in their right mind would turn down an offer like the one that he gave you? You couldn’t think of a single person, which made you feel slightly better about the situation.

It had started as a normal Saturday.

Your alarm went off at seven a.m. sharp. Your eyes snapped open, slightly disturbed by the blaring noise. There were broken rays of sunlight flowing into your room, making everything way brighter than it needed to be. You groaned to yourself, dreading the day you had ahead.

You groggily pulled yourself out of bed, almost tripping over your own feet a million times. You stumbled around your room, finding everything you needed to take a quick shower. Once you found all the necessities, you quickly went to the bathroom to clean yourself and try to get you looking presentable. You stepped out of the shower less than 15 minutes later, having washed your hair and your body in record time, while also remembering to shave since your uniform consisted of a short sleeve shirt and a skirt - since the weather had turned almost unbearably hot.

Your brain wasn’t even fully functioning yet, you were just going through the motions, doing what you do every morning when you have to go into work for an early shift.

With a cup of freshly brewed coffee and your keys in hand, you rushed out the door. You didn’t want to be caught in traffic, knowing that it would set you back by at least 30 minutes, which would in turn make you late for work. Traffic always ruined perfectly good mornings, and you wanted today to be a good day.

You got to the small, corner side cafe where you work almost twenty minutes before your shift was scheduled to start, so you sat down at a table and pulled out your laptop to get some writing done. You barely have any time to write, so when you did, you seized the opportunity. You had been working on the same piece for weeks, and you were beginning to lose hope in ever finishing it, so having this time to work on your piece made your day just that much better.

You had gotten almost four pages of the story done when your manager walked up in front of you, carrying herself like she was the best person in the world. Her face held her signature smirk, letting you know that the day was about to take a turn for the worse, at least until she left in a few hours.

“Time to clock in, y/n. Wouldn’t want to be late. You heard what the boss said if you’re late again.” You shut your laptop and put it away carefully in your bag.

You are completely aware of what he said to you. If you’re late one more time, whether it be because of traffic or not, you’re fired. He doesn’t care if you live forever away and the traffic sucks, he even went so far as to suggest that you find a job closer to home.

After you clocked in and laid your computer in the back room, you went to the schedule to see where they had you working for the day. You were assigned to man the cashier, which you normally wouldn’t complain about, but there were barely any customers. Within the first four hours that you were on the clock, maybe ten customers walked in and ordered something. And the last five were together. There were barely any orders, which meant that you spent the majority of your time at work wiping things down, making sure that everything was spotless, until a customer came in.

It’s going to be a really uneventful day, You thought to yourself. Days like these always were. They were the kinds of days that wore you down and made you feel even more tired after a shift than if you had been running around all day

Little did you know, this was not going to be one of those days.

Less than an hour before close, a man walked in. At first, you paid absolutely no attention to him. You were still wiping off a counter, waiting for him to come up to the register so that you could take his order. You had barely even looked up, just paying attention to how far away he was from the front counter.

But when you actually did look at him, the air was knocked out of your lungs.

Harrison Osterfield was standing right in front of you.

It took everything in your entire being to make your voice not shake when you asked, “What can I get for you today?”

He flashed you his award winning smile and rattled off his order. Surprisingly enough, it was quite simple. You quickly typed it into the register, assuming that the coffee would be the only thing he ordered seeing as he was alone. Before you could tell him his total however, he stopped you.

“One second, love. My mate, Tom is coming too. Just got the text, let me get a tea for him, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Will that be all for today?” There was a slight shake in your voice that time, you having no luck concealing it. Tom Holland? Thomas Stanley Holland was about to walk into the small cafe that you work in? What are the odds?

“Yeah, that’s all, love. Thank you.” He hands you a fifty dollar bill and says, “Keep the change. Buy yourself something that’s almost as lovely as you are.”

You couldn’t help but blush as he walked away. Usually, you would take this as an insult, but the way he worded it made it seem like less of one. Usually the guys that left you tips were old men that either took pity on you or waited around after one of your shifts to see if you’d sleep with him because he gave you an extra five bucks.

But this was Harrison Osterfield, he wasn’t that kind of guy. Or at least, he seemed to not be that kind of guy.

A few moments later, their drinks were ready and you carried them out to Harrison so he wouldn’t have to get up again. You didn’t usually do this, but come on, these drinks are for two of the best actors you had ever come across.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” He says with a smile as you sit down the drinks.

“No problem.” You all but mumble as you turn around, slightly intimidated by his presence. You keep your eyes trained on the floor so that nobody can see how much you're blushing. Maybe it’s how he’s literally one of the most attractive guys on the planet, or maybe it’s because of the accent, but everything that he says seems to be getting to you today.

That wasn’t your brightest idea, however, looking at the floor in a cafe when you should be watching where you were going. Before you knew it, you bumped into something hard.

You look up, expecting it to be a wall, since it didn’t move one bit. You’re pretty clumsy.

As soon as your eyes lock with the chocolate colored ones attached to the brunette in front of you, you wish it was a wall that you had run into. That would have been a lot less embarrassing.

“Are you alright, darling?” Tom asks you, putting his, rather large, hands on your shoulders, ensuring that you’re steady and won’t trip in any way.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, I should’ve been watching where I was going.” You look down at the floor, embarrassed that you were clumsy enough to foolishly run into someone as important as him.

He chuckles, making your eyes shoot back up to meet his. Great, now he’s laughing at you.

It seems almost idiotic of you to think that today was going to be a great day. Yeah, it had started out that way, but all great days can change in an instant.

“No, no, it’s all on me. I was blinded by how gorgeous you are. Should’ve been focusing on not running into you and ruining my first impression.” His cheeks immediately turn a slight shade of pink, making him look even cuter than he already is. For a moment, you find it hard to believe that someone as perfect as him could be blushing and calling someone like you gorgeous.

“Oh, please, you could never ruin your first impression. I mean, just look at you.” You compliment, hoping you’re not being too forward, not wanting to scare him off when you just met him.

“Why, thank you, darling. I’m Tom.” God, that accent will be the death of you.

“I’m y/n. It’s nice to see that you still introduce yourself to people.” Most famous people that walked into this cafe expected everyone to know exactly who they were, even if they had only been in two episodes of a TV show or one film.

“Of course I introduce myself, I can’t automatically expect you to know who I am. For all I know, you hate movies.” He has a shy smile on his face, kind of like he was hoping you did like movies.

“Well, Tom, I do, in fact, like movies. But it’s sweet that you’re so humble about your major role in the film industry.”

“It’s not that major, love. I’m just Spider-Man.” He talks about the role like it’s not that big of a deal, but you can see the way his eyes light up and the large smile that comes to his face.

“You are not just Spider-Man. Sorry if I’m being too direct here, but, in my opinion, Spider-Man will forever be the best superhero.” It’s your turn for your cheeks to tint pink. You can’t begin to process why you’re being this forward, this flirtatious. It’s the accent. Has to be.

“Is that so?” He smirks.

Oh what you would give to know what he was thinking at that exact moment. You may never know, however, because your boss interrupts the conversation you’re having.

“Y/N come back here, we have other customers than the Holland kid.” You roll your eyes at her and flash Tom an apologetic smile before reluctantly walking back to the counter.

There was not another customer in sight. There were barely any cars in the parking lot or on the street surrounding the cafe. Sounds about right, your manager had a long list of crazy rules for when she was the highest authority in the store. One of the biggest was that you’re not supposed to mingle with the customers for too long. She could have at least come up with a better excuse, though. Maybe Tom had liked your little cafe, and because of the rude comment, never wanted to come back.

The store is about five minutes from closing when Tom walks up to the register.

“When’s your shift over, darling?” He has a cheeky smile on his face. For a split second, you let yourself internally groan. You had hoped he was different, that he wasn’t like every other guy that tried to pick you up after shifts.

But then you realized, this was Tom Holland. There was no way in the world that he was like that.

“Try to be more subtle, Holland. The directness doesn’t look too good on you.” You joke, knowing full well that it looks great on him. And honestly, if that’s what he had been asking, you would have pushed aside the part of you that was internally groaning and went right with him. Because, come on, it would be crazy to say no.

“I don’t want to sleep with you, love. I want to talk to you about something.” He smirks, obviously amused that you assumed he wanted to take you home with him.

You blush at that, embarrassment setting in. “I get off in less than five minutes.”

“Alright, sweetheart, my mate and I will be waiting in the car.” He points to an Audi sitting out front. “Meet us there. I’ll make Harrison sit in the back.”

“Alrighty, Tom, I’ll see you in five.” You give him a sweet smile, although you were extremely confused as to why you would be meeting him in his car.

Was he going to kidnap you? Who cares? He’s hot.

He turns and walks out the door as you rush to get everything done.

When your area is cleaned, you all but sprint to the back to get your laptop bag.

