#tiny apt. ideas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whataperfectwasteoftime · 10 months

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

522 notes · View notes

bloodmoonmuses · 1 month

Text

we're not really strangers | mark lee

genre: mark lee x reader, drabble (700 words), meditative prose, angst (?) inspired by the movie "all of us strangers" and mark's 'dirty smoothie' trailer for their upcoming album "dreamscape"

warnings: none!

summary: the love of your life, mark, appears out of thin air.

The edges of your vision are blurred with tears. You attempt to blink them back- to keep them at bay- but they fall hastily as your pace quickens amidst the concrete jungle. You’re experiencing the type of vulnerability that can only exist before nine in the morning- when people ravage the polluted city, weaving in and out of the crowd as they hustle to work. You’ve missed your train, and now, in order to make it to the office on time, you’ll have to walk six blocks. The sky is abysmally gray, but it’s apt, you suppose. Your mind and body feels gray as well- mushy, drab and bland in its quiet suffering. You curse your faulty alarm clock and rue the feeling of watching the train zip past right as you reach its closed doors. It’s enough to ruin your entire day. Probably your entire week. But nevertheless, the world moves onward.

You jump into the mix, warm bodies making the sidewalk blush as they cross its mind. As a law-abiding citizen, you mind the traffic lights. When it says walk, you walk. When it says stop, you stop. There’s something comforting about being told what to do. Muscle memory pilots your pliant form. You come to a stop again, because the light tells you so. On the opposite side of the street, in the middle of about twenty or so people waiting to cross as well, you see a man with wired headphones nodding along to his music. In his hand is an iPod Touch. The light turns and suddenly, you’re passing one another. The man skips joyfully, taking big strides with his elegantly long legs. You make contact briefly, his shoulder brushing yours, before he disappears into the morning mist.

When you return your attention ahead of you, there he is again, leaning against the crosswalk light. You look around in confusion. Had he not just crossed the street? Didn’t he just vanish into the chaos of his morning commute?

“What?” the man asks as you come to stand in front of him. “You’re staring.”

“I thought I just saw you-” your head whips around with such force, you’re afraid you’ve injured your neck. When you look behind you, the entire street is empty- everyone having evaporated without a single trace.

The man is wearing a corporate lanyard. His badge says Mark Lee. You’ve known him for a lifetime, suddenly.

“Hey. I said you’re staring.”

“What are you doing here, Mark?”

“Playing hooky with you, of course.” Mark grasps your freezing hand, encasing it in two of his own, and warms it with his breath. “Let’s get out of here. You’ll catch a cold.”

He walks you back to your apartment. You’re not sure how he knows how to get there. Or where he got a key from. He moves around your home with tenured expertise, blending into the domesticity as if he’d been a permanent fixture in it for many years. Years that have escaped you. Years, that when you look up one day, you realize have flown past you in a flash. He takes your favorite mug out of the cupboard, the one with glazed ladybugs painted on it.

“Mark,” you start.

“Shh. Don’t ruin it,” he says.

“Ruin what?”

He makes you a cup of tea. Chamomile. Also your favorite. He places it wordlessly on your tiny dining room table, sitting across from you.

“This is the best idea I’ve had in a while,” Mark says. “I should skip work more often.” He leans over to kiss you, chastely, on the lips. He misses slightly, only capturing the corner of your mouth. He chuckles.

“You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost,” whispers Mark, still only inches away from your face. You kiss his nose, and the feeling is so familiar that it almost calms you completely. Then you remember: there’s a stranger in your house.

“Do I know you?” you inquire, scared of ‘ruining it’. All you do is ruin things. For once, you’d like to get out of your own way.

Mark simply nods. “Of course you do.”

He kisses you once more, then stands to retrieve his iPod. When he returns, he sits next to you this time, placing an earbud into your left ear and the other in his right. Mark presses play, and a song you don’t recognize fills your ears like water. Mark rests his head on your shoulder, draping you in his sodden affection. Your heart feels impossibly heavy. You hope he’s real.

“I love you,” Mark says.

“I love you too.”

a/n: thanks for reading! feedback is always appreciated!

#bloodmoonmuses #nct 127 #nct 127 fluff #mark lee fic #mark lee #mark lee x reader #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct 127 fic #mark lee angst

154 notes · View notes

bloodynereid · 5 months

Note

Hi can I please request a Jordan x reader . Reader has power that glitch & saves Jordan. Reader hey I am lucky that I didn’t get stuck in between a wall.

Thank you.

Flying Grand Pianos - headcanons

pairing: jordan li x gn! reader

tw: cursing, mentions of uncontrolled powers, cate and sam went to prison (i'm sorry okay! they're my pookies but for this fic to work i had to do something), uh nothing much ig? unless u have a phobia of falling pianos... then maybe don't read this??

description: your powers come in handy in the weirdest situations.

a/n: hiii hopefully u enjoy this! i literally did not mean to make this as insane as it ended up being but hey i'm sick and running on like too little sleep, i hope it's still entertaining tho cause i had sm fun writing this lol. i tried to integrate everything you said into headcanons cause it felt more apt ? ig... anyways requests are open & lmk ur thoughts <3

It was your final year at God U, somehow you had actually made it through the insanity that happened during junior year. You had even come out of the whole situation with a whole new group of friends… even if Cate and Sam sort of had to be locked away because of all the shit they did.

Thank whoever had decided to call the FBI because you had no idea how the entire situation might have turned out if Homelander showed up instead.

So life had turned back to normal towards the end of junior year, mostly because Vought was able to keep most of the situation quiet. Now you were only a step away from becoming an actual superhero… which was a strange situation to think about.

Your powers weren’t all that noteworthy but were insanely useful in battle and to get out of awkward conversations… especially since you were able to mostly control them.

You had the ability to glitch, which essentially meant you could manipulate the fabric of reality around you and mess with it (always with a limit of course, you weren’t an all-powerful magician). You mostly used it for teleportation or to mess with people, something that was always sooo worth it.

You also were kind of insanely good at dealing with actual glitches in computers, which made absolutely no sense but it did help adding to your skill set for your major.

There was probably one specific time where your powers worked in your favor in the best way possible. Over the past few years you sort of developed a tiny little miniscule (HUGE) crush on Jordan Li and now that you were actually able to call them your friend that tiny little crush grew into something way bigger.

What you weren’t aware of was that Jordan felt the same way, they always viewed you as this pretty incredible supe but never really had the chance to talk to you… until the whole The Woods situation. After that it almost made it harder for them to just ask you out on your date… because you had created such a tentative but strong friendship - something that Jordan hadn’t had since Luke. Something that they weren’t sure they would be able to walk away from again.

It was a few months into your senior year when the incident happened. It wasn’t something crazy like Homelander suddenly massacring the school instead it was an incident that belonged in the halls of a supe school… one of the new freshmen had somehow conjured up a piano in the middle of the damn sky and was unable to make it disappear.

The one problem with this piano was that it was falling... and falling really fucking fast.

You had been drinking one of your favorite drinks from Jitter Bean when you were surprised (and very concerned) to see a piano making its way towards Jordan - a very distracted Jordan who was talking, or rather yelling into their phone.

It barely took you a second to make the decision before you dropped your drink and glitched in Jordan’s direction - thank whatever all powerful force was out there for actually having it work because a moment later you reappeared next to Jordan and grabbed their arm before glitching again.

Suddenly you were standing in your room and Jordan was looking at you like an insane person before a loud crash and a whole bunch of yelling was heard outside the window.

Jordan shot a confused look before darting over to the window, only to find that a huge grand piano now stood (well not really it was sort of everywhere) where they had just been standing a moment ago.

You shot them a sheepish smile as they turned around to look at you with a dropped jaw.

“I actually can’t believe that worked, I’m lucky I didn’t accidentally get us stuck between a wall.”

lol i have no idea what this is but i like it anyways.

232 notes · View notes

kisakis-boyfriend · 6 months

Note

May I request something with dragon Freminet? I’m not… entirely sure how do to this, but a friend introduced me to the concept and it won’t leave me alone now. Dragony boy, like Neuvilette- or maybe Yanfei would be a more apt comparison, for a part human one. Something soft if possible? Headcanons or some sort of scenarjo

Dragon Freminet

Pairings: Freminet x reader

Warnings: GN!reader, Dragon!Freminet, all fluff + a tiny bit of hurt/comfort

Genre/Format: Fluff; Headcannons

Author's Note: Oooohh Dragon Freminet is a cute idea! I took a few liberties with his design, though he is still depicted as mostly human. I hope you enjoy these, anon :3

Please check my blog title to verify whether requests are closed or not! Thank you!

Cryo Dragon Freminet who's such a sensitive soul. He's only capable of partially understanding human emotions, though when he does feel them they hit him hard. Overwhelming waves of sadness, joy, despair, anxiety, or love that empty his mind of anything else

Oftentimes you're the only person who can help him deal with these emotions. Helping him through bouts of despair or profound sadness, sometimes prompted by insignificant things such as accidentally dropping something. It's enough to bring forth a flood of tears from the poor boy, but you're more than willing to help him

You'll reassure him of his worth, tell him over and over again that he is not a failure. Remind him of how strong he is while cupping his freckled cheeks, kiss his pretty lips and nose until that smile that you love so much comes back

Dragon Freminet who is the biggest cuddle monster of them all. Especially when he has a loving partner to cuddle up with! He basks in your warmth and comfort whenever you're kind enough to indulge his needs. With arms wrapped around his torso and your legs tangled with his, resting underneath his favorite blanket that his Father gifted him, Freminet purrs from deep within his chest

It's a deep rumbling unlike anything else in this world. The content (or distressed/threatening) sounds of an elemental dragon can influence a human's emotions, causing the human to either feel complete relief and safety or fear/terror, if the dragon is threatening them

Dragon Freminet who's embarrassed by your endless stream of compliments about his draconic features. You ask him to open his mouth a bit so that you can catch a peak of his terribly sharp fangs, carefully tapping their points with the pad of your thumb as you admire them. Or staring into his gorgeous blue eyes, memorizing the swirls of multiple colours mixed in

Even finding the time to coo about how cool his true form looks! While Freminet is quite small compared to other dragons and dragon adjacent beings, he is massive compared to humans, easily towering over you like a god. You stare up at him during one of the rare moments when he actually reveals his true form, wide-eyed and unable to move in pure awe at the sight of your boyfriend before you

Dragon Freminet who adores winter activities, as most of them make him feel connected to his element, cryo. He begs you to play in the snow with him, or to teach you how to ice skate! You do have to remind him that your human body can't withstand the cold in the same way that his can though...yours needs breaks to warm back up unless you want to get sick...

And Freminet will happily oblige, bringing you back inside and hugging you tightly to help you warm up. He'll breathe on your icy hands and envelope them within his own, covering your fingers with his until your skin is pleasantly warm. If he's feeling particularly bold Freminet might pull you closer and breathe down your neck, hot puffs of breath that cause you to warm up incredibly quick, especially your cheeks

Dragon Freminet who keeps multiple hordes of items. Collecting different mechanical parts and scraps that catch his eye, broken down gardemeks, gears, and children's toys that are no longer on the market. He also has a more intimate horde of things related to you in some way. Things that you give him, trinkets he thinks you would like, even a few things from your past that you gifted to him specifically for this collection. These things are his most precious treasures, besides you of course. You'll always be his number one treasure 💙

Reblogs are extremely appreciated <3

#my writing #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #freminet #freminet x reader #freminet fluff #gn reader #gender neutral reader #halloween specials 🎃#dragon au #requested #genshin headcanons #headcannons

149 notes · View notes

cupidjyu · 8 months

Text

the sweetener you are

hyunjae x reader (idea from the anon who requested childhood friends to lovers!)

summary: when a mysterious man moves into the apartment next door, you realize that he’s your childhood best friend who’s disappeared for years. he changed, his life seeming to have soured. but you could just be his sweetener, the one to make him smile again

genre: best friends to lovers, and boy-next-door sorta thing, hurt/comfort for him because he deserves the world, nightmares, healing, one bed trope, youre forced to move in with him hahaha am i evil, back hugs, he acts "drunk" when tired (dont ask why, it was just an excuse to write him being clingy), hes flirty ish and teasing, hes shirtless for like one second (BECAUSE.), sleepy love confessions, kissing, is there tension? i can't tell myself, “sweetheart” good god notes: school started so expect much much less after this... so see you in a bit 🥲🥲but hope u enjoy!!! this is literally just yumi who needs to stop writing long interpretations of their love for hyunjae in the form of fics + song inspo! word count: 12.7k

You coughed. You choked. And then you glared straight at Younghoon who was staring back in complete alarm. Setting the unfinished glass down on the counter with a loud clink, you clenched your jaw with unspoken curse words that threatened to escape your lips.

“This tastes like dirt,” You garbled out. Rushing over to one of your cupboards, you pulled out one of those small sugar packets that you liked to swipe from those cute coffee shops. If it was free, why not take a few? Ripping the paper open, you poured it into the drink that didn’t even look like it belonged on this planet. It was both… green and yellowish-blue at the same time.

Younghoon gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth dramatically. “That’s not healthy!”

“But it tastes so bad,” You whined. “It needs a sweetener.”

He glared, dragging his hand all the way down his jaw in an unattractive way. “It’s an herbal drink. It’s meant to taste bad. Think of all the health benefits you could’ve gotten out of that without the sugar.”

“You made this?” You scrunched up your face in disgust.

“No, I–” He laughed nervously. “My mom did. I promised her I would finish it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And you couldn’t because it tasted so bad. So you’re making me finish it.”

He gave you a pained smile as he stepped away. “I– who said that?”

“Why’re we even friends?” You questioned before jabbing a finger at the door. “Get out.”

Younghoon pouted but he eventually obliged, opening the apartment door. “You still owe me money for that overpriced tiny piece of cake by the way.”

“It tasted good!” You shot back.

“It did not.” He sighed. “It’s just you with your horrible sweet tooth. Don’t even– hey…” You noticed him peeking out of your door and into the hallway. And then he leaned back in, searching your face with wonder. “Someone’s moving in next door.”

You brightened with interest at that, practically jumping off where you were sitting on the kitchen counter. Bounding over to the door, you poked your head out under Younghoon’s, just like they did in the cartoons. Squinting your eyes, all you could see was a tall man with a cap on that covered most of his face.

“Who’s that?” Younghoon said, slightly too loud for your liking.

With a groan, you elbowed him in the ribs. “Shh…how would I know? Though... he does look better than that old dude who constantly yelled at those courtroom TV shows like he was the judge.” It was like the apartment next to yours was cursed. Magic wasn’t real here. Or at least, in this world. But you still believed that a witch had strolled by and casually placed a hex on Apt 245 for the fun of it. For the time that you’ve been here, you’ve seen about five people move in there. And they were never happy.

Once, there were two parents who had to deal with multiple children who would not stop crying. You hadn’t slept a wink the whole time they were there. They did receive a noise complaint though. Another time, there was a teenager who couldn’t even properly pay off the rent. He didn’t have a job. But he could somehow afford the loudest speaker where he would play the most gut-wrenching, saddest music ever. He got evicted.

But this man… well–he looked decent. Really. No evident curse here. Or at least, yet. When he turned around, you could see that he was very tall and… broad. Apparently, that was the first thing you noticed. He also seemed to pick up the moving boxes with ease and when he had stepped just the slightest to the side, you could see the impossibly perfect slope of his nose. Also a very odd thing to notice.

Younghoon grasped your arm, pulling you back into your own apartment.

“Don’t fall in love.”

You gaped at him. “What? I don’t even know who he is.”

He raised an eyebrow. “But he’s tall. And broad. And has a nice nose. I know you. I know your type.”

Shit.

“You do know me,” You mumbled sheepishly. “But still!” You poked him harshly. “I won’t fall in love. I probably won’t even see him for like– a month. Or he’s going to be cursed and moved out like the others. Don’t worry.”

Your friend narrowed his eyes in skepticism but he eventually nodded. “As long as you don’t bump into him tomorrow or something.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Of course. I won’t fall in love.”

You didn’t fall in love. You fell onto the floor.

And you also happened to bump into him the next day ironically enough.

If only—if only—you decided to pick up your mail yesterday like you were supposed to, this wouldn’t have happened. And by this, you meant being distracted by a cup that rolled out of your new neighbor’s door and then walking straight into his chest.

You squeaked in horror. “I’m sorry!” And then you stepped backwards, tripped on your badly-timed untied shoelace, and ended up on the floor in the middle of the hallway.

When you looked up, there was a pretty hand that reached out to help you up. Taking it with burning cheeks, you could finally see what this man looked like up close and without a cap.

And you would have expected maybe one of those boy-next-door romantic moments where you would fall into his arms and start dating the next day. Oh, and also kiss and eventually get married. But no, you—

“Hyunjae?”

The man—Hyunjae—gaped at you with comically wide eyes.

“Y/n,” He breathed out.

As long-lost childhood friends, the most sensible thing to do was ask how he was. But you often defied expectations, positively or negatively, and so instead you lunged forward, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a tight hug.

Hyunjae, whom you’ve known since you were just young kids, has been your best friend for as long as you could remember. He used to be on the elementary school track team while you… were on the bleachers trying to tell the difference between subtraction and addition. But luckily, Hyunjae was both a smart and kind kid and so he had stopped in the middle of his running to sit with you and teach what your teacher couldn’t do properly.

He was always one year older, always more mature and experienced. But he tended to throw that away just for you and join in on playing games with you when he should’ve been studying for an exam. But he did so to cheer you up. He was sweet like that and you adored spending your afternoons after school with him.

The two of you even got to experience those dreadful high school years together, except there was always that haunting realization—that he would eventually graduate first. But he always reassured you.

“It’s just one year, silly,” He joked, pulling you into a side hug, one that perfectly portrayed his understanding of your worries. “I’ll text and call you all the time. Promise.”

Promises were often broken and this wasn’t any different. For when he had left for college, he never contacted you ever again. You had tried to reach out, but he never responded. And so, for your whole college term, you never saw Lee Hyunjae, your supposed “best friend,” ever again.

And you should have been mad—no, furious to see him again. You should have pushed him away and went on with your life while skillfully avoiding him. But just the simple sight of him brought back all those fond memories–baking cupcakes, falling asleep together just after screaming over a horror movie, holding each other when life just gets too much... And so you found yourself buried into his chest, holding him tightly.

“Hyunjae,” You whispered again, shutting your eyes in both contentment and fear of him pushing you away again.

But you felt two hands snake around your middle, hugging you back. There were a million questions running through your mind at that moment, wondering why he had disappeared but welcomed you so easily. But you set them aside, choosing to just melt into his still familiar embrace.

Finally though, you managed to pull away, looking at him with a fond smile. He smiled back. He had grown even more handsome than before. He managed to become taller, broader, and more charming all at once. His features were sharp, more mature. Something about him–the way he was dressed in a literal suit–really portrayed to you that he really was an adult now, as opposed to the teenager who procrastinated on science projects.

“How are you?” He smiled, almost too polite for your liking. You could see the way he stood, awkwardly and with fidgeting hands. And that was when it all hit you like a truck.

Your eyebrows suddenly furrowed, your lips pulled into a scowl, and your eyes narrowed as you stepped forward. “How am I? No. How could you–” You banged a fist on his firm chest. “–leave me–” Another punch. “–like that–” He stepped back in growing alarm. “–and act all polite and uneasy as if we weren’t best friends for years?” Both of your fists lingered on his chest, your strength growing weak from frustration.

“Y/n, I–” He winced.

“Actually, I hate you.” You glared. But your words differentiated from your actions when your hand came to smooth down his crumpled tie. “I don’t want to see you ever again. You’re an absolute asshole and I–” But your eyes met with his, his gaze amused and soft. And then you sniffled, looking down at the ground, the urge to cry suddenly overcoming you.

Hyunjae laughed quietly. “I’m sorry. If you would allow me to explain?”

“Great,” You grumbled. “Then do so. Since you’ve owed me an explanation after all these years.”

He glanced at his watch. “I have work. Tomorrow, maybe? Trust me.”

You looked at him in bewilderment. “Work? But you haven’t even unpacked yet.” You eyed his apartment with the door open. There were multiple boxes strewn about, some not even open yet.

“Emergencies,” He sighed. That was when you noticed just how exhausted he looked. “I have to go.”

“Oh,” You stuttered. “Okay. I– good luck?”

Hyunjae smiled, pinching your cheek just like he had done all those years ago. He seemed to be completely unfazed over the fact that you just punched him in anger. “Thank you.” And he was locking the door behind him and heading for the elevator. But just as he was walking away, you felt the need to call something out. Just a few words.

“Hyunjae?” You said.

He turned around, tilting his head. You never knew just how well work attire suited him. He looked almost… attractive. But god, what were you thinking?

“I missed you.”

He smiled but he never quite gave you a response as the elevator ding had interrupted him. Instead, he just gave you a small wave.

It was odd. Awkward. But one step at a time, you figured. It’s been years after all.

The next day, as promised, he had shown up to your door. This time, since it was the weekend, he was wearing a simple white shirt. One that still never failed to accentuate his broad shoulders.

But initially, you thought it was Younghoon and not a guy who you haven’t seen for multiple years. So you may or may not have opened the door with your hair like a bird’s nest and your sleepwear on that… wasn’t meant for the general public to see. Apparently, Hyunjae fits in the general public category now. Best friend? No, you hate him.

Kind of.

Not really.

Stumbling to the door, you flung it open, your eyes barely open. Immediately, you were met with the sight of just. Long legs. Not very helpful.

“Who–” And then you looked up, only to meet Hyunjae’s eyes. Choking on your spit, you straightened up. “Hello,” You blurted out in a monotone voice.

He raised an eyebrow and tilted his chin down with amusement. “And who’s the uneasy one now?”

“Sorry, I…” Your eyes trailed down to what you were wearing. With an internal gasp, you stepped backward. “I’m going to– change.”

He widened his eyes and then his gaze also traveled down. His cheeks were oddly red and he cleared his throat, looking away.

You cringed and shut the door in his face before he could even say anything.

Now in proper clothes that were for the general public, you opened the door again. He was still standing there with that same smile. The same kind, caring one he always regarded you with even when you were just kids.

“Where should we talk?” You asked.

His eyes glanced over to his own door. “My place?” He offered quietly. “I have unpacking to do.”

You stared at him silently. And then you nodded with an excited smile. “I can help.”

“Oh no,” He laughed softly. “You don’t have to. I’m fine on my–”

“You don’t look fine,” You interrupted. And without thinking, your hand came up to cup his cheek, turning him to face you. “You look tired.”