“Bye, everyone. Have a good night!” You yell, making sure everyone hears you. You always tell everyone goodbye before you leave, it’s just something that you’ve grown accustomed to. You started it the day that you began working at the cafe, and everyone liked the idea of it. So, it just kinda stuck.

You walk out of the cafe and head to the sleek, obviously expensive, silver car awaiting your presence. You open the passenger door and slip into the seat.

“Hello, love.” Tom greets you at the same time as Harrison says, “Dang, I owe you.”

“Hello, Tom. Harrison, why do you owe Tom?” The confusion is written all over your face as you look between the boys for an answer.

Harrison visibly gulps before replying, “I bet Tom that he scared you away and that you weren’t going to show.”

“Well, he was quite forward, but what person in their right mind would be told to come meet you two and not show up to, at least, see what it was you needed to talk about?” You sure couldn’t imagine someone turning down the offer.

“Exactly, Harrison. But, love, we do need to talk to you.” Tom says, turning your attention back to the actual reason that you are sitting in a car that costs more than probably three years worth of paychecks, with two very handsome men.

“Alright, fire away. What is it?” You’re more curious than ever, wondering what could be so important.

“So, my management is pushing me to find someone that will attend events with me.” His face contorts in embarrassment, already seeming to regret his decision of asking you anything. “They say that ‘a young bachelor like me will draw more attention if I am seen with a pretty lady by my side.’” He doesn’t exactly look embarrassed anymore, it’s more of a look filled with disgust at how his management team worded their statement. “Something about being more desirable if I’m taken. I don’t know. However, I do want to please my management, no matter how stupid they sound. And when I was talking to you in the cafe, you seemed to be sweet. And you’re gorgeous. And I felt like our conversation just kind of flowed.” He hesitates for a second, as if to see if you were following along or if you were lost.

He continued after you nodded for him to do so. “So basically, y/n, what I’m asking is, for the proper compensation, would you be that girl for me?”

“Wait, wait, wait. You, Tom Holland, are asking me, y/f/n y/l/n, to be the girl you take to major events?” You’re trying your best to wrap your head around the situation.

“Well, not just that.” Harrison pipes up hesitantly.

“What else could there be?” Your voice is laced with confusion, and you know by the way that he places his arm on your leg to calm you, that Tom hears it.

“You would have to stay with me for a little while. Don’t worry though, if you say yes, we have guest rooms, so it wouldn’t be too invasive.” You can tell that he’s trying his best to make you as comfortable as possible with this. “You would need to go places with me, outside of these events. Nobody could know that the relationship is fake. Which means that our families and friends will have to be involved. Everyone, besides my management, and the three of us, would have to believe that it was real.” He avoids eye contact with you for a second, as if he was embarrassed to be asking something like this.

You understand, though. He’s 23, he shouldn’t have to be tied down by a woman just because of his management. He should have the ability to choose what he wants to do with his life, especially the romantic aspect of it.

“You can say no, of course.” Harrison says from behind you. “We wouldn’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to do.”

“Yeah, there’s no need for you to do this if you don’t wan-” Tom begins, reaching a hand behind him to scratch his neck.

“I’ll do it.” you interrupt, surprising both of the boys in the car.

“Wait, really. That easy?” Tom asks.

“You seem surprised, Holland.” It wasn’t like you had anything better to do. You worked at a corner side cafe for a manager that absolutely hated you, and you had no relationships, so you were completely free.

“Well, I kind of am, love. I didn’t expect for you to say yes that fast. If at all. I expected for you to have to think about it for a few days. And then ultimately say no. But, alright. I’ll set up a meeting with my management so we can go over a contract and what your payment should be.” He pulls out his phone to put everything in his calendar.

“There’s no need for payment. I don’t need your money. I’m just here to help.” In reality, you probably could use the money, but that wasn’t the kind of person that you are. You like to help people, and you never, ever ask for anything in return.

“You really know how to pick the perfect girl, don’t you mate?” Harrison says. You look back at him and he has a smile on his face. He doesn’t seem to be joking. That thought makes your stomach storm with butterflies and your cheeks instantly heat up.

“Seems like it. Everyone else would’ve wanted my money. You just seem like you’re doing this to benefit me. Nobody seems to be that genuine these days.” Tom says, his eyes never leaving yours. Of course you’re genuine. Just because he’s famous doesn’t mean that he’s any less of a human being. You would help anyone in a situation like this. If they needed you, you wouldn’t hesitate to be their fake girlfriend for a week or two.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself. But would you really say yes to just anyone? Probably not. At this point, though, you’re just telling yourself whatever helps you sleep at night.

“Well, I just figured that you could find someone worse than me. And if you really need this, who am I to make this hard for you? Plus, I don’t need your money. I have a job that I really like and it pays the bills.” You’re surprised that they seem to think so highly of you already. They don’t even know you. It’s nice to have someone think of you as more than an employee to boss around. Although, with this whole thing, you’ll basically be working for Tom. Just with less money and more touching.

“You’re about to have more than enough money. You won’t be needing to pay rent if you’re staying with me. If you want, you can move the stuff that you really need or want with you to my house. And the rest, we can put in storage if you want, it’s up to you.”

“That sounds alright to me. I can start packing tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Yeah, yeah, if you send me your address, I can come help you. Harrison would probably come as well, if he isn’t busy.” Tom says, looking back at Harrison for confirmation.

“I have a meeting in the morning, but I can come after lunch.” The blonde says from the back seat.

“Tom?” You say, getting his attention again.

“Yes, love?” He looks at you instantly, his eyes trace your face over and over, looking for any sign that you changed your mind.

“I don’t have your number. I can’t send you my address without it.” You smile, and place your hand atop of his, which was still on your thigh.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Hand me your phone darling.” You do as he says and he enters his number. “Text me the address and then anytime that you need anything.”

“Sure thing, now if you two gentlemen don’t mind, I think I’m going to head home. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“See you then, darling.” Tom says, watching you get out of the car.

“Goodbye, y/n.” you hear Harrison call before you shut the door.

You spend your drive home thinking about what in the world you just got yourself into.

Over the next few days, you had gotten closer to Tom. Your entire apartment had been packed up. You sent the things from your bedroom and other things that you wanted to make sure were with you to Tom’s house. The rest of your belongings went into a storage building that he wouldn’t stop pestering you until he got to pay for. That man was the most persistent person that you had ever met.

You refused to let him pay for anything else, however. You didn’t need his money. And you didn’t want him to think that you only took his offer for the financial aspect. You genuinely just wanted to help him.

You hadn’t started with your outings yet. You first had to have a meeting with his managers and some lawyers so that you could sign a nondisclosure agreement. Basically you just had to say that you wouldn’t tell anyone about this agreement with anyone. The whole thing would just end up blowing up in both of your faces.

You could see the headlines now if this were to ever leak.

‘Tom Holland, 23 Year Old Heartthrob has to PAY for his Girlfriends!’

‘Y/N, Just Another Golddigger’

There was no way in the entire world that you would ever tell someone about the fakeness of the whole thing. The consequences would be catastrophic. And you could not be the reason that Tom’s career fell apart.

A week later, the NDA had been signed and you were hanging out in Tom’s living room. You were talking about absolutely nothing,but the conversation still flowed as if you were talking about something important. He was giggling at something that was on his phone when you had an idea.

“Let’s go out. To lunch. You know, like a date.” You look down at your hands, embarrassed for some reason. It’s not like you were actually dating him. This shouldn’t be scary. But it is. This is Tom Holland.

What if you mess up? What if his fans hate the two of you together? What if his management regrets this decision? What if he regrets this decision?

That’s what’s running through your head as you wait for his answer. The silence that is radiating from him seems to be an uncomfortable one. The entire mood has shifted, and you hate the feeling of it.

“You-You’re asking me on a date?” You look up and he’s shocked. He’s looking at you like he can’t believe that you would ask him such a thing.

“Yeah, Tom. The public has to be introduced to me at some point. And it’s probably better to do some outings before the first event that you’re going to drag me to.” You try to explain, hoping that you thought right.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll go on a date with you, love. Where do you want to go?” He questions.

“I’m not sure. Where will we get the most exposure?” You’re trying your best to get this out there without having to do something like him posting it on Instagram.

You’re just trying to help him get this moving so that his managers have absolutely no reason to gripe at him.

“Doesn’t matter. What’s your favorite place to get food?” He brushes the exposure idea aside, making it seem as if he really just wants this date to be just that, a date.

Now you’re thinking crazy y/n, you think to yourself.

“Well it’s not really a restaurant, but I’m kind of a sucker for the Gains Bowls from the Body Energy Club.”

“I have to say that I have never been there, or even really heard of it.”

“You wouldn’t have. It’s over in the states. California.”

“Is that where you’re from?” He seems genuinely interested in the answer, so you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Born and Raised. I moved out here to London so that I could stay with my best friend. He moved over here to go to college and I thought that was what I wanted too.”