He stared at you wordlessly before sighing. “I guess I am.”

“So let me help.” You grinned. “I’m using my vacation days from work right now anyway.”

He could only mutter a shy “okay” as he opened the door for you to enter. Looking around, you found that the only things that he had unpacked lacked much of any personality. He took out the necessities and a bunch of… work. Papers, a computer, work suits and the like.

“You seem busy,” You remarked as you walked over to the box labeled “decorations” only for there to literally be one single plant that looked like it needed to be watered. In fact, it was on the brink of death. Immediately, your face was contorting in worry and you turned to where he was just standing at the entrance with an embarrassed expression. “What… happened to your initial dream?”

He approached you and peered into the box. “What dream?”

“The one where you wanted to have a place full of pretty plants.”

“Yeah well,” He laughed bitterly. “Circumstances change aspirations.”

You gulped nervously at his change of tone. Something was bothering him. Something, in particular, caused him to move here. You led him to the couch and sat next to him.

“So what is it? Why did you cut everyone off and– disappear?” You asked cautiously.

He looked at you for a long minute like he was trying to figure out a response for himself. And finally, he just sighed in defeat.

“Problems.”

“Like what?” You prodded.

“A lot. And I wouldn’t want to lay them all on you.” He gave you a weak smile. You regarded him with a soft look in your eyes, searching his face for any sort of answer. All you could see was a flame that had long been put out.

“Then tell me one.”

“One?” He bit his lip nervously. “One…”

“Just one,” You said gently.

“Like the one where the place I used to work at didn’t treat me right? That they refused to give me anything?” He mumbled, his voice trailing off with embarrassment. “So I moved here so that I could get away? That one?”

You froze at his words. You processed them and that was when it began to make sense. He wasn’t going to work yesterday. He was going to an interview. His computer was open to job openings and the papers weren’t reports. They were resumes.

“Hyunjae,” You whispered. But he was already distancing himself, standing up from the couch. You gazed at him with concern as you stood up, only for him to take a step backward.

“Why are you…” You frowned. “It’s okay, you know. Did you think I would look at you any differently?”

His jaw clenched. “Well, I did cut you off because I didn’t want to worry you. You always told me I would be successful, the best. So how exactly could I face you after they…”

“That’s not your fault. And I’m sorry for putting that on you,” You mustered, stepping closer. This time, he didn’t step away. He allowed you to do anything. He let you trail a hand down to his wrist, holding it gently. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me more. I’m sorry.”

He watched you with slight surprise, and with his lips pulled into a straight line, he whispered a small, “I should be the one who’s sorry.”

You shook your head with a smile. “Don’t be.”

He stayed silent at that, simply studying your features. You could tell he still wanted to apologize. But then the corner of his lips lifted slightly. “You grew up.” His tone was gentle, so kind, just like you’ve always known. It was a little quieter than before though, more closed off as if he was afraid–scared of what you would think of him.

You laughed bashfully. “And so did you.” Your hand trailed up to his shoulder. “Did you start working out?”

He smirked. “Why, do you like my progress?”

You snorted. “Could improve.”

He scoffed yet he only looked at you with fondness. The two of you simply stood there, in the midst of his empty apartment, just staring at each other. And then you giggled. He laughed as well before reaching forward and pulling you into his arms, squeezing you so tight that you felt the air leave your lungs.

“Ah–” You choked. “Hyunjae. You’re killing me.”

“I’m showing you my newfound strength,” He joked, stepping away. You were about to refute but instead, you felt your gaze wandering to his arms. Since when were they so toned and–

“Very funny,” You weakly replied. Escaping from his persisting soft gaze, you stepped away and approached the various boxes. “What can I help you with?”

Hyunjae didn’t have much. Apparently, all those large boxes contained about three small things.

“I overestimated,” He replied with a sheepish smile when you asked.

Most of his things were put away yet when you looked around, the apartment was void of any joy or charm. The only boxes that were left were his clothes which he claimed he could do another day. After putting away his single cup and plate–that’s all he had apparently–you turned around only to see that he was crouched, bending towards that same plant that you pointed out. Its leaves were drooping and the stem wilting, as his fingers gently prodded at it. When you looked closely, you could see a melancholy look on his face, a small frown tugging on his lips.

It was true, that Hyunjae had many dreams when he was younger. That was normal for many people. But to witness it all dissipate before your sight, no sign of light behind his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel your heart clench.

Walking over, you crouched down next to him. He gave you a forced smile.

“Kind of sad,” He remarked with a disappointed sigh. “I bought it only for me to fail to take care of it.”

“You can always buy another one.”

“Mhm,” He hummed dully. “Sure.”

You watched him wordlessly, observing the way his gaze fell when one of the leaves broke off. Shaking your head, you suddenly stood up.

“Let’s go out.”

He looked up at you in surprise. “What?”

“I’ll be your tour guide of the town,” You joked. “I know everything.”

Standing up with you, he stole a glance at his phone. “I can’t.”

“Why?” You pouted.

“I’m waiting for my result from the interview.”

You sighed and took his wrist in yours, pulling him to the door. “You need to get your mind off that for a second.”

“But–”

“Please?” You looked up at him, even batting your eyelashes. “Just for a moment?” You also exaggerated a pout.

He blinked in shock, his eyes trailing over your expression. “What are you doing?”

“Making you feel bad. Is it working?” You held back a grin.

He huffed out a laugh. “Definitely. Fine, just for a moment.”

You grinned and you were already pulling on your shoes and bounding out the door, leaving Hyunjae to smile to himself.

“This is a convenience store.” You pointed at it with a bright smile.

He rolled his eyes. “I know what a convenience store is.”

You laughed and led him to the next block before abruptly stopping. “This is the karaoke bar,” You said, pointing at the nearby building.

“Fun,” He muttered.

“We should go one day.” You smiled. “Actually no.” You scowled. “I got drunk there once and I think they banned me because I was dancing on the tables.”

Hyunjae turned to you in slight shock. “You? Drunk?”

“What?” You widened your eyes in surprise. “What is it?”

“I just… you always said that you hated the taste of alcohol,” He replied in wonder.

“Times change.” You grinned, nudging his shoulder. He gave you a small smile back.

Then, you led him to your favorite spot. The central park in the middle of town. It was a beautiful day out, the sky bright and blue. You loved to sit at one of the benches, watching birds fly by or kids play happily on the playground.

“Wait here.” You patted the seat. And then you were running off, nowhere to be seen. Hyunjae simply sat there, observing the calm atmosphere. When you came back, you were holding a stick of cotton candy in your hand. It was large, almost covering your whole face. Hyunjae chuckled, taking it from you so you wouldn’t trip on the ground.

“Aren’t we too old for this?” He questioned.

You shook your head. “I still love it.”

He took a bite and turned to look at you with furrowed eyebrows. “It’s so sweet.”

“That’s why it’s good!” You stared at him like he was the craziest man alive.

“It’s because you’ve always had a sweet tooth.” He frowned, gently placing it back in your hands.

“Fine,” You scoffed. “If that’s how you treat your best friend.” And you were taking a bite on the opposite side. When you pulled it away from your face, you were startled by a loud laugh. From Hyunjae, specifically. Turning to him with wide eyes, you could even see him smiling.

It was not like the other smiles that you’ve seen so far. Those ones were small, lacking much of any emotion. But this one was wide, full with amusement and happiness.

“Wha– oh,” You huffed, realizing that there was cotton candy on your nose. Hyunjae laughed even louder and suddenly he was leaning in to gently wipe it off with his finger.

“Cutie,” He whispered fondly, his other hand gently cupping the side of your face.

Your heart stuttered at the word. “Wh-what?”

He gulped, pulling away like he was burned. “Oh, I…”

You quickly recovered, instead scooching even closer to him so that your shoulders were touching. “You think I’m cute? Even when I’m all grown up?”

“Always.”

“I missed your smile,” You stated as the two of you were walking back to the apartment complex.

You had expected him to point out that he had smiled other times before. But instead, he gazed at you with soft eyes.

“I did too. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so happy,” He said. “All thanks to you.”

“Of course!” You beamed, looping an arm with his before pulling him closer. “You can always count on me.”

He didn’t respond this time. But his expression said it all. Thank you, thank you, thank you, was all you could see in his dark brown eyes. Smiling, you bumped your body playfully against his.

“Are you busy tomorrow?” You asked.

Again, you found yourself in his apartment the next day. Apparently, he had just gotten back from running and he needed to take a shower. So, you were looking through his boxes full of clothes. You sorted through them, folding them until you came across a hoodie. You didn’t recognize it, but the fabric of it was so… soft and warm. Your hands held onto it, contemplating what it would feel like if you just–

The door to the bathroom creaked open. You gasped and shoved it behind you, greatly hoping that he didn’t notice you staring at it longingly. But alas, you just had to have slow reflexes at this moment.

“Do you like it?” He asked. “Put it on.”

You laughed awkwardly, turning to face him, only for your protests to come stuttering to a stop. Your eyes trailed down from his damp hair to his… whole torso. His bare torso. He was shirtless. Right out of the shower, water droplets sitting prettily on his collarbones, traveling all the way down to his chest and his– he definitely works out.

“Oh,” You breathed out, your cheeks flushing red as you frantically looked away. This was not how you expected to reunite with your best friend after so long.

“Sorry,” He replied, his voice low. “My shirt’s in there.”

You nodded, refusing to look up. It was quiet for a moment, too quiet that you contemplated just shoving his clothes into his hands while dutifully avoiding the sight of his bare chest.

But then he was right beside you and he smelled so, so good as he leaned over you, his hand gently grasping your waist. To take a shirt. Very unnecessary but it still left you inhaling sharply. Feeling yourself go dizzy as you stood there, eyes trained on the ground, and every single muscle in all of human anatomy completely rigid until you were sure he was properly dressed.

Taking a peek, you were met with his teasing smile.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” You mustered.

“You were staring weren’t you?” He leaned even closer, his eyes searching yours with amusement. His hand gently lifted your chin up, making you swallow thickly at the way he was gazing at you with a small smirk.

“I wasn’t,” You whispered shakily.

“Hm,” He hummed. “You look a little flushed though.”

“It was nothing,” You shoved him away, feeling like your face was on fire. “You shouldn’t just walk around like that. It’s…”

“Mhm.” He only continued to smile wider. “Whatever you say.”

You groaned, abruptly turning away to hide your reddening cheeks. But then your eyes landed back on that same hoodie.

“I know that look on your face,” He teased, picking it up. “You like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay,” He simply replied, shrugging and turning around. You were just about to question his suspiciously short response when out of nowhere, he whipped back around and pulled the hoodie over you. Immediately, you were encompassed in warmth and– did he always smell this good? And why was he staring at you so softly with that stupid fond smile and why was your heart beating a mile a minute and–

“Hyunjae,” You groaned. “What was that for?”

But he stayed silent, simply examining you wearing his clothes. You tilted your head.

“Do I look good?”

His breath hitched and now it was him with reddening cheeks as he backed away. You stifled a laugh as you stepped forward, cornering him against the edge of the kitchen counter.

“And I know that look on your face,” You teased back. “You like it.”

His eyes fluttered, almost like he was fighting the urge to look over your body once again. He inhaled deeply and then he straightened, leaning over you this time. With a subtle smile, he whispered something that left shivers down your spine.

“I love it.”

Oh my god. You treaded backwards, suddenly feeling conscious of everything. His eyes on you–all over you–the way the shirt clung to his body, the rushing thought of the fact that you saw him without it on just a few minutes ago–everything came over you like a bucket of ice water.