“What do you mean, you thought?”

“I really just wanted to be a writer.”

“Do I get to meet this best friend of yours?”

“Oh, no, that won’t happen.” You want to leave it at that, as it is a sore subject for you, but you know that Tom’s going to ask why so you continue with, “We stopped being friends when he decided that my dreams were stupid. Told me that I would never make it as a writer.”

“Well, forget about him. You can be whatever you want to be. Don’t ever let anyone come in the way of what you want the most. I know the perfect place. But first, we need to get you into a dress.”

“Are we matching?” You ask, wanting to know if you should coordinate with what he was wearing or not.

“No, not on dates, that would seem too staged.”

“Alright.” With that, you leave to go find a dress.

When you signed the contract, you were also given a new wardrobe. Two, actually. One for dates that required dresses and one for non formal events that a dress should still be worn to.

The major events would have more extravagant dresses, of course.

So, you walk over to the rack in your room that holds all the ‘date dresses’ and you immediately pick the one that had been holding your eye since you got it.

It’s a blue high neck, lace cocktail dress. There’s a bow around the waist. It stops around mid thigh. You hope that Tom will like it. You remember him rambling about absolutely nothing in particular and accidentally telling you that his favorite color was blue.

You walk out of your room after fixing your hair and getting the rest of the things that you need.

Tom is standing in the living room in a white shirt, black blazer, and dress pants. Simple, yet perfect at the same time. How the hell can someone look that good? How the hell did you get so lucky? You know he isn’t really yours, but it’s a privilege just to be around him.

“You look ravishing, darling.” His voice breaks you out of your thoughts.

“You look really, really handsome. Like, wow.” He chuckles at this, and your cheeks immediately heat up.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, love. I’m not the best at taking compliments, that’s all. Now, would you like to get going?” Tom says, trying to calm the nerves he can not only sense, but see due to the tint that has made its way to your burning cheeks.

You walk outside with him and get in the car. The ride to the restaurant is pretty quiet, the nerves having silenced you.

“Darling, are you all right?” Tom asks, looking over to me when we came to a stop at a red light.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine Tom. Just nervous about it all.” You say, looking down at your hands.

“What are you nervous about, sweetheart?” He looks over at you, concern evident in his voice.

“What if someone sees us and then they take pictures? I mean, I know that’s the point and all,” you swallow the lump in your throat, “but what if your fans hate me? What if they hate us together?” You’re completely out of breath now, the nerves not allowing you to get the proper amount of oxygen into your lungs.

“My fans will be fine with you, love. You’re gorgeous. We look great together. Plus,” he reaches over for your hand and gives it a light squeeze, “we don’t have to look at what they’re saying. They’ll warm up to the idea if they don’t instantly love you.”

His words do little to soothe your insecurities that have made their way to the surface, but you give him a smile anyway.

He gives your hand another squeeze. He can tell that you’re still on edge.

“We can just go home if you want.” He suggests, just wanting you to be comfortable.

“No, no, it’s fine. I promise.” You assure him.

After that, the car ride goes back to being silent, but it’s no longer tense or awkward.

It’s comfortable.

When you arrive at the little restaurant he brought you to, you look over at him.

“I’m gonna get out and get your door, alright love? Just breathe, you’ve got this.” He says, trying to reassure you.

He does as he said he would. He opens his door and grabs your hand, bringing it to his lips and giving it a warm kiss.

“Such a gentleman.” You coo at him, causing him to give you a sweet smile.

“I try.” He smirks at you, letting you know that he knows exactly what he’s doing, making your heart flutter lie nobody has been able to do in a long time.

You make your way into the restaurant, being seated almost immediately and then having someone bring your drinks of choice.

“I miss moments like these.” Tom admits, although you don’t know what he means at first.

“Moments like what, Holland?” You question, wanting him to elaborate.

“Moments when I can be myself and not worry about saying the wrong thing because I know that someone is writing everything down.” This makes your heart swell, knowing that he feels this calm and open with you.

“Well, I’m not writing anything down, darling. You can tell me anything you want and nobody will ever hear a word about it.” This makes him genuinely smile, and you can tell how happy he is to know that.

“Well, what do you wanna know, love?”

“Hmm, what’s your story?”

“That is such a cliche question!” He giggles.

“I know, I know, but I’m genuinely curious. The whole world knows Tom Holland: Spider-Man, but I just want to know Tom Holland: the person.”

“Well, there’s not much to tell darling.”

“That’s nonsense-” You were in the middle of your thought when the waiter came back up to you to take your food orders.

After he leaves, Tom looks at you and begins, “That’s not nonsense, there’s nothing exciting about me that you probably don’t already know.”

“Hmm, well, because of the media, I know that you have three brothers, all younger. You have a dog named Tessa. Two loving parents. You used to dance and you play golf sometimes.” He gives you a look that radiates surprise that you even know anything about him in the slightest. “However, I do not know your birthday, your favorite color, what made you want to be an actor.

“I don’t know what your favorite pastime is - unless it’s golf of course. I don’t know the little things.” He’s giving you a look of pure adoration, and you let yourself wonder for a second what this would be like if it was real.

“Not a lot of people take the time to get to know me like that anymore.” He says, barely above a whisper. You know instantly that it wasn’t meant to be heard, so you say nothing and let him continue. “If you must know, my birthday is June 1, my favorite color is blue, I was born an actor, darling, there wasn’t a question of whether I wanted to or not.”

You giggled at that before motioning for him to continue.

“And, honestly, unless it’s just hanging with Haz, golf probably is my favorite pastime.”

“See? It wasn’t that hard to tell your story.”

“That’s not a story, y/n. That’s just details.”

“Details make the story, Holland.”

After you finish eating, he insists on paying, which you end up letting him do. But only because he brought up the fact that you were on a ‘date’ and no man in their right mind was going to make their girl pay, especially on the first date.

You’re on your way back out to his car, both laughing about nothing, when you get the sudden feeling that this may have been the best decision that you ever made.

A week later, you’re in a whirlwind of stylists, makeup artists, and managers. All getting you ready for some red carpet event that Tom was invited to.

They’ve picked out an extravagant dress for you, one to match Tom’s suit. It’s a maroon, flowy dress. Very modest, neckline not showing too much, legs completely covered. But you still look like a princess, at least that’s what you think.

“You look ravishing, darling.” Tom says from behind you, shamelessly looking you up and down.

You turn to look at him and all of the air is knocked from your lungs. “You look really handsome, Tommy.”

He smiles at that. The first time you called him by that nickname, he seemed hesitant, thought it was too childish, but the name on your lips made it perfect.

“Thank you, darling. Are you ready to head out?”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go show the world how absolutely amazing that Mr. Holland looks tonight.”

“Don’t forget that we have to show them how I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You cock your head to the side, wondering what he means by that.

“I get to have someone as stunning as you accompany me, I don’t know how I got so lucky.” You can’t stop the blush that appears on your cheeks.

You stand arm in arm with him. There were flashing lights all around you, temporarily blinding you. There was nothing that you could possibly focus on. Nothing at all, except for the way that he held you to keep you steady.

There’s something about the way that he’s holding on to you, his arm slightly tighter around your waist than it needs to be, that makes your heart flutter, even though you know that there’s nothing going on between the two of you.

Right?

You push the thought fro your mind, almost completely. Although you can’t stop yourself from wanting to do something. Something that you’ve been trying your best not to do since the night you met him.

When he puts his arm back around you, you put your hand on his shoulder and lean up, giving him a kiss on the cheek, letting it linger there for a second before pulling away.

He looks shocked, and you begin to wonder if you made a mistake, moved too fast.

“I-I’m sorry. Was that too much?” He’s blushing profusely, and you begin to see that he’s trying to suppress a smile.

He leans down to your ear and whispers, “No, no, not at all darling. Remember, we’re madly in love, so it’s alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

And with that, all those little butterflies in your stomach multiply. And there’s no stopping them now.

Permanent Taglist: @spideygirl2003, @jackiehollanderr, @scarletsoldierrr, @thewayilookatbacon, @parker-barnes-af, @lost-in-the-stars03, @kisses-holland, @josiemara, @god-knows-what-am-i-doing, @fanficscuziranout, @babebenhardy, @akila-stilinski

Tom Holland Taglist: @cyrusandhiscollaredahirts, @averyfosterthoughts, @thorsangel,

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millenniumpuzzle · 3 years

Text

it’s beginning to look a lot like checkout

summary: Joey is trying to survive working as a cashier during the holiday season. When a cute customer manages to turn around his entire day, he doesn't think he'll ever see the guy again. But when he keeps turning up, will Joey manage to form a relationship with him?

howdy! yes, i’m posting a multi-chapter fic for once. you can also read it on ao3 here <3 hope y’all enjoy!