“I–” With wide eyes, he only continued to approach you, the scent of his shampoo overcoming you quickly. You couldn’t come up with a comeback anymore. At first, you thought that this was just friendly banter, the type that you guys would do in the school cafeteria. But this–this was something different. With the way he was looking at you with darkening eyes, you weren’t quite sure this was that “friendly banter” thing anymore.

“Shut up,” You blurted out as you pulled the hoodie off you and thrust it into his chest.

“Why?” He grinned. “I like this game.”

You raised your eyebrows. “What game is this exactly?”

“The game of making the other person flustered.”

You stood there for a moment, thinking. You couldn’t quite come up with a verbal comeback. So you could instead…

Taking a step forward, you hooked a hand around the back of his neck, letting your touch linger there for a moment. A stuttering breath was caught thickly in his throat as he looked down at you in bafflement.

And then you let your fingertips trail around, down his neck, across his collarbone, slightly pulling down the hem of his shirt and stopping just at his chest where you could feel his heart thump erratically.

Your trace on his skin left sparks flying in your heart and when you had looked up, you knew that Hyunjae was experiencing the same thing.

He was looking down at you, completely speechless and his eyes round in shock. You smiled in triumph, leaning close to one of his reddening ears.

“Then I win.”

And you were heading for the door. But just as you turned around, you could see Hyunjae who was still leaning against the counter, cheeks now red as he stared down at the ground. You giggled, closing the door behind you.

The next time you saw Hyunjae, unsurprisingly, he looked exhausted again. In fact, he didn’t even recognize you at first with how he was gazing off into space rather than unlocking his own door.

“Come over tonight,” You offered.

He raised an eyebrow. “To do what?”

You choked. “Not that. Movie night!” You winked, patting his shoulder before leaving for the grocery store. You made sure to mentally add popcorn to your list.

And so, when it was pitch dark at night, you had opened your door to Hyunjae, fidgeting nervously at the entrance. You laughed, grabbing his wrist and pulling him in.

“Don’t be nervous.” You grinned. “It’s just me.”

As you set up the movie, you couldn’t help but notice Hyunjae looking around your apartment. He seemed to be taking in all of your decorations, and the fact that you had more than one cup and plate. You smiled.

“We can go shopping if you want,” You spoke up. “For your apartment.”

He glanced at you in shock. But he eventually nodded with a small smile, that same one you noticed that he often forced when he was tired and down.

Now sitting on the couch, side-by-side but never quite touching, the two of you watched a movie. It was a comfortable silence and whenever you would glance at Hyunjae, he would notice and turn his attention back to you. And every time you would make eye contact, you made sure to give him a bright smile, one that showed him that “I’m always here for you.”

"Staring?" He teased.

"In fact I am," You replied. "Forget the movie, you're the award-winning feature."

He laughed again. The same bright one at the park.

"I didn't take you to be such a flirter," He remarked.

"I'm not," You refuted. "You really are amazing."

He gave you a smile that wasn't so convincing. "If you say so."

Near the resolution of the film, you found yourself scooching over to him, letting your shoulders touch. But that wasn’t exactly enough, so you lifted his arm so that you could rest your head on his chest, his body warmth easily spreading to yours.

“What are you doing?” He muttered.

For a second, you thought he might actually be annoyed. But, when you looked up, you could see his softening eyes and the slight blush on his cheeks. You huffed in amusement and you only persisted, snuggling close to his chest. Eventually, he gave up on the whole tough act and he let his arm wrap around you, rubbing your arm in up-and-down motions.

You didn’t notice that you had fallen asleep.

Though you did briefly remember two… moments. One of them was him cautiously bringing you to your bed. The other being a warm hand softly caressing your cheek.

You woke up alone. Good! Who else did you expect? Rubbing your eyes, there was a constant sound ringing in your ears. The doorbell, you groaned. Stumbling to the door, you were hoping maybe… Hyunjae? But instead, it was your landlord. You furrowed your eyebrows in concern.

She sighed, shaking her head.

“Bad news.”

When it was Hyunjae this time who had invited you over, you were pleasantly surprised. Opening the door, you could see him sitting at the table, staring intently at his computer.

Tilting your head, you were about to ask what he was looking at. But then he suddenly jumped up, the chair almost falling over. There was a bright smile on his face as he rushed over to you.

“Hyunjae?” You looked at him in confusion.

“I got the job,” He exclaimed. “I got it.”

“You did?” You gasped. “That’s so– that’s amazing! Congratul–” You inhaled sharply when you felt two hands grasp onto your waist. And suddenly, your whole world shifted once you realized that he was literally picking you up and twirling you around. You laughed shyly as you allowed him to, watching fondly at the way he smiled so, so freely.

Once he had slowed down, there was an impending thought in the back of your mind that appeared from all of the adrenaline. He could put you down and you could lean in and maybe… maybe– press your lips to his as an extra cheer. Mentally slapping yourself, you felt your cheeks grow hot. Again, what were you thinking?

His hands were still on your waist, the both of you out of breath. You smiled, giggling softly. He smiled back, his eyes bright and sparkling.

“I’m proud of you,” You finally said.

“It’s all thanks to you,” He replied.

“Hm, well,” You huffed. “Guess who lost their apartment.”

He gaped at you. “What?”

“Not permanently,” You groaned. “But there’s been a technical problem that has to be investigated and fixed. So I can’t stay there for the meantime.”

He looked at you, deep in thought. And then his hands tightened on your waist. “Then stay here with me.”

Now it was your turn to gawk at him. “What?”

“Please.” He smiled. “I owe you.”

You blushed. “I didn’t do much.”

“You did.” He walked forward, nearly caging you against the wall. “Everything. You’ve helped me get this job.” Another step forward. “I’m indebted to you.”

“H-hyunjae,” You stuttered, trying your best to avoid stealing a glance at his lips.

“Just temporarily.”

You made a mental pro and con list. Pros–He was your childhood best friend meaning that he knew you best. Cons–what if things changed? What if you… fell? And you didn’t mean physically.

With a hesitant sigh in defeat, you responded quietly.

“Temporarily.”

When you and Hyunjae had art class together, you learned a little bit more about him. He was always the one who enjoyed the sketching, the outlining with the black pen, and shading in grey. You, on the other hand, were the one who would color in between those lines with vibrant colors, brightening the picture into something truly complete.

That was how you complimented each other. People often painted him out to be cold and blunt, but you always saw past that. It was always you who thought that he was the sweetest person you’ve ever met–the one who took care of you when you were sick and who pulled you away from passing cars.

Just like one of those art projects, you began to liven up his apartment with your own things. Of course, you didn’t bring everything, but the simple pieces of your toothbrush next to his and your coat hung up on the rack, were enough to make the puzzle feel just complete.

Soon enough, the evening came which brought the dilemma of where you would sleep.

“The couch,” Hyunjae spoke up, walking out of the bathroom again, with damp hair. But at least he was fully clothed this time. Still, that vision was practically ingrained into your mind.

“You’re right.” You nodded in agreement. “I’ll–”

“Not you,” He huffed. “Me.”

“Oh,” You breathed out. Abruptly you stood up in defiance. “No!” You blurted out. “That’s rude.”

He looked at you entirely unimpressed. “I’m being a good host. A gentleman.”

“Exactly.” You scowled. “You’re going to make me feel like I’m intruding. And look who invited me in the first place?”

He sighed, glancing at the bedroom door. “There’s only one bed.”

“Then we’ll share,” You replied, completely sure of yourself. Hyunjae didn’t respond so you lifted your chin high and walked past him and into the bedroom as odd as it may sound. However, in the corner of your eye, you could see that his ears were slightly red.

You may have underestimated the sheer awkwardness. Just a bit. Maybe a lot.

The two of you stood on either side of the bed, facing each other, contemplating the fact that this would be the first time you would be sleeping together. Actually, it wasn’t really awkward per se. It was more… hilarious. You pursed your lips, trying to stifle your laughter, while Hyunjae’s cheeks were puffed out in embarrassment.

Again, as the bolder one, you climbed under the sheets first. Still, Hyunjae was just standing, hesitating. You squinted up at him through the darkness.

Even under the dim lighting, you could see that his cheeks were incredibly flushed.

“I think I’ll just go back to the–” He couldn’t even finish his sentence because you were grabbing onto his hand and pulling him down into bed. He didn’t really protest though as you could sense him slowly melting into the warmth of it.

The lamp was off now and you were both succumbed to darkness. It was silent, only the sound of Hyunjae’s calm breathing. You weren’t exactly tired right now. You knew that it would take you a while to fall asleep. But that was fine! You would just wait until he fell asleep first.

Except, when you turned on your side to face him, you could see him staring back, big, round doe eyes on you. So, scratch that. And now you were cold which you weren’t used to. Your apartment was usually the perfect temperature, but this one left you shivering all over.

Unconsciously, you began to shift closer to his body. He’s always been the warm one. That used to be your strategy to not freeze to death when the two of you would walk down the winter festival together.

Suddenly though, you felt an arm across your waist and steady breathing on the side of your neck.

“Hm?” You hummed in confusion, wondering if the chest against your shoulder was just a hallucination.

But then he replied in a quiet, lower voice.

“Is this okay?” He whispered.

Oh, this was more than okay. You were familiar with his embrace. But to feel it just moments before you fell asleep brought a sudden bout of tranquility.

“Perfect.” You smiled to yourself, curling up to his body in which he held you closer in response. It was warm, comforting, just perfect. It didn’t take you a while to fall asleep anymore.

When you awoke, you were slightly—no, very confused about why it was still dark out. You were pretty sure the room should be bright with natural light from the sun. Or maybe you’ve just gone crazy. But that was when you glanced at the time. It was still the middle of the night.

When you turned to your side, that was also when you realized that it was Hyunjae who had woken you up. Unknowingly at that. His arm was still around your waist but this time, his hold was almost painfully tight. If you looked closely, you could see that his eyes were screwed shut, his eyebrows twitching with small stuttering breaths escaping him.

But, you’ve always heard the saying that you weren’t supposed to wake someone up from a nightmare. So you hesitated, keeping your hands close to yourself, worriedly watching. At some point, he jolted awake by himself.

Now, his breathing was even faster and he had shot up, looking around frantically. Blinking your eyes sleepily, you turned on the nearby light and sat up with him.

“Hyunjae?” You whispered, looking him over in concern.

He turned to you in a growing distraught state and he widened his eyes. “Are you–”

“It’s just me,” You muttered. “Bad dream?”

Hyunjae froze for a moment but he slowly nodded. And usually, it was you who initiated the hugs. But this time, he was the one who lunged forward, holding you close to his chest. His hands grasped onto you tightly as he buried his nose into your neck.

With the way he was holding you so tightly, so… desperately, you wondered if this had happened before. But still, you allowed him to just hold you close, your own arms coming around to gently pat his back.

You didn’t know when, but he eventually pulled away. He refused to look you in the eye and so you brought a gentle hand to the side of his face, coaxing him to face you.

“How long has this been going on for?” You frowned.

He shut his eyes. “A while.”

Your heart clenched at his quiet response. For the past few days, you had thought he was feeling better, less exhausted. But behind the bedroom door, it must be different.

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know…” He trailed off.

“You don’t have to tell me–”

“...what they’re about.”

“Oh,” You breathed. “The nightmares?”