Not for the first time today, Joey eyed the speaker embedded in the ceiling above his cash register and wondered how difficult it would be to smash it from the ground. Sure, it was a few feet up, but if he threw something hard enough at it, he could probably damage it, right? The stapler at his register wasn’t too heavy, but it was solid enough that it might fritz it out. Then again, he would almost certainly be fired, but he would take that if it meant that the speaker was at least non-functional. Anything to stop being forced to listen to that damn Christmas music.

Normally, he couldn’t really hear the music pumped through the hardware store at which he was (regrettably) employed, being too quiet to hear over the general din of a retail environment. The only exceptions were with songs he knew, which he was able to pick out easier, or when there was hardly anyone in the store making noise to drown out the speakers overhead. However, that all changed when Thanksgiving ended. Once that happened, corporate switched their generally palatable 70’s playlist to Christmas music, and Joey’s annual nightmare began.

That’s not to say he didn’t like Christmas; he wasn’t religious, so he didn’t really celebrate it except in the most bare-bones sense of getting his dad and sister a present on the day, but he thought the holiday season in general was fine. It was listening to the same damn songs for hours on end that was driving him up the wall. While he might hear a repeat or two on the standard playlist if he had a long shift, when Christmas rolled around, it was very possible to hear the same song three different times in only a few hours. If Joey ever met the person that designed this playlist and told their store to play it, he would give them a piece of his mind—and a piece of his fist besides.

Damn brain, he thought, resting his chin on his elbows, which were crossed on the counter. Can’t pay attention to somebody when they’re talking to me, but I can’t stop paying attention to Christmas music. Figures.

Furtively, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time: 3:15 pm. Only forty-five minutes until he got to clock out, but he knew this would be the longest part of his shift. It was after lunch but before most people got off work, meaning that business had slowed to a crawl. Normally, he was grateful for any downtime at work, especially later in his shift, but as “Silver Bells” started up for the fourth time that day, Joey was actively wishing someone would come to his register, just so he would be able to tune out the music.

The irritation from the music just added to everything else miserable about working in retail; Joey’s knees were killing him from having to stand all day on a concrete floor, and he was in that half-bored, half-stressed state that came with a slow moment at the register. He wanted to zone out, think about what he would make for dinner or come up with something fun to do with Serenity over her school break, but he couldn’t risk getting interrupted by a customer. So, he was stuck, unable to sit and rest his knees and forced to pay attention to his surroundings. Which, unfortunately, included the music.

The tell-tale beeping of a register being activated was a welcome distraction, and he picked his chin off his elbows to look in the direction of the noise. It wasn’t especially eventful; just his coworker, Ryou, being forced into scanning some lady’s entire basket, despite the fact that she was at a clearly labeled self-checkout register. Joey felt bad for him; Ryou was a sweet guy, which meant that he often got roped into doing way more than he should. He did, however, have more than a passing interest in the occult, which he weaponized against customers that pissed him off, so he was helpful to have around when dealing with someone annoying. He was a real wild card; Joey appreciated that about him.

“Hello? Can I check out here?”

God damn it.

“Yeah, sure thing!” Joey said, putting on his best Customer Service Voice. He whipped his head back around, coming face-to-face with the customer who had managed to sneak up on him, despite his earlier promises to not zone out. Immediately, however, Joey forgot everything about work, his mind going blank except for one thought: this guy was cute.

At first, Joey had made eye contact with his hair, rather than his face, given that the customer was pretty short and his hair was pretty tall. After a stray thought as to how much gel someone had to use to get it to stay that way, his eyes dropped to his actual face; that was when his brain had really started to short-circuit. How was he supposed to focus on making this guy pay for his stuff when he had such clear, violet eyes, such a friendly smile? Joey was only human, after all. The glimpse of a leather choker underneath the scarf the customer wore only made things worse.

“Is everything alright?” Fuck, the customer must have asked him a question. Not only that, but all his stuff was on the counter, and he was looking at Joey with an expectant, if confused, expression.

“Uh, yeah, just zoned out for a second.” It wasn’t a lie; he had zoned out, but he wasn’t going to tell the customer why. He grabbed the customer’s first item—a string of white Christmas lights—and scanned it as quick as he could, hoping to make up for lost time. “Did you, uh, find everything okay?”

“Yes, I did, thanks,” the customer responded, sounding just as friendly as he did when he first asked to check out. “I’m glad you still had some white lights! I really needed them, and they were sold out at the first two stores I checked.”

“Oh yeah? I’m glad we could provide, then.” Joey continued scanning his items, noting that they were all Christmas decorations. He found it odd that the only lights the customer wanted to buy were white and blue, but maybe he was going for an unconventional Christmas tree design. Joey wasn’t here to judge people’s purchases, only make sure they happen. “Alright, your total is $32.64, cash or card?”

The customer held up a debit card in response, and Joey indicated the card reader in front of him. He finished paying in relative silence, leaving Joey to almost-zone-out at least a dozen more times, getting stuck on different aspects of the customer’s appearance. How much work is it for him to dye his hair three different colors? His nose scrunches up when he concentrates, that’s cute. Would it be too weird to ask for his number?

Too quickly, however, the card reader beeped, prompting the customer to remove his card. “Thanks so much!” he said, with a smile that was too charming for Joey’s poor, flustered heart to take.

“No problem,” he managed to say, despite being sure that he was going to ascend out of his body at any moment. He grabbed the customer’s receipt from the printer and handed to its owner; if he held it in a way to where he ensured that their fingers didn’t brush, well, that was self-preservation. “Thanks, and have a nice day.”

“Thanks, uh, Joey,” the customer said, peering at his name tag, “and happy holidays!” He waved goodbye with the hand not holding his bags, still with that blinding smile on his face, and turned to leave. Joey propped his chin back on his hand and watched him walk to the exit door, smiling at the way he pulled his scarf up over his nose before facing the cold.

“Fall in love with a customer, Joey?”

Joey yelled, losing his balance and nearly smashing his chin onto the counter, before he caught himself and spun around to face the person who had just spoken. “Ryou, what the fuck? You can’t just sneak up on me like that, you’re gonna get me killed.”

Ryou giggled, his elbows on the low wall that separated self-checkout from Joey’s register. There wasn’t a customer in sight—which meant that Joey was now fair game for ridicule. “Not my fault you were distracted. He’s cute though, did you get his number?”

“No, I don’t even know his name,” Joey grumbled. That made him remember that the customer had said his name, though, which made his face heat up. Didn’t think my name could sound that nice. He peeled open a new plastic bag, just for the sake of having something to do that meant he didn’t have to look Ryou in the eyes. “Besides, I can’t just ask a customer for his number! What if he thinks I’m weird, and writes me up, and gets me fired?”

“You have a point.” Ryou hummed, tapping his finger on his chin. “But what if he thought you were also cute?”

“It’s not like I’ll ever find out.” Joey sighed, putting his head in his hands. “He said he went to other stores for white lights before he found them here, which means he probably doesn’t live around here, which means I’ll probably never see him again. Better to just forget about it.”

Ryou made a sympathetic sound, and Joey didn’t have to see his face to know he was looking at him with pity. “I suppose,” he said slowly. “Still, you seemed happy when you were talking to him. You never smile like that when you’re working, it was a nice change.”

Joey just sighed again, before the clearing of a stranger’s throat made him look up to realize that someone was ready to check out—right as the strains of “Blue Christmas” reached his ears from the damned speaker above him. Right, he had work to do, and on-the-nose Christmas music to endure. He plastered on his Work Smile, ready to greet his customer with all the fake friendliness a retail employee could muster.

Ryou was right; while talking to that cute customer, he had been genuinely happy. Unfortunately, it made his return to dismal reality all the sadder.

#yugioh #yugi mutou #jounouchi katsuya #joey wheeler #wishshipping #*eyes emoji* anyway i'll just leave this here

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write-haikyuu · 4 years

Note

hello! could I request a first date scenario with tendou? thank you ♥️♥️♥️

An unexpected Tinder Date (ft. Tendou Satori) | Scenario

Hi! So so sorry to keep you waiting! I thought this was kind of a cute scene before I knew it was smiling my way as I finished it towards the end :). I hope you enjoy!!! Come back and request for more hehe

also fun fact the sweet potato cheesecake latte in this story is legit a real thing I experienced at a cafe once LOL. and yes, I did try it. I hated it. don’t do it.

Flipping through the photos of the profile, you took another glance at the dating app on your phone before you tried to match a red-dyed hair and tall figure in the cafe to the photos on your screen. Nervous to hold up the people rushing into the cafe behind you, you plopped down to the nearest seat by the window and texted your date.

2:50PM: “Hi! I think I’m here! Sitting by the window haha”

You didn’t expect a reply, considering that you came ten minutes earlier to prep yourself. It was your first Tinder date after all. If anything, him not arriving just gave you more time to calm your nerves and catch a breath. You scrolled through your conversation with this guy, double-checking to see if you had met at the right place and time. Quietly smiling to yourself as you chuckled back the silly messages the two of you exchanged. You’ve hit it off to a great start. For one, both of you were reading the same weekly Shonen manga, and given the fact that he played volleyball, you instantly had a flow of conversation to start with. This guy seemed promising.