He nodded with tired eyes. “But while I was gone–away from you–people I’ve loved, everything I’ve cherished seemed to disappear before my eyes. It wasn’t just work it was… a lot.” His voice was quiet, hard to hear but it was loud enough that you could hear each and every heart-twisting emotion.

You stayed silent, your hand finding his to stroke the back of it soothingly.

“I felt hopeless.” He frowned. “I guess those nightmares felt like I was reliving that all over again.”

He didn’t say anything after that. You watched him cautiously, wondering what exactly to do. But then you felt his hand tighten on yours slightly and that was your cue to shift even closer.

He glanced at you with an ashamed expression that only made the pit in your stomach drop even more. Slowly, slow enough so that he could back away if he wanted to, you wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close against you. Almost instantly, he was breathing out a low sigh of relief as he nuzzled even further into your embrace.

“You’re not alone anymore,” You whispered. “And… thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

He didn’t say anything, but when he held you back, it was a perfect answer. The two of you stayed like that, in the dead of night, just holding each other until you began to feel drowsy from his warmth. It wasn’t the first time that you’ve done so. The only difference was that it was always you who needed that extra piece of comfort. It was never Hyunjae. Seeing him open up was different but something that you were most grateful for.

“I never replied to you the day we met in the hallway,” He spoke, interrupting your thoughts.

You pondered for a moment, recalling the memory. “When I said that I missed you?”

He nodded. “I didn’t reply because I was afraid you would still be mad at me for leaving you so abruptly.”

You smiled softly and shook your head, your hand coming up to the back of his head to stroke his hair soothingly. His eyes widened slightly in shock but he quickly melted into your touch. “I was angry at first.”

He laughed quietly, though his voice was watery with unfallen tears.

“But now I’m not,” You whispered. “I promise. I’m just happy to see you again.”

He pulled away to look up at you, searching your face to make sure that you were telling the truth. When you only gazed back with utmost sincerity, he let a small smile tug on his lips.

“I missed you,” He had finally replied, answering your statement from before. “More than you know. It was hard without you.”

Your gaze softened once you noticed the sparkle of a few tears in his eyes and when he blinked, your sleeve was immediately coming up to pat his cheek, drying the ones that had broken free.

“I missed you too,” You responded and gently, you were pulling him back into bed. And this time, without hesitation, he was hooking both of his arms around you, tightening you into his chest.

“...so much,” He muttered sleepily. “I missed you so much.”

“You have me now.”

“Always.” And you felt his hand grasp yours, guiding it to where his heart was, thumping in a soothing rhythm. “In here.”

You were the first one to wake up. It seemed that Hyunjae’s nightmare and tears had left him too exhausted to even notice you unwrapping yourself from his protective embrace. And so, you took it as your duty to cook something decent for him to wake up to.

Except maybe Hyunjae did notice because he opened the door shortly after. You probably should have placed a pillow in his arms before you left. He walked out and you had to stop yourself from cooing because that would be a little bit… weird. But you couldn’t help it because the sight of his hair tousled and messy, his eyes barely opened and puffy from the tears, and his lips pouted adorably, left you smiling with endearment.

“Morning sleepyhead.” You grinned, turning the stove on.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he shuffled over to where you were standing behind the kitchen counter.

You tilted your head in amusement, wondering how he managed to navigate with his eyes barely open. “Are you feeling better?”

Again, still no response. You watched as he circled the counter, positioning himself behind you. And then you gasped quietly once you registered the strong arms that enveloped your waist, pulling you into a warm hug, your back now pressed up against his chest. You could even feel his nose nuzzling into the back of your neck, breathing deeply.

You simply just froze, unable to do anything. Once you realized he wasn’t going to move anytime soon, you turned the stove off and simply allowed him to hug you to his heart’s content. He let out a sleepy hum. Or was it a whine?

“You’re clingy in the morning,” You mused.

“Mhm.” Even his morning voice was cute.

And when you said sleepy, you meant it. Literally–you were pretty sure he fell asleep while back-hugging you in the middle of the kitchen. You practically had to hold on to the counter to brace his weight and when you stole a glance over your shoulder, you had to stifle a laugh. His cheek was smushed into your shoulder and his eyes shut in content.

“O–kay,” You heaved, forcing your body to turn around. And still, he would have almost collapsed into you if you hadn’t planted your hands on his shoulders to hold him up. His head lolled to the side as he peeked an eye open to look at you drowsily.

You chuckled and your hand came up to his hair to ruffle it. Immediately, he was leaning into your touch and when your hand traveled down to cup his cheek, he was nuzzling into it like a puppy.

“I missed you,” He slurred, his voice huskier than usual.

“Mm, you said that already,” You hummed teasingly, a smile threatening to spread across your lips. “Hyunjae.”

“Hm?” He smiled lazily.

“You’re acting drunk and it’s like–” You glanced at the clock. “Seven in the morning.”

“And what about it? I missed you,” He grumbled, an adorable frown on his lips.

“Ah,” You sighed, shaking your head. “Go splash water on your face, you dummy. Then you’ll wake up properly.”

He still didn’t budge. And so, using every single ounce of your strength, you had to carry him all the way to the bathroom as he was still clinging onto you like a koala.

After a few minutes, with the sound of the bathroom sink splashing in the background, you finally managed to start cooking something. But then the door clicked open and you looked up. Hyunjae, his eyes finally open, was blushing so hard that you couldn’t even conceal your laugh anymore.

“Missed me?” You remarked.

He winced in response, his cheeks continuing to flame red.

“I don’t know what got into me,” He muttered, refusing to look you in the eye.

You beckoned him over and he finally looked up at you shyly.

“It was cute,” You teased. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“And what else?” He quickly recovered.

Your breath hitched. Ah, you thought. There he was. The usual Hyunjae when he was fully awake. The one who loved to tease you until you were blushing and hiding your face.

“Don’t do this again,” You groaned.

“Do what?”

“That.”

“You’ll have to elaborate on that, sweetheart.”

You raised an eyebrow at the nickname, completely unfazed. But when your eyes traveled down, that was when you realized just how close he was. He continued to lean forward until he was caging you against the counter, both of his hands on either side of you. It wasn’t the flirting that got you, it was his body encompassing you so, so effortlessly, making you feel smaller than you really were.

He chuckled. “Cat got your tongue?”

Oh, this is definitely how best friends act. You were one hundred percent sure about that.

He smirked, tilting his chin down, as his hand traveled from the edge of the counter down to your hip.

Fifty percent.

His eyes wandering elsewhere–somewhere along the lines of your lips.

One percent.

“The breakfast is going to burn,” You stuttered.

He simply licked his lips, his gaze fixated on yours.

“I can always try something else.”

You were screwed.

The first day of Hyunjae’s new job was the very last day of your brief vacation from work. With a sigh, you scrolled through the shows and movies, only for you to ultimately turn off the TV in boredom. You weren’t going to beat around the bush and refuse to admit that you felt lonely without him. Of course, you saw him in the morning, already dressed in a suit (that fit amazingly on him, dare you add), but it was only for a short moment.

He still had nightmares but they were becoming less and less frequent. Sometimes, when they happened, you would just pull him closer and he would immediately relax with a small sigh, almost like you had the superpower to eliminate his night terrors.

And sleeping together never was awkward again. In fact, you adequately enjoyed it–his arms around you and vice versa. Did best friends regularly cuddle at night and gaze at each other for so long that your heartbeat started to speed up? That… you weren’t quite sure about.

Yawning, you found yourself lying down, spreading across the couch. You didn’t even do much today yet your eyes still threatened to shut close.

At some point, you blinked your eyelids open once you heard the door unlocking. Sitting up, you smiled softly at the sight of Hyunjae opening the door. His tie was already loose and his hair was blown up from the wind. Squinting your eyes, you then noticed that he was practically stumbling into the entrance, almost like all of his coordination had dissipated.

His eyes were droopy and his lips pouted from what you would guess to be exhaustion. Everyone’s first day of work was like that. You watched as he set down his work bag and walked over to you, very… very slowly.

“How was work?” You questioned, looking up at him.

And just like last time, he didn’t respond. Silently, he leaned forward and literally–very literally–laid on top of you. His body weight pulled you back down to lie on the couch and his arms were snaking around you as his legs tangled with yours. Speechless, you felt as he nuzzled back into your neck, just like he’s begun to do so often now.

“You look gorgeous today,” He whispered, his voice very oddly slurred.

Your breath hitched. “Are you drunk?”

He looked up at that and you practically choked on air once you realized how close his face was to yours. And then he smiled languidly and shook his head.

“Are you sure?” You searched him for any sign–red cheeks, the scent of the alcoholic drink–yet you couldn’t find any.

“I’m just tired,” He mumbled, planting his face back into the crook of your neck.

“Okay,” You laughed. Gently, your hand came up to his broad back to rub it in circles, the material of the suit rough and honestly quite unsatisfying. But still, you persisted once you felt his tense muscles slowly soften. Slowly though, you came to a stop. “Hyunjae.”

“Hm?” He hummed.

“You need to take a shower,” You huffed. “C’mon.” With all of your power, you pushed him up and off you. Again, his head tilted to the side with a tired smile. You laughed and shoved him until he finally obliged and went off to the bathroom.

Meanwhile, you were left there, contemplating his strange behavior. He never acted this clingy before. Not even for the years that you’ve known him. It was only after that particular night that he started to… do this.

When he was done showering, he stepped out. You had hoped that he would be more awake now, but it seemed he was even drowsier than before–too tired to even dry his own hair. With a click of your tongue, you motioned him over to sit down. Like a puppy, his eyes brightened at the sight of you as he obediently followed.

“You’ll catch a cold,” You ridiculed with a worried frown.

After finding a towel, you stepped in between his legs. Carefully, you began to dry his damp hair, marveling at the way his hair curled up after a shower. You rubbed his scalp, making your way around and behind his ears. When you peeked at his expression, you stifled a laugh at the way he basically fell asleep under your touch.

Once you deemed his hair dry enough, you were about to walk away but instead, he abruptly stood up, swaying slightly. And then he fell forward, pulling you into a warm embrace.

You smiled fondly. “Tired?”

It seems that when Hyunjae was tired, he never answered any of your questions, funnily enough. A lot of his answers were just “I missed you” or a small hum. But this… this answer was different. It was spoken so quietly, so softly yet it perfectly resonated through your ears.

“I love you.”

Before you could even say anything or really do anything, he was reluctantly pulling away and heading to the bedroom. Your lips parted as your eyes fixated on absolutely nothing. Just– space. Your whole body had gone rigid as you simply stood there, processing his words. You couldn’t even blink.

Best friends… say that too, don’t they?

It started to become a pattern for the whole first week of his new job. When he was actually fully awake, he told you that the work was demanding yet he never looked so happy and content. Sometimes, you wondered what his past work was like, but you never prodded.

But, because the work was just so demanding, every single day, from Monday to Friday, he came home exhausted. And any person would expect him to just head straight for bed. But like you said, it was a pattern, a usual thing, that he would cling on to you. Apparently, something had shifted in him. Originally, when you saw him exhausted, he would become closed off. But after… that night, he acted almost intoxicated. Not on a drink. But simply off being tired.

You found it endearing actually. His voice was always quieter and he often stumbled over his words this way. His eyes were dazed and soft on yours and he also became ten times heavier as he liked to lay all of his weight on you when he pulled you into a hug. He constantly just seemed to be in a completely different mindset–one that was very… loving and… yeah– different.