3:07 PM: ETA? I already caught up to this week’s shonen! Lol

No response.

Locking your screen, you placed your phone down and stared out at the cafe counter. Where was this guy? The back of your head you were hoping he was just running late and hopefully, didn’t just forget about your date. Or even worse, flaked on you. Fixing the hem of your sleeves, you slowly walked over to the counter to begin looking at the menu.

“Let me guess, first Tinder date and the guy bails on you?” The barista turns around from the counter and tilts his head towards where you were seated. Huffing in defense, you cross your arms and take a step back from the cashier.

“N-not even! I’m early.”

“You were early. But you’ve been sitting there for fifteen minutes now and haven’t even bothered to order until now.” The barista raised his brows at you and gave you a grin. Adjusting the beanie on his head, he cleared his throat and the tone of his voice switched over to something more chirpy.

“What can I get ya?”

Realizing that there was no one behind you this time, you eased and glanced up to the menu and tapped your chin. Though it may have felt like an eternity for you, the amount of time you spent looking at the menu was unexpectedly enough for a new customer to walk in. Panicking, you quickly blurted out the last thing you could memorize on the menu.

“A hot, large sweet potato cheesecake latte please!” You exclaimed.

The barista blinked and stared at you before bursting into laughter. “A hot, large sweet potato cheesecake latte on a scorching hot summer day coming right up!” as he punched in your menu.

You quickly paid and rushed back to your seat. As soon as you sat down, you looked at the receipt and mentally slapped yourself. Why the hell is this even a drink on the menu? You were tempted to look at your phone again. Scared of being disappointed, you decided it was best not to. You’ve never been stood up before, so to experience in this moment felt completely bizarre and unsettling. If worse came to worse, this would be just a date with yourself. Concentrated on what else you could do for the rest of the afternoon, you didn’t even notice that your order had been placed in front of you, and the barista from earlier was sitting across from you. Resting his chin on his palm, he broke your silence. “A hot, large sweet potato cheesecake latte for this cute person who forgot to give me their name so now I have to personally deliver their drink to.” You rolled your eyes as you grabbed the drink from the table and took your first sip.

Instantly, you spat it out in disgust. “Holy crap. This is how I get diabetes.” You clicked your tongue and slowly backed down the drink. “HEY! I made that! To demonstrate your sweetness!” The barista argued. Both of you quietly stared at each other before cracking up in laughter, you didn’t care if your date walked in at this point. You just wanted to get your mind off everything.

“This has gotta be the worst drink ever. But the attempt to flirt was nice.” You smiled, looking up towards the barista, you noticed he was also blushing to your response. It was refreshing to be noticed. Soon, the two of you were chatting away. You were a bit slow to open up at first, but after some time it came to a point where you were practically shit-talking about how online dating sucked and how it left no ability for relationship growth or substance of some sort. The barista nodded along and joked with you how he would rather go on blind dates than those damn Tinder dates. To him, comparing blind dates was like eating an advent calendar while Tinder dates were like an assorted box of chocolates.

“You just pick which ones look good and then you try it right? But then it’s like-”

“Disgusting!” You finished his sentence and continued “And it’s always the plain-looking ones that are the best!”

“Exactly!” He laughed. You both threw your head back and held your stomachs, wheezing and huffing for some air. The whole cafe could hear you two. But no one cared. Especially not you two. You couldn't help but giggle as you watched him wipe what seemed to be tears from his eyes as he laughed with you. As he leaned back on his chair, he took off his beanie to comb up his red-dyed silky hair before speaking up again.

“Well my shift ends in about five minutes. If you’d like, I would love to take you out to dinner. Sorry to keep you waiting Y/N. I’m Tendou Satori.” He sat up again and smiled at you. You gaped at the man sitting before you. Immediately it clicked to you as you started to recognize the streak of red sticking out of his beanie. You almost felt enraged with the fact that your so-called Tinder date had tricked you this whole time. But the other part of you was thoroughly impressed that someone had the balls to actually pull this off so smoothly. Tendou Satori was definitely no ordinary man.

“I-It was you this whole time?!” You stood up, gawking as he took off his apron and swept the crumbs from his clothes. He nodded and apologetically grabbed your hand. He signaled his manager to clock out, and as the two of you left the door he swung his hands along with yours and finally said “Well since I’m considered an hour late, dinner, dessert, and the second date is on me!” he cheekily smiled.

Excited to continue your conversation over dinner, you nodded in agreement. Already you were contemplating and anticipating for the next chance to prank your Tinder date, Tendou Satori.

#tendou x reader #haikyuu tendou #tendou imagine #tendou satori #tendou scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu imagine #tendou satori imagine #tendou satori scenarios #shiratorizawa #haikyuu x reader

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shedobewritingtho · 4 years

Text

BTS's Jungkook - With you I feel no pain (Soulmates au!)

Hello! I found this idea while scrolling through social media and couldn't keep myself from writing it. This soulmates au sums up the idea of soulmates that can heal each other's injuries. I hope you will enjoy!

Be careful with the soup! Don't eat it if it's too hot. Let me check its temperature." you hear your mother say as she takes spoonful from your bowl. "You can eat." she says, then goes back to the living room to watch TV.

"Thank you!" you scream, making sure that she heard you.

You finished eating soon and went to wash your bowl, but dropped it by mistake. You had to move your right foot to avoid getting hit, enough already that the kitchen was full of little pieces of your broken bowl.

"What happened? Y/n are you hurt somewhere?" you heard your father ask after storming into the kitchen.

"No, I'm not hurt. I just don't know how to get out of here, there are sharp bits everywhere."

"Wait, let me clean this up."

You watched your father collect all the bits of your broken bowl witnessing how he accidentally cut his finger in a piece, but it did not seem to be a problem. He just put his finger under some cold water like nothing ever happened. You were fascinated. What was he feeling? How does that pain feel? You are not allowed to know, not yet.

This was your life since you were born. Everyone is born with a soulmate whose identity is to be discovered. The only thing you know is that only soulmates can heal each other's injuries, so as long as you don't know who your soulmate is, you'd better not get hurt.

Living like this was both hard and easy. You were not allowed to do anything risky; even tasting hot food and accidentally burning yourself could be a burden that will last God knows how long. At the same time, you were not allowed to do much, and when you did anything, your parents had to make sure it was safe. Your life was boring when you looked at your parents having fun and not caring about any type of injury, but you didn't know any other way to live yet.

It's not like you didn't experience any type of pain either. On the contrary, it was exactly because you fell from your bed when you were two years old and since then you have been feeling pain in your left hand. Experiencing this pain for eighteen years was really bad, but you got used to it. You cried a lot while growing up but now it was part of the normal. It bothered you only when you let yourself think of it.

"We've told you before. Do not wash the dishes, we will wash yours too when we wash ours." your mother scolded you as soon as she finished helping your father clean up.

"I know, but I wanted to try. Sorry, I won't do it again."

"Ok, good. Now you can go, it's clean here."

Back into your room, everything you could do was boring and repetitive. You couldn't even cry for too long because your head would hurt from dehydration. You had no escape. Except, your parents let you try and find your soulmate, as it was necessary. You were allowed to go to any place you chose only once a month. You started this process at the age of eighteen and now it is a big part of your life.

So you opened your laptop and went through your list of places to visit. You had to admit it was a little bit weird, you don't know exactly who you are looking for, and you can't afford getting hurt whenever you saw a guy that seemed to be your type, so you would spend those days being happy for your freedom while hoping not to get hurt and maybe meet your soulmate.

You left the house on every 17th of each month. Today is the 15th of August. Two days until you were free to try your luck again. Your destination was planned, only aprox. 100 km away from home, still in your country. You wrote down the address of every place you could visit in 24 hours. Every single place that could have an important number of visitators.

You sighed as you layed in bed, admitting that your optimism was the only thing that kept you sane at this point. The majority of your friends were living their best life, affording to experience any type of pain because their soulmate was right next to them, ready to be their saviours. The thought of meeting someone who practically gave you life was more than beautiful, it was your ultimate goal in life.

Days went by and the day of freedom has come. You double-checked everything and said goodbye to your parents. You could be located anytime by them so if you got hurt and couldn't return until the next day, they knew where they can pick you up from.

More than half of your day went by and almost all the museums, cafeterias, librarias and malls were cut from your list. You were tired and not so optimistic anymore, so you decided that a break would be the best.