He liked to say things too. Slurred and quiet, but he still very clearly said them. You could never figure out if he meant them or if he was just tired and rambling things for the fun of it.

He said “I misssed you” a lot. Occasionally, he would blurt out that you looked pretty or beautiful. Or, it would be a small “hi” accompanied by a shy smile. Sometimes, if he was too tired to say much, he would just giggle over nothing in particular. But… there was one specific phrase that he would say out of the blue.

“I love you.”

That one always left you perplexed. It could be a… platonic thing to say, right? Where did the word “love” come from? You didn’t think much of it, but you couldn’t help but feel some sort of spark of light in the very depths of your heart.

It was weird, really. An out-of-this-world, alien-like thing for a best friend to say. The words I, love, and you arranged in that particular order were never syllables Hyunjae ever let fall from his lips. He never spent any particular ounce of breath to say them.

Yet now he did.

For some odd reason.

But again, he was just tired. Surely.

And just like before, the pattern started all over again. The week was coming to a close so maybe you wouldn’t hear those words again after this. But you didn’t really mind altogether. With a tired sigh, you walked out of the room, now changed out of your work clothes and into something more comfortable.

Right on cue, the main door was unlocking, and once again, the pattern began to unweave itself. He would walk in, with the occasional misstep and stumble. And like usual, he looked tired. Though, you envied his ability to still look… attractive. And then he would look up, search for a particular someone, and do that stupidly lazy smile–the one where his eyes weren’t focused on anything but you.

“What are you doing here?” He giggled–he giggled now, apparently.

You eyed him, completely apathetic. “You let me stay here temporarily, remember?”

He blinked at you with an adorable pout. And then he nodded. “You’re right.” He smiled. “Aren’t you smart?” He pinched your cheek.

Scowling, you wrestled his hands off. And for the first time this week, you finally decided to question his bizarre behavior.

“Why are you acting like this?” You whined, holding him up by his arms so he wouldn’t fall over you like he had done the day before.

“Because I missed you,” He grumbled, his eyes struggling to stay open. “Now let me–”

“Agh,” You groaned. But still, your hands fell to your sides as you let him wrap his arms around your torso, bringing you close to his chest. Whatever made him happy, was your motive. And totally not, I secretly enjoy this.

It was quiet for a few moments, just the sound of his slow breathing against your earlobe. For a minute, you worried that he had fallen asleep already, but he spoke again.

“Have I mentioned how uncomfortable this suit is?” He mumbled. “It’s very hot and–”

You didn’t even say anything. With a sigh–one that wasn’t particularly annoyed, but more… doting–you stepped away. He stared at you in both drowsiness and slight confusion, but his eyes slowly widened once he realized that you were taking off the jacket for him. Gently, you pulled it off his shoulders and down his arms, your eyebrows slightly furrowed in concentration.

He was quiet, simply watching as your fingers grasped his tie, unloosening it with a sharp pull, causing him to lurch forward, his lips startlingly close to yours.

“Interesting,” He teasingly remarked, but his voice was still slurred.

“Shut up,” You snapped yet there was no malice behind your tone.

Your hands then came up to his collar, unbuttoning the first few buttons to reveal slightly past his collarbones which… you’ve already accidentally witnessed before. With a friendly pat on his shoulder, you deemed him undressed enough. He slowly turned his gaze to you and your breath hitched at the sight– his work attire now loose with his hair slightly messy… ah. Not to mention, his tilted head and sleepy expression that only made things worse.

Clearing your throat, feeling your cheeks burn, you scrambled off somewhere to shove a change of clothes into his hands and left abruptly, your heart thumping. Soon enough–you didn’t know when because you were busy contemplating all of your feelings and the meaning of life–he walked into the bedroom. Undoing the made bed, you motioned him to climb in. Obediently, he followed and you pulled the blankets over him.

“Y/n,” He muttered, grasping your wrist before you could walk away.

“Hm?”

“...love you,” He whispered.

Again, he was just rambling. He was just saying things. He had stumbled over his words and his voice was quiet, so that meant that he didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean any of it. It was all fake–

“I love you,” He repeated—clearer, louder this time without an inch of hesitation. And this time, he was looking straight up at you, his cheeks slightly pink, flushed.

Maybe it was more real than you had thought.

The first week was over, meaning Hyunjae was more situated at work and most importantly, less exhausted. On the first day of his new, non-intoxicated-on-fatigue persona, he had simply greeted you and strolled past. You wouldn’t admit it fully to him but that simple interaction that did better fit what you guys were–best friends–left you feeling empty inside.

But it was fine. It was just a one-week thing.

Until it wasn’t.

The next day, the pattern appeared again, but it wasn’t… like before.

He was fully awake this time yet he still–

“Hyunjae?” You stammered. The arms wrapped around your waist tightened further as he stood behind you, hooking his chin over your shoulder, and breathing out a low sigh. And now that he was newly… conscious, he did more. His hands began to wander over you in soothing shapes and he pressed his chest further against your back.

“Just stay here with me.”

You could see his soft smile in the corner of your eye. With a bothered huff, you glanced back at him, only for you to inhale sharply at how close he actually was and how… nice his cologne smelt. Oh, and his hands were still wandering.

“I thought you only acted like this when you’re tired?”

He shook his head, shifting even closer, his warmth encompassing you comfortingly.

“Do you want to know something about me?”

“I know a lot about you,” You joked.

But he was quiet, a serious silence befalling the two of you. You gulped and whispered a small “what is it?”

You could hear him huff out in amusement, his hands never failing to leave your waist. “While I was away–when I was at my lowest–I thought of someone all those years.”

And for some reason, you knew exactly what the answer was.

But still, your voice tremored. “Who?”

A squeeze on your waist.

“You.”

Shutting your eyes, you breathed out a shaky sigh and looked down to where he was still hugging you from behind. Your heart was thumping and you were sure he could hear you. And even if he could make out the pounding, he never budged once. Not once did he stop tightening his arms around you and not once did he cease to bury his nose somewhere into your skin, leaving shivers down your spine.

With your heartbeat practically reaching your ears, you nudged him and turned around so that now, you were facing him. Without his dazed, sleepy look, it was just his soft eyes and the slightest tug of his lips, an endeared smile. Without his exhaustion that often left him sluggish, it was just his firm, stronger arms that held you so easily.

“Hyunjae,” You whispered.

“Sweetheart,” He replied, his voice gentle and content. And before, you wouldn’t have paid a single ounce of attention to that nickname because it just seemed like how best friends would fool around. But now… things were different and you weren’t sure how exactly. And so the name sweetheart now left your cheeks flushing.

You swallowed thickly, your breath shortening. “Do you know how much you confuse me?”

His smile only grew. “Elaborate on that.” A pause. “Sweetheart.”

You sighed, biting your lip with mortification. “That. The nickname.”

“Sweetheart? You never said you didn’t like it, I can stop if you want—“

“Don’t!” You rushed to say. You blushed more once you realized he was teasing you again, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Not just the nickname. Everything.”

“Like what?” He stepped closer if that was even possible.

You gazed up at him and you were sure you looked frustrated right now, judging by his fond smile. He always said you looked cute when mad.

“You say that you miss me all the time.”

“Because I do.” He dipped his head lower to look at you with those foolish, puppy-like eyes. “I think of you whenever I’m at work.”

“But,” You exhaled shakily. “Do you realize that you say something else?”

You were sure he wasn’t aware. He didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind whenever he was exhausted. So maybe, he would just stare at you in utter confusion, deny it, and this whole… feeling fiasco would be done and dealt with. But then—

“That I love you?”

Your lips parted in surprise and you peered up at him, wondering if he was just taking a wild guess. But no, the soft, genuine look on his face said it all.

“You… knew?” You stuttered.

“Of course I did,” He chuckled softly. “And I meant every single one.”

Eyebrows furrowing, you stepped backward from shock. As you avoided his eyes, you missed the nervousness and the unsureness that flitted across his face. But, just that one step away left chills down your body–as if being away from Hyunjae and his embrace wasn’t even natural anymore.

And so you stepped forward again. Immediately, you could hear a low sigh of relief escape Hyunjae’s lips and feel his hands snake back around your waist protectively. You weren’t sure what expression was on his face though, as you were very adamant on staring directly at his tie–his chest. You knew that he could still see your reddening cheeks, but you still preferred not to look him in the eye.

“That,” He said quietly. “You’re also quite confusing too.”

“Wh-what?”

“Stepping away and stepping back,” He spoke softly. “Looking me in the eye but refusing to when I say that I love you.” One of his hands left your waist to gently guide your chin up. “So look at me now.”

“I…” You trailed off, feeling yourself go weak just from his soft, loving gaze.

“And one more thing.” He tilted his head teasingly.

A pause. A great moment of silence.

“You don’t say it but you show it.”

“Hyunjae,” You breathed out, your heart beating like a loud, intense drum.

“I wasn’t completely unaware.” He smirked. His hand had already left your chin and found its place back to your waist, yet you found yourself staring straight into his dark eyes, stuck in a trance. “I know that you dried my hair with a towel–that you even undressed me. I know that you took care of me.”

You did do that all on your own accord, simply because you thought that you were being a perfectly good friend. But now that you thought about it–you didn’t have to. You could have easily pushed him off, and told him to do everything on his own but you didn’t. And it was all because you–

“So tell me then,” He whispered, his voice quiet–only for you to hear, almost like he wanted you all to himself. “What are we?”

You held your breath, your cheeks growing hot. Your hands rested on his chest and you could feel his heart pound, exactly like yours. He felt the same, you realized. With a shaky sigh, you gazed up at him.

“What do you want us to be?”

He hummed, a soft smile on his lips. “What do I want?”

He slightly reworded your question and you wondered why. But you nodded, your eyes studying his features. His handsome features. They were sharp when you had met him in that hallway. But his keen eyes, the angle of his eyebrows, his perpetual frown–they were just soft, soft on you. No longer was there a frown, but just an affectionate smile.

“What do you want?” You repeated his question, your voice hushed to a whisper.

He leaned in, his gaze warm and gentle, his eyes wandering over each and every detail of your face.

“I want to love you.”

You had expected to inhale sharply, gasp maybe–but no. Because everything made sense to you now. His kind words, his soft and fleeting touches across your body, it all pointed to one thing. And so, instead, you smiled shyly.

“Then love me.”

And just like that, his grip on your hips tightened and he turned you around so that your back was facing the door. He was walking you backward until you felt the hard surface against your shoulder blades and he was leaning down, close enough that if he inched further, he would be kissing you. But he didn’t–not yet.

“May I?” He muttered, looking over you with slight concern.

You nodded, embarrassingly with a bit too eagerness. He laughed softly and then he was fitting his lips against yours as your eyes fluttered closed. The press of it was gentle and tender as he tilted your chin up and angled himself so that it was more comfortable. The kiss was unlike any that you’ve experienced before. It was like the tension that had built up before had completely broken down, as you allowed yourself to just fall.

Fall, physically, almost because you felt your knees go weak, with only the door behind you to hold you up. But his hand traveled back down to your waist, hooking you in against his body, keeping you steady as he muffled a groan against your lips. You couldn’t hear anything but his breathing and the thumping of your own heart.

All you could think of was him–how he could so easily change from rough to soft, how he could push forward so quickly but pull away so easily to allow you a gasp of breath, and how he could make your heart pound yet lull it into a steady rhythm of love. He kissed like he could devour you, but if you decided to peek an eye open, you would see his adorably furrowed eyebrows and his flushed cheeks, showing that he wasn’t anything like that.

He was just a man who needed a bit of a sweetener in his life.

With a quiet noise, he pulled away. Immediately, his eyes searched over your features, making sure that you were okay and that he didn’t do too much. But, when you gave him a smile, your eyes flitting nervously, he grinned and leaned in to grant you another soft kiss.

“How long?” You laughed shyly.

“I came to the realization when you tried to cheer me up whenever I was tired. But I think I’ve already felt this way for a while.” He replied. He pinched your cheek again. “All those dates and extra care that you gave me…very cute thing to do.”

Your eyes went wide. “You… noticed?”

“I notice a lot of things, sweetheart,” He teased. “Like how you’re grabbing onto my suit to pull me into a kiss right now.”

“O-oh,” You stammered, letting go of his crumpled collar. “I didn’t realize I–”

He shook his head and before you could finish your sentence, he was cupping your cheek–something that he’s never done before–and guiding you back to his lips. And this time, his tongue swiped against your lip, making you gasp quietly.

“You taste like candy.” His gaze fixated on your lips.

“I didn’t know you could…” You had to stop for a second to catch your breath. And it wasn’t just because of his exceptional kissing, but it was the beat of your heart, of all of your love. “...you could kiss like that.”

“What can I say?” He tilted his head with a teasing look. “I guess I have a sweet tooth.”

“Trust me on this,” Younghoon whined. “I followed the instructions to the very dot. They’ll taste good. Promise.”

You eyed him skeptically but still, you picked up one of the cookies that he had baked. They looked a little… off, but it should be fine. Taking a bite, you took note of the odd texture, and then the taste started to register on your tongue.

You coughed. You choked. And then you threw the cookie back on the plate.

“Bitter,” You gagged. “It’s so bitter.”

“What?” He cried. “Are you kidding me–”

Your eyes lit up once you remembered your boyfriend who was sitting next to you on the couch. He was busy on his computer, doing some sort of work report but you ignored that, turning to him and grasping his collar tightly. You pulled him in, pressing your lips to his, causing him to let out a small “mmph” in surprise.

But almost instantly, he turned into jelly from your touch, a smile growing on his lips as his eyes fluttered close. He had tried to deepen it desperately but you pulled away shortly after, leaving him to chase after your lips adorably.

Younghoon gawked. “I’m right here.”

“So?” You shrugged, smiling innocently. “At least he tastes sweet.”

“Oh my god,” Younghoon mumbled, getting up to throw the cookies into the garbage can.

Meanwhile, Hyunjae was staring at you in a daze, his cheeks flushed. But, he quickly recovered and he was quick to pounce on you, pressing kisses all over you once Younghoon had left.

“A warning next time would be great.”

He was now hovering over you on the couch, caging you under his arms and his computer long forgotten. The position left you flushing but it was also the perfect one to knee him in the stomach.

He winced in pain. "What was that for?"

"A warning, you said," You mocked. "When literally yesterday you kissed me up against a wall in your own workplace."

"That's an exception." He smirked. "You liked it, didn't you?"

"I..." You blushed, remembering the way he had kissed you so fervently, dressed in that suit and tie, the thrill of getting caught still running through your veins. "It was alright."

"Sure, sweetheart," He whispered in a teasing tone. He looked annoying handsome like this, with that amused smile that contrasted his soft, loving gaze. "Then I'll make sure you like this one."

Oh, how you despised him.

And then his lips were on yours again, swallowing up any shy noises that threatened to escape you. But just before he did, he had whispered three quiet words against your lips.

"I love you."

And how you loved him too.

#deoboyznet #yumi 💞 hyunjae #the boyz imagines #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff #tbz imagines #the boyz reactions #the boyz x reader #tbz x reader #the boyz scenarios #hyunjae fluff #hyunjae x reader #requests 💞#fics 💞

322 notes · View notes

levans44 · 7 months

Text

Apartment #3 - Chapter 4

pairing: steve rogers x undercover!reader

warnings: 18+ SMUT*, Neighbors to Friends to Lovers, lots of angst, heavy mutual pining, hurt/comfort, eventual smut/romance/fluff

summary: as an undercover agent at SHIELD, her newest assignment involves moving in across the hall from her target. she's strictly ordered to keep her distance—no personal contact besides the absolutely necessary. the only issue? her new target neighbor turns out to be Captain America.

excerpt:

Jessica Grace Parker December 4th, 1989 569 Leaman Place Apt. #3, Brooklyn, NY 11201 Registered Nurse NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital

It’s the undercover alias she’s been assigned as a member of SHIELD’s Special Operations unit. The mission objective was rather simple—monitor the target and report updates as necessary.

She’s gone undercover more than a dozen times, so it’s not the details of the assignment or the temporary relocation she’s concerned about.

It’s just that her target was well… more unusual than most.

author's note: an idea that's been living in my head ever since steve asked sharon for that cup of coffee in their apartment hallway. as a SHIELD agent, the reader's real name has been [REDACTED] to preserve anonymity.

masterlist

taglist: @tsofo26 @yvonneeeee @cass0419 @nekoannie-chan

Living as Captain America’s neighbor teaches her a thing or two about his routine.

He’s out the door by half past five each morning, the muffled jingling of his keys from across the hall a daily reminder that while he’s up for a jog at the crack of dawn, she's still in the comfort of her bed, eyes-half closed while she scrolls mindlessly on her phone.

He returns by 7 am, right around the time she’s leaving her apartment in fake hospital scrubs, heading to take the train to Manhattan. She’s run into him in the hallway about a handful of times, and he’d always greeted her with a friendly wave and a peppy grin, stepping aside to let her through. Each time, she'd manage a quick wave, trying not to stare at the tousled ends of his hair, or his arms through that ridiculously tight underarmour shirt.

He’s busy for most of the day, as is she, but on weekends and occasional days off she’d see him around the building, checking the mail, taking out the trash—just simple, normal, neighborly things. All so incredibly mundane that she almost starts to forget that he’s America’s most beloved hero.

Almost.

Sometimes, she’s reminded of the painful truth. That to Steve, she’s just… Jess, the nurse in unit 3.

It’s the end of yet another work day, and she’s barely managed to clamber up the last few stairs to her floor before exploding into a bout of loud sneezes.

“Ugh… fuck me.” She groans, blowing her nose into the tissue in her head as she trudges over to her door, feeling her head pound with each painful step.

“Hey, Jess.”

From down the hall, Steve waves, locking up his door behind him.

A pair of dark aviators hang from the collar of his shirt, the brown leather jacket hanging off his arm a faded shade of sepia.

And maybe its her oxygen-depleted brain, or the fact that she’s always been so paranoid about getting others sick, that she completely forgets about Steve’s super-immune system. As he starts to make his way over, she jumps back, holding both hands out in warning.

“No, stay back!”

At the confused furrow in his soft brows, she winces, giving him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, just…” She holds up the crumpled tissue in her palm, pointing to the strawberry pink tip of her nose. “…getting over a small cold.”

Well, it was a little more than that, actually.

A dinner invite over at Phil and Melinda’s, both good friends from work. Their two young children, ages 5 and 8, had immediately welcomed her with their own musical rendition of Frozen. And it was all fun and games, hanging out with those mini-agents, until they got their tiny, grubby hands all over the dinner plates while setting the table.

Turns out there’s been a flu outbreak at their school.

Now, she’s stuck with a seriously stuffy nose and a raging headache, shivering from head to toe when its still 80 degrees out.

“Oh, right.” The confused divot between Steve’s brows dissolves as he slows his steps, keeping his distance.

“…did you catch it at work?”

She blinks, brain screeching to a halt.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Early flu season around the pediatrics unit, apparently.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.” Steve purses his lips, smiling sympathetically.

Through clenched teeth, she shrugs, stomach churning at the words that roll so easily off her tongue.

“Just part of the job.”

He slowly slips his keys into the pocket of his jeans, bouncing on the balls of his feet before pointing down the hall.

“Well, I should…”

“R-right.”

She nods quickly, stepping back to let him through.

And just as she’s about to turn around and continue heading to her door, she hears Steve’s footsteps slow down, stalling near the top of the stairs.

“Hey Jess—make sure to stay hydrated, alright?” He calls out.

And despite the fact that every bone and muscle in her body had been aching from keeping herself upright all day, all that fades away at the sight of his smile, warmth tingling from her cheeks down to her toes.

“I will. Thanks, Steve.” She grins, watching as he disappears down the stairs with a wave.

The day after that is Saturday, which means that she gets to spend all day lounging around her house, ordering in for all three meals.

It also means that she’s scheduled for her weekly call from Fury.

She’s comfortably situated on her sofa, scrolling through the newest features on Netflix, when her burner phone lights up.

Nick, never one for small talk, gets straight to the point.

“Got any updates?”

She snorts, glancing over at her living room window, the shades half-drawn.

“Just the usual, Nick. Perimeter’s secure—whole building’s quieter than a church.”

“No one suspicious?”

“Nope.” She sighs, reaching forward for the tissue box on her coffee table.

“… hmm, except for that sweet old lady down the hall. Could be a Russian spy.”

She grins at the dead silence that rings out on the other end of the line, about to rub another sarcastic joke in Nick’s face before she hears a soft knock at her door.

She frowns, glancing at the clock—6:42. She had just put in an order for delivery at a local Korean place, and her doordash driver wasn’t supposed to get here for another half hour.

“There’s one more thing I’ve been meaning to as—

“—sorry, Nick, hold on. Someone’s at the door.”

Leaving the phone on the coffee table, she walks over to her door, frowning when there’s no one there on the other side.

Jutting her head outside, she takes a quick glance down the hallway—completely empty.

She’s just about to close the door and return to Nick’s call when her eyes catch a small plastic bag in front of her door, resting on the floor near her feet.

She bends down, squinting down at the bag—inside, she could spot the top of a small blue container with a paper note perched on top. She carefully reaches in, fishing out the note to find a handwritten message, neatly written in blue ink:

I hope this helps with the cold. Feel better soon! - Steve

She stands in front of her door for what seems like a full hour, eyes carefully tracing over Steve’s writing.

When she finally returns to her living room, carefully setting the bag down on the table, she’s tempted to peer inside at its contents. She decides against it, quickly snatching up the burner phone in fear of keeping Nick Fury on hold for too long.

“Hey, sorry, I’m back.” She sighs into the receiver, feeling out of breath somehow.

“Who was it?”

She pauses for a split second, pursing her lips.

“Just my dinner. Had something delivered. What were you saying?”

Fury shifts from the other end, his chair creaking in the background.

“Well, I was gonna ask about Rogers. He seem to be holding up?”

At those words, the image of Steve’s smile flashes across her mind, welcoming her to the building.

Moved around a couple times, but… Brooklyn’s always been home.

Her eyes trail over to the plastic bag sitting on her table, and she clears his throat.

“Uh, yeah, he seems… he seems fine here.”

“You two talk often?”

And though there’s no underlying edge to Fury’s tone that would suggest suspicion, her stomach jolts nervously.

“No, not really. Just saying hi every now and then.”

“Alright, well, I want you to keep surveilling the perimeters. Can’t ever be too careful. And keep an eye on that Russian spy.”

She smiles stiffly, the corners of her mouth weighed down by the growing uneasiness in her gut.

“Will do, boss.”