You enter a 24-hour store, looking for a big bottle of water. The store was pretty empty, there were no customers except from you and a guy that was about to pay and leave. The cashier looked very bored not taking his eyes off of the TV, except for the times when someone came to pay. You soon found a bottle of water and went to pay. It seemed like the cashier was very cute looking so you were very happy when he slightly hit his hand while scanning your product. Who knows? He might be lucky today. You made sure to touch his hand while taking your change and waited for any kind of reaction. Unfortunately, there wasn't any reaction.. Another guy who wasn't your soulmate, what a shame.

You left the store with a ruined mood, especially because it was almost time for you to return home, which meant another month of this boring and dangerous life. The plan was easy, you had to drink some water and go before your parents went crazy or worse, you went crazy.

You placed the bottle of water between your legs in order to have both of yours hands free to put your wallet back in your backpack. In a second of poor coordination between your members, the big bottle of water fell on your left leg, causing you to fall down in pain. This was a situation without escape, because the impact with the sidewalk brought pain in many other places in your body.

The sharp and pulsing pain was not stopping in any way, so you had been crying for a good few minutes, without anyone noticing you. It was hell, the night was slowly falling all over the city, a sign that everyone will go to sleep and you were going to be left alone and in pain.

You were laying on the sidewalk with your eyes closed and your body crouched, not being able to move or think, when suddenly all the pain dissapeared.

"Hey, sorry. Are you okay?" a stranger's voice and face quickly drove away the thought that you might have died. He took your hand off of you and asked again. "You can hear me, right? Do you remember what happened to you?"

You couldn't answer and not because of any pain. You were in a shock, it was finally happening, you finally met your soulmate. Your eyes scanned him and a big smile showed on your face.

"Are you hurt anywere?" you ask, waiting for him to realize everything.

"What? I'm not." he said raising a brow. "I should be the one asking that, what is hap-"

"Well I'm not hurt anymore so thank you. What's your name?"

"I'm Jungkook and why thank me?" "Oh wait." his eyes widened. "Wait, I don't feel any pain, you're right!" he said while rolling up his right hand's sleeve. You watched him take off a bandage soaked in blood and reveal his skin, completely unharmed. "You.. what's your name?"

"I'm Y/N, nice to meet you." you smiled while reaching out for his hand to do a handshake. "I'm so happy to finally meet you, Jungkook."

"Thank you for finally appearing, Y/N. I needed you."

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onelastbreath-writes · 3 years

Text

On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!! AO3. Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

---

Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities.

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

#batman #batfam #bruce/selina #batcat #bruce wayne #selina kyle #bruce x selina

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dianapana · 4 years

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SasuHina Month 2020- Day 3

Prompt I’d Choose You Again and Again

Mirror, Mirros -Part 3

The nightmares didn’t stop. She’d wake up in a cold sweat turn on the lights and look at the mirror, with dark rubies instead of red, that was broken, the only thing that differed was the image, once it would be of her lover from the dream; than of a little girl than a little boy and the cycle would start anew. The strangest things about the whole thing was that instead of waking up scared, her heart would indeed pound, but she woke up feeling a sadness so deep she could barely breath. The events of the dreams differ from time to time the only thing they have in common is that they all start out nice and end up with her in the closet with her the ghost of her lover.

Apart from the dreams nothing else was weird, Hinata’s life went on as normal. Go to work, go see her family or friends if she has the time and return home. Soon enough the holiday would end and Uni would start again and she’d have to reduce her hours at the diner; so Hinata was working as many hours as she could at that moment, especially having taken a week off to go see Neji.

The good thing about the diner was that the owner, Teuchi, the cook Ayane were very nice people. The other waitresses were also nice but Hinata didn’t interact as much with them. She loved the diner mainly because of its vintage style with the checked floor, the red stools and red booths. The uniform was anything they wanted to wear as long as it was a white top and black bottoms. Their nametag was brooch like and could be pinned to any top.

Teuchi had called her around noon the day before asking if she could cover a double shift, because one of the girls called in sick all of a sudden, to which Hinata agreed. She decided to wear a white T-shirt tucked in a skater skirt and a pair of black flats. She did own clothing items that were not vintage but she preferred to throw in something quite old into the mix; that day she chose to wear a red headband; the story behind that particular item was that it was an actual headband wore by a pinup model in the 50s. She took her jean jacket with her because despite being summer still, the nights were starting to get colder, autumn was making its presence known.

The day went on without any trouble, being summer, the diner was quite busy but that wasn’t all that bad; it kept Hinata occupied from thinking about the nightmares she’d been having. Around the middle of her second shift Hinata started feeling tired and her feet were killing her from walking back and forth the whole day. Thankfully dinner hour had just about ended and there were only a few more people around, most of them teens or young adults that only stopped by to eat something before going to a party. The other waitress had left about 40 minutes before.

All tables were set for the moment so Hinata could take a break herself and eat something. Ayane made her favorite veggie burger with sweet potato fries. The music was soft and mellow so people could talk, the lights weren’t blinding and everything about the diner just made Hinata feel at home. She had loved it from the moment she stepped inside it a few years ago looking for a job that she could handle while she was still in high school at the time. Hinata was just taking her plate back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang signaling new customers.

“I swear you’re going to love this place” Said a cheerful voice. Hinata recognized the voice and smiled to herself. Naruto was one of their most common customers. He’d pass by at least once a day and almost always ordered the very same thing. The diner served traditional Japanese fast food but also “normal” diner menu. Hinata took out her notepad to write down Naruto’s order despite knowing by heart exactly what he wanted.

Naruto noticed her walking their way and smiled at her and she smiled right back, he had that effect on people, his positivity was just contagious.

“Hey Naruto. We were getting worried since you haven’t been by in a few days” Hinata said, it was mostly a joke but she did notice his absence in the past 2-3 days.

“Yea sorry about that. I had to help Teme move in so there was no time to swing by” The blonde answered and nodded towards his friend. Hinata’s eyes moved to the guy standing on the other side of the booth.

The moment their eyes met she got goosebumps. She didn’t have time to analyze what was happening because Naruto started talking again.

“We’ll have two of my normal order” He said to her. “It’s the best thing here you have to try that first” he said to his friend.

As in a daze Hinata walked back to the kitchen and told Ayane the order. “Nobody new came I’m taking a 5-minute break ok?” Hinata said and hurried to the back door.

Her hands were trembling and her heart was beating much faster than it would normal. Naruto’s friend, he was the man from her dreams. The one holding her close and whispering her name. He was the man to hold out his hand and watch her kill herself in the dream. She had read somewhere that every face you see in your dreams is a person you’ve seen somewhere, on the street, on tv, in pictures. Your brain can not come up on its own with new faces. She must have seen him somewhere before today.

‘But Naruto had said he just moved here’

‘No, he said he moved. Maybe he moved from an apartment to the other, from living with his family or a roommate to living on his own. People move around in the same town all the time’

‘Right. I’m sure that’s what he meant. That means I saw him before. No biggie’

‘Yes, yes that makes sense’

There was no other explanation. Finishing up the dialogue with herself, having calmed down a little and approving of the reasoning she reached, Hinata went back inside.

The boys’ food wasn’t done yet but one of the tables wished to get the check and leave. After putting the money in the cashier Hinata went back to the kitchen and took the two-ramen bowls to the table. She was trying her best not to look at Naruto’s friend. Despite knowing that the dream was just a coincidence she still felt weird looking at him. Her brain picked his face to illustrate her lover and that was awkward.

“The diner is pretty dead at the time. Why don’t you sit down Hina?” Naruto said and slid to the side to make room for her. Naruto was right the diner was quite empty; besides them there were only 2 other tables occupied and they were both still eating. Hinata wanted to refuse but wasn’t sure how so she took the easier route and said ‘sure’.

“Hinata this is my friend Sasuke. He just transferred here from Kiri.” Naruto introduced the two and Hinata’s panic came back full mode. She had been mistaken. He moved from another town, she hadn’t seen him before, and to top it all his name was Sasuke.

“Nice to meet you. If you don’t mind me asking what’s your family name?” Her voice was oddly calm compared to the storm that was happening in her brain.

‘It’s just a name coincidence I’m sure’

‘He’s not the Sasuke from the mirror. That’s impossible’

“Uchiha” He said and looked at her in a funny way. In 5 seconds Sasuke did so much damage. He had the same name as the one written on the back of the mirror, her nightmares started after buying said mirror, this guy that shared the name from the mirror was a recurring character in her dream, and his voice matched as well, it sounded just as it did when he talked her; when he said she was beautiful in her dreams.

“Nice to meet you” Hinata said her voice was a bit breathless but neither of the guys seemed to notice. What the man said to her when she bought the mirror came back to her ‘The Uchiha curse shall not die miss, make sure you don’t either’ was it really a curse? Too many things were happening for it to be pure coincidence. She was scared.

The following 15 seconds were spent it silence, the boys were eating and Hinata was looking at her own hands. They were clasped tightly on her lap so they’d stop shaking. Thankfully one of the men from the other table signed her to go to their table. Hinata left the booth like it was on fire. Scenes from her nightmare were playing in front of her eyes. The diner was in flames and Sasuke was calling for her, asking for help.

“We’d like the check please” the man that signed for her said.

“Of course” she was working the register when Ayane came out from the kitchen.

“I’m going to turn the sign around so no more people come. Teuchi-san said we can close up earlier today since it’s this slow” Ayane said and she walked back to the register looking at the two tables that were both almost done. “You can go get your things and go home I’ll close up after everyone leaves.”

“Thank you, Ayane-san” Hinata went to the back where her jacket and bag were. She washed her hands in the bathroom before putting on her jacket and going back inside. Ayane was just ringing up the last table. Naruto and his friend had left thankfully. She wasn’t sure what she should do about the mirror, the nightmares, Sasuke. Hinata was still in deep thought when she stepped out of the diner.

“Oh, is your shift over Hina?” Naruto asked scaring her. The boys were just outside in the parking lot next to a beautiful black Impala. Sasuke was smoking not really looking at her. At least that’s what she thought, from the corner of his eye Sasuke had been following her around from the moment his eyes laid on her.

“Yes, I was just going home.” She answered it was a bit rude not to ask what they were up to but she wanted the conversation to end as soon as possible. Normally she’d stay and chit-chat with Naruto for a while, but for obvious reasons that option did not feel safe.

“Sasuke’s almost done with that cig and we can give you a drive home. It’s late and quite cold” The blonde offered.

“Oh, that’s not necessary…”

“We’re going to your neighborhood anyway, Kiba invited us over to his house to play some video games and chill.” Naruto smiled at her. “So, it’s no problem at all. I’d feel much worse if we left you here.”

Her mind was working twice as fast trying to come up with a reason why she should walk home alone. But the blonde didn’t wait for her reply and pretty much dragged her to the car and opened the door for her to get in. Which she did. She never minded Naruto’s pushiness before, but in that moment she felt irritated by it.

Sasuke slid in the driver’s seat and Naruto in the shotgun seat. The drive wouldn’t be more than 10-15 minutes but the silence was deafening.

“I heard you went to USA to see Neji a week ago, how was that?” Naruto was good like that, he always tried to keep the conversation going.

“Yea I did, it was great I missed him a lot.” Naruto talked for most of the drive.

“I don’t really know where you live Hina, I just know the neighborhood so you gotta give Teme some directions from here on”

“Actually, it’s fine if you drop me off here or at Kiba’s I can walk from there” She wasn’t very keen on Sasuke knowing where she lived.

“Oooooor you can come hang out with us if you want, at Kiba’s I mean. He’ll be so pumped to see you.” The Uzumaki stated.

She knew Kiba would like to see her, they’ve talked a few days ago about meeting up but nothing really worked for both of them. She did miss Kiba…

‘Are you nuts? You can’t go. Sasuke will be there…’

‘It’s either that or I tell him my address what if he kills me in my sleep?’

‘O, shoot we went from creepy coincidence to murderer this fast?’

‘I don’t know! But I doubt he’ll try anything with Naruto and Kiba around…right?’

“Yea ok, I’ll join you guys for a while…”

“Great! Don’t text Kiba though I wanna see his face when he sees you.” Naruto said laughing “It’s adorable Sasuke I swear, he turns into a puppy dog whenever Hina is around”

They reached Kiba’s house and all three walked towards the door, Naruto stopped abruptly which made Sasuke stop and Hinata walked into him. Three things happened then at the same time.

1. Hinata saw the Uchiha symbol on the back of Sasuke’s shirt.

2. Hinata touched his arm and took a step back to balance herself, so she wouldn’t fall over

3. Memories of her past life came back to her. All the nightmares made sense, she knew what the mirror meant, who Sasuke was. And the fear she felt just moments before; that fear turned to comfort.

Hinata took another step back, and another. She was overwhelmed by emotions. Utter sadness for the pain she experienced before, joy because she found the love of her life once again, she would find him in every lifetime time and time again. She also felt love, A feeling that Hinata had not experienced in that current life was now flowing inside her and it wanted to break free. Her eyes were watering up and all she wanted to do was hug Sasuke and make sure he is indeed real, but she couldn’t.

Part 1 (Day 1.2)

Part 2 (Day 2)

Part 4 (Day 8)

#shmonth2020 #SH2020 #sasuhina month #sasuhina month 2020 #sasuke #hinata #sasuke uchiha #hinata hyuuga #dia-story #diawrites #fanfic #sasuhina fanfic #naruto #writers on tumblr #mirror mirror

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soulangel · 4 years

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Fox in the House-Chapter 1

Summary: The fox has had it up to here with her new shop owner being so rude toward her and the others. She hates him with a passion and wants nothing more than to put him in his place. Maybe it’s a good thing the people that have adopted her are getting her out as quickly as they can.

Group: ONEUS x Hybrid!Character

Genre: Friendship, mild angst, mentions of abuse, some violence

Warnings: The fox character does get hit and bruised a few times in this story so if you do not like reading any sort of violence it might not be best to read this story. I am trying to make this suitable for everyone to read but unfortunately I can’t please everyone.

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist x Next

With a tired sigh from somewhere throughout the shelter, one person stomped out from the living area with a ripped up shirt in hand. “Hojoon! I swear if that...that fox is in my space one more time I’m taking her down myself!” A wolf-hybrid growled loudly towards the front cashier who was trying to mind his own business.

Hojoon looked over at the wolf wide eyed and gulped. “U-Umm….S-Sorry about her Minseok, I’ll try and talk to her again. She just really likes messing with you for some reason. Maybe she likes you?” Hojoon supplied, awkwardly looking away when Minseok glared at him as if he were the worst scum on Earth.

Minseok pointed to Hojoon with narrowed eyes, scowling at the words. “One more time Hojoon, I swear.” He rumbled out before disappearing back into his living area.

Hojoon groaned softly and felt himself collapse onto the seat behind him at the relieved feeling thanks to Minseok leaving him. What he didn’t expect though, was the familiar twinkling laugh of someone hanging up in the rafters above his head; fluffy red fur brushed across his nose before a lean and lithe body jumped down in front of him, on the customer side of the counter. She leaned against it and smiled sultrily at him, her elbow resting against the glass of the counter so she could prop her head up. “Is Minseokkie getting mad because I wanna play?” She asked with a playful pout, staring into Hojoon’s eyes with her vivid golden-yellow colored eyes.

Hojoon gulped again and glanced around the living area for all the hybrids before he looked back at her. “Sweets, you can’t keep messing with people here. The more complaints you have against you-” “I know I know, the more complaints against me, the lower the chance of a home. You really think I care? And my name’s not Sweets, Hojoon.” She grumbled, cutting him off from lecturing her for the hundredth time since she’d been in the shelter; which was only a couple years.

He frowned at her, and in place of the awkward look when he thought Minseok would come out, was a look of indifference. “Then what is your name? It’s not like you’ve been adopted before to earn one. All you do is trouble everyone and hurt your chances of leaving. Are you trying to get put down? The path you’re walking down is pretty much your death sentence.” He all but hissed at her, earning an alarmed stare in response.

She backed up from the counter and frowned towards the guy. “Hojoon that’s not fair…” She whispered, stepping backward until she was in the middle of the room.

His frown changed into a scowl as he stood up and followed after her, backing her up until she was pressed against the opposite wall. “What’s not fair little fox? The fact you can’t get adopted? Or the fact you feel the need to hide yourself to the point you can’t get adopted?” He mumbled lowly, pushing his hands against her shoulders to the point she was baring her teeth in pain.

With her canines elongated at the pain, she stared at him in hatred and hissed quietly at him. “You shouldn’t be grabbing me like this. I won’t be sold if I have bruises on me.” She snarked, glancing up towards the camera trained directly on her and Hojoon.

He rolled his eyes and gently stroked his hand up her arm, causing chills and a deep uneasiness to fill her until his hand landed at her throat. She grasped at his forearm and gave a choked grunt while staring at him, trying to speak through the constriction against her vocal chords. “So pretty. If only you weren’t just a red fox.” He growled, shoving himself away from her body while walking away.

She reached a hand up to her throat and glared at his back. “What so you only go after the ones you think are weaker than you?! You think I didn’t see you bowing down to Minseok because he’s a wolf?!” She yelled at him, throwing an arm towards the living area where one hybrid watched from the shadows, not wanting to reveal themselves until the perfect moment.

Hojoon pointed a finger at her. “Talk back to me one more time Sweetie, and you’ll end up in the isolation room where no one will ever see your pretty face again. Don’t you dare talk down to me again!” He shouted back at her, earning a small group of hybrids to step out and see what was going on.

Hojoon sighed and looked over towards the group of onlookers. “I didn’t say anyone could leave their living areas. Please go back to your rooms.” He told them gently, motioning for the fox to stay where she was at against the wall.

She hissed quietly and managed to pull herself up into the rafters where she hid away in the shadows until he was unable to try and find her at all. Where she was safest from the front of the store. “How does no one see this?” She wondered silently, curling her legs up against her chest to wrap her arms around them as a security blanket.

xXx

{1 week later}

Seoho hadn’t expected to go to a hybrid store any time soon, in fact he hadn’t planned on going to any stores at all. Especially with his childish roommate Hwanwoong who was insistent on getting a kitten! What in the world was wrong with his brain sometimes? “It’s gonna be so cute! And it’ll be cuddled all day, and given pets. Oi, you listening Hyung?” Hwanwoong was rambling, explaining all that would happen at the dorm when the kit moved in with them and the rest of the guys.

Seoho sighed softly and looked over at Hwanwoong with a small smile. “You’re definitely gonna love it lots aren’t you?” He replied easily, stopped right in front of the door to the Twilight Valkyrie.

He grabbed hold of the younger boy and looked closer through the window to see what was going on. He was surprised to see a red fox with a choker-like slave necklace around her neck, bruises all over her body and a gash down her arm. Whatever happened to her didn’t look self inflicted, and she looked like she was trying to escape from whatever was holding her in place. She was saying something to the person hiding in the room and seemed about ready to pounce on the person before a prod stick appeared in their vision and she was dropped to the ground due to the voltage. Hwanwoong stopped his excited ramblings and stared in complete disbelief at what was going on in the store. “H-Hyung….are they….are they trying to kill her?” He hesitatingly asked, afraid that saying something would trigger worse reactions to her.

“No one is coming for you Sweetie! Accept your fate and just die you red fox! You’re not special!” They finally heard someone shout, grabbing up her leg and dragging her to the back room.

Just as the person was dragging her through a door, Seoho and Hwanwoong tentatively stepped into the store and looked around worriedly. There were plenty of accessories to go with the hybrids in the back of the store, but it all looked super cheap and like it would break at any moment in time. And half of it looked more like torture devices than health and beauty products. So whatever was going on in this store, someone was definitely messing it up for the worse. “Sh-Should we go somewhere else?” Hwanwoong asked awkwardly, gulping softly when they heard the voice of the man shouting before saying he’ll be out to help them in just a minute.

Seoho was about to reply when a skinny looking blond haired man stepped out from the back room, wiping his hands on a cloth with a fake smile on his face which didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Welcome to Twilight Valkyrie! Recently bought by me, Kwon Hojoon. What can I do for you both today? Looking for a specific hybrid?” He asked them happily, bringing them over to the counter so they could look at a book of all the hybrids Hojoon had available to purchase.

Hwanwoong hesitantly walked up to the book and started searching through it. “Do you possibly have-have any cat or kitten hybrids?” He quietly stuttered out, before feeling a gentle hand on his shoulder telling him Seoho was right next to him.

The faintly heard something coming from the room where Hojoon had walked out, and it sounded like hissing. Hwanwoong’s head shot up to look toward the doorway in surprise, vaguely wondering if it was a hybrid he wanted. Hojoon though, sighed softly and gave another fake smile to the duo across from him. “I’m sorry about that, give me one minute please?” He asked them politely before he moved towards the area.

They could faintly hear someone growling lowly and a tiny whimper from the back. Unfortunately, they got to see every single thing the owner was doing when he “brought out” the same fox from before. But instead of leading her or gently guiding her, he was pulling her by the wrist. And there were fresh bruises on her temple along with a burn mark on the side of her shirt. “I don’t have any cat or kitten hybrids, but I have this lovely red fox. She’s not much since she’s a common fox, but I’m sure some of her powers can help you with your everyday lives.” He started, squeezing the wrist of the fox when she started growling at him.

The two didn't even have to look at each other to know they certainly wanted to help her the best they could. “We’ll take her.” Seoho said after barely any thought.

She looked at the two wide eyed wondering why they would want her as beat up and abused as she was. Would they continue to beat her? Or maybe use her for themselves? What did they want? She squirmed out of Hojoon’s grip and growled quietly at him. But while she was about to defend herself, someone from her living area snuck up behind her and pulled her back to the rooms. “Don’t do something so drastic when you’re so close to being adopted finally. Don’t turn into me Red.” The familiar voice whispered into her ear.

Tears formed in her eyes at the voice and she turned to her friend, wrapping her arms around the woman. “I’ll find a way to get you out. I promise. We’ll be able to have our own lives soon enough Bub.” She whispered, giggling softly when the brown haired rabbit-hybrid smirked at her and nodded her own head.

The two were talking quietly when someone cleared their throat behind her, and a pastel purple head peeked around the corner to look at her. He grinned wide when he saw her speaking to someone, and then waved. “Hello! I just wanted to check up on you and see how you were holding up. I know you’ll get to be around me and Seoho-Hyung more, but I was hoping to talk to you first to get to know you? And see if you’d like a name now or later?” He rambled out, shutting himself up when he saw the alarmed look on both hybrid’s faces at seeing him looking at them.

He turned around to see if someone was behind him, and saw the owner with a small frown on his face. “Are they troubling you? I can have them move further back if you’d like to see everything back here.” He offered, not noticing the glare Hwanwoong was giving him beside him.

Seoho pulled Hwanwoong away from the door and shook his head silently, telling the younger of the two not to do anything rash while the paperwork was being submitted for approval. “It’ll take a couple days to get everything set up. Is it going to be you grabbing her or maybe someone else?” Hojoon asked the two as the small trio walked back over to the front of the store.

The fox and rabbit both stared at each other with frowns before holding each other tighter. “It’ll be finalized soon. You won’t have to deal with him anymore. But you have to keep yourself presentable to them. Please. If you don’t want to come back here, you really need to make sure they like you. It’s the only way.” The rabbit whispered, kissing the younger of the two’s temple in affection while stroking her hair.

The fox practically purred in response and sighed softly, smiling a little at the touch. “I’m so glad I got to know you.” She mumbled quietly, finally managing to tune out the people chatting up front

The rabbit was about to respond when Hwanwoong appeared around the corner and hesitantly stepped closer to the two females. “Hi again! I just wanted to speak to you one more time before we left for home. We’ll be back in a few days to come pick you up, but we need to make sure your space is cleared and nice for you. Is there anything you might want so we can grab it for you?” He asked her softly, tilting his head once he noticed how hesitant she was to even speak with him, let alone look at him.

Her ears were flattened to her head and her tail was wrapped around her left leg, her arms wrapped around the rabbit-hybrid she was standing with. “Um, how about she writes you a list maybe? I know she likes a nice bed nook area, maybe get her something for her room. And-ooof!” The rabbit groaned softly when her fox friend elbowed her in the ribs to get her to stop talking.

Hwanwoong tilted his head as he watched the two interact. “Ummm….I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable. I just hope you’ll see that we’re not going to hurt you. We want to help you.” He said before glancing around himself, “we saw what he did to you…” He then whispered.

xXx

{One Week Later}

After cleaning up the front of the store like she’d been forced to do the last 2 weeks, she sat in her living area in the nook she’d made for herself and was about to try and sleep for a little while when someone knocked on the wall loudly. She groaned softly and curled into a ball, hoping to ignore whatever it was. “5 more minutes…”

The thing snorted and sounded like it leaned against the wall. Without her command, her ear twitched in the direction of the sounds, earning a chuckle from the person. “Are you ready to get out of here Red? Looks like one of those guys are here with someone else to pick you up.” Her rabbit friend said, pointing in the direction of the front.

The fox shakily stood on two feet and wandered out toward the front of the store where she stopped in the doorway, tail swishing behind her agitatedly as she listened in to what was being said. “We got your phone call about the paperwork approval. Are we too early to pick her up today?” Someone’s low rumble asked softly.

Hwanwoong was looking around himself before he caught sight of the red fur swishing slowly back and forth around the female he’d talked to the last week. Hojoon nodded his head to the guy he was talking to before he turned to make his way toward the back living area. He didn’t need to move far before he spotted the one he was looking for. “Ah there you are Sweetie. Ready to go with your new owners?” He asked, motioning toward the two waiting by the register.

She frowned a little, anger showing in the whites of her eyes while she grit her teeth in frustration. She wouldn’t give in to his prodding, not this time. Not when she was so close to being able to leave this godforsaken place she’s hated since being thrown in here. “Yes, I’m ready to go.” She grit out, sidestepping Hojoon to stand before two of the people she’d be serving for the foreseeable future.

She bowed her head only a little toward them and fought back the urge to run away. “Whenever you Masters are ready.” She mumbled out softly, though with enough force that they still could hear her.

The two glanced to each other as Hwanwoong hopped over to stand beside her and offered her his arm. “Please just call me Hwanwoong, or Oppa. I don’t like the thought of being called Master.” He said cheerfully, all but dragging her along with him as the other groupmate and friend of his followed after with a quick, ‘thank you’ given to Hojoon.

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