She clicks off the call, reaching for the bag on the table before she can even tuck the burner back into its usual place in her drawer.

Inside, she finds a small, cylindrical thermos.

As she lifts it out of the bag, she notices that the thermos is pretty hefty for its size, its mysterious contents sloshing around inside.

Brows furrowed, she twists open the top, and is immediately hit with a gust of warm steam and the aroma of… chicken noodle soup?

You’ve got to be shitting me.

The pizza after her breakup, and now this. It feels strange to think that she’d been the one assigned to protect Steve while he’s been looking out for her since day 1. It’s uncanny almost, how someone could care so much about a practical stranger. Neighbors, sure, but it had only been about a month since she’s moved in.

And, yeah, she gets the whole Captain America spiel. Not a perfect soldier, but a good man. Honest, loyal, courageous. All the qualities that made Erskine’s serum a grand success.

Yet, she realizes now that she’s barely known anything about Steve Rogers, the man who existed long before the red-white-and-blue shield.

The extent of his kindness. The nearly self-destructive acts of selflessness. The way he seems to forget, sometimes, that every single creature in the galaxy owes him their life.

He’d gladly lay down his own life for a stranger, and listen to her menial problems as if they mattered just as much as the existential threats he’s faced with on a daily basis.

Sitting cross-legged on her couch on an ordinary Saturday evening, clutching onto a warm bowl of chicken noodle soup in her lap, she wallows in her thoughts, a single question growing stronger and stronger in her head:

Steven Grant Rogers, who are you?

Apartment #3 Masterlist

note: reply and lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

96 notes · View notes

butlervol6 · 2 years

Text

the baby talk | dad(to be) austin x reader

previous part here!!

pairing: austin x fem!reader

summary: reader finally feels ready to have a baby with austin….but worries the timing might not work out

warnings/notes: some angst? (reader overthinking, s/o all my fellow anxiety babies), a tiny tiny bit suggestive at the end. so sorry this took so long, the last month has been eventful to say the least and i’m just getting time to finish this. thank you SO SO much for over 900(!!!WHAT) notes on my first work and so many followers, i never expected so many people to enjoy my writing. i’m toying with the idea of attempting to write smut, lmk your thoughts (i would make it a separate pt so the under18 can still enjoy the rest of the series)!! thank you all again, send me requests/messages/questions i love talking to ya’ll, and ENJOY PART 2!!

words: 2.2k

On the drive home from Ashley’s you were buzzing from the excitement of meeting Jupiter as well as the anticipation of telling Austin that you felt ready to start trying for a baby. You knew he was going to be ecstatic, it was obvious that while he was always extremely supportive and understanding of your point of view the last time you spoke about it, there was a part of him that was initially disappointed when you expressed your decision to wait to have kids. He was good at masking it, not wanting to make you feel bad for a completely rational and understandable decision, but you knew him well enough to see past his facade and couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for being the one to put starting a family on hold.

That disappointment for him and guilt from yourself didn’t last long though, as he landing his ‘Elvis’ role no more than six months after that conversation took place. Now, two years later, you could not have imagined trying to navigate a little one during the stress of the pandemic and a filming process like Elvis. Despite being very stable and annoyingly in love your entire relationship, never once considering separating, being newlyweds was still incredible stressful during that time so you knew you both shared a mutual, unspoken feeling of relief for the decision you made.

Looking over at your husband as he drove, you start to try and come up with a way to approach the conversation when you got home, wanting to make it as special as possible. Usually you pride yourself on your creativity as well as your apt for being excellent at surprises, but in this moment there was not a single idea in your head. You were completely perplexed, and growing increasingly frustrated, at your inability to come up with a suitable way to start the conversation. This must have been evident on your face as Austin glanced over and caught you looking his way, a small frown on your face and eyebrows pulled together in deep thought,

“Baby?” You, so consumed by your spiralling thinking, don’t notice when first he addresses you, “Y/N?” He places a hand on yours resting on the center console, rubbing his thumb along your knuckles to gently bring your focus back to reality, “What’s going on in your head darlin’? You’ve been so quiet this whole drive–makin’ me nervous.” He drawls, attention shifting between the road and you, waiting for your answer. You try to quickly recover, as to not tip him off about the impending conversation,

“Sorry baby, I’m alright. I think the adrenaline and excitement from the day is finally wearing off so I’m a little tired.” Austin eyes you, not quite convinced but decides not to push it any further. You can see this fact evident on his face so you smoothly change the subject so he doesn’t have room to figure out the real reason you’re acting weird, “What about you? Did you have a good day Uncle Austin? Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” Being reminded of his picture perfect day, surrounded by his favourite girls, immediately distracts him from your odd behaviour,

“It was everything I imagined and more. Jupiter is just perfect–I can’t believe she’s real, and finally seeing Ashley again after so long was perfect, and you being there with me to share it all was-“

“Perfect?” You find his excited rambling extremely sweet but you can’t help but tease him. He bites his bottom lip smiling, slightly embarrassed by his own words. You lean over, grabbing the far side of his face to press a quick kiss against the corner of his mouth before speaking again, “I’m not trying to embarrass you, love. I’m just teasing you, I loved seeing you so happy today.” You absentmindedly smooth your thumb back and forth along his cheekbone as you speak. The loving gesture and kind words make him smile, ducking his head down slightly to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist that hovers near his mouth,

“I was so happy. I am so happy, y/n. Everything just seems to be working out lately—my career, my family and friends, you. I just can’t believe it all.” You can feel your cheeks start to hurt from how large your smile is. After experiencing firsthand the type of stress Austin had been under the last two years; completely immersing himself in his role, being away from all of his family and friends, the pandemic, you were overjoyed that he was finally feeling the beginnings of the pay off of it all. And you knew this would only increase as the press for the movie and the fan reaction began.

It was at this thought that your happiness and excitement momentarily faltered. Since your realization at Ashley’s, you had failed to fully considered how much was going to change after Elvis came out. From watching the transformation your husband made, you knew that people were finally going to take notice of him and, as a result, his popularity was going to sky-rocket. There wasn’t a cell in your body that didn’t want that for Austin, he deserves to finally be recognize as the incredible actor and person that he is, but you did start to worry that having a baby in the mids of it all these new changes could be just as bad as having one in the middle of filming. To quell your small disappointment and spike in anxiety, you lean your head on Austin’s shoulder as he turns onto the last road to get to your house.

It’s obvious now that something more is wrong than what you originally let on so Austin presses a kiss to your hairline and mumbles, “You wanna get some food and talk about it when we get home?” You sigh, nodding and snuggling into his arm for the remainder of the ride.

…

After taking the remnants of your takeout to the kitchen, you make you way back to the couch where Austin is sitting, arms outstretched along the back and his head leaned back. The credits of the show you were watching play on the tv so you pick up the remote and pause it before sitting down against him, tucking your legs up and leaning your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head,

“What’s goin’ on in your head, pretty girl?” You lift your head up and slightly turn your body in his grasp to look at him fully, he smooths his palm up and down your arm as he speaks. The weight and warmth of his hand against your bare skin grounds you as your open your mouth to speak,

“I was- I guess I just-” You pause for a moment, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to get your thoughts together, “I had a thought earlier today, about us, and built it all up in my head before I really considered it. I’ll be alright, I’m just a little annoyed at myself for getting carried away. And, honestly, I’m kinda sad about it too.” Austin watches your face as you speak, brows slightly furrowed as he takes in your words. You know you were vague and he is probably more than a little confused, but you can’t bring yourself to say exactly what you were thinking, tears already threatening behind your eyes.

“Oh baby, I’m sorry you’re upset. Do you think you could explain your thought to me? Maybe there’s somethin’ you didn’t think of that I can do to help.” As you gaze into his eyes, your heart swells with love for the man in front of you. You are so grateful to have him as partner in life, always so kind and attentive to your needs. You look down to your lap for a moment, clearing your throat and parting your lips to unleash the uncensored truth but the words stay lodged in your throat. Emotion starts to swell within you, hot tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you look to Austin. He gently brushes your cheek with the back of his fingers, “It’s okay, you can tell me anything.” A tear slips from your eye at his reassurance and you quickly wipe it away,

“I wanted to have a baby.” The second the words leave your mouth you can feel Austin tense beside you. Terrified that he is going to get upset you quickly continue, “Don’t worry, I know that we can’t and I promise I’ll get over it I just need some time an-” Austin silences you by leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. You melt into the kiss after a moment of surprise, focusing on the warmth of his mouth against yours and the hand that now rests under your chin. He pulls away slowly, as if moving too fast could scare you away,

“You really wanna to have a baby with me? Oh my god y/n, that’s amazing! When did you change your mind?” He scoots closer to you on the couch and runs his fingers through your hair. His eyes are bright, excited, and that flares your upset once again—he’s not listening. You furrow your eyebrows and you gently push his hand from your hair.

“Austin, we can’t. I just told you that’s why I’m upset.” Austin tries to interrupt but you stop him, wiping at your wet, blotchy cheeks, “You were absolutely perfect with Jupiter and I could see how ready you are, and that made me ready. But, everyone is finally going to see how incredible you are when this movie comes out and I want you to have your moment in the spotlight. This has been your dream your entire career, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I put that in jeopardy by being selfish.”

“Y/n, you and our family are my dream. There will never be a ‘perfect’ time to have a baby, all that matters is whether or not we both want it. And it’s not ‘selfish’ to want it.” Austin grasps your chin, turning your face and making you look him in the eyes. “Do you wanna have a baby with me?” You plead with your eyes and stutter to answer,

“Aus, it’s not that simple. I-“ He presses a finger to your lips, silencing you, and softly laughs,

“Hey, none of that. Just answer the question.” You sigh in defeat and pull his hand away from your mouth and into your lap before responding,

“Yes, I want to have a baby with you.” Because you do, there is nothing you want more than to grow the love between him and you by bringing a baby into the world.

“And I want to have a baby with you. So let’s do it. If we both want it then we'll make it work. ” You gaze into the eyes of the man you love as he speaks and all you see is unfiltered love and excitement. It’s in this moment that you believe what he says, because you can see how much he believes it himself. If you love each other and you both want to start this journey together, then everything else can be dealt with as it comes. At this realization, you finally allow yourself feel the excitement you experienced earlier in the day, a large smile spreading across your face.

“You promise that it’s really what you want? I don’t want you to agree just because I’m upset.” Austin tilts his head back and laughs, a deep rumbling in his chest. You nudge him in the ribs, causing him to let out an ‘hey!’, and can’t help but laugh along with him, “Don’t laugh, I’m serious! What’s so funny anyway?”

“Y/n, you’re kidding right?” He leans in, suddenly serious and slings his arms around you again, speaking lowly, “I think I’ve made it pretty obvious how much I would love to get you pregnant, baby.” He trails kisses along the side of your jaw and down your neck, your eyes fluttering closed and lips softly parting. After a moment of getting lost in each other, Austin pulls back–a smug smirk on his face to look at you. With your eyes still closed you say,

“Okay, let’s do it.” Before you can even process what’s happen, you’re being lifted into the air and your eyes fly open meet Austin’s gaze. You wrap your arms around him as he carries you toward the stairs, a glint in his bright blue eyes, “Um—where are we going?”

“To get started.” He reaches the top of the stairs, looking down at you in his arms, “If we don’t get a baby in you right now, how am I gonna have a hot wife with a cute little baby bump as my date to the Met Gala?” You’re momentarily shocked at his words, and you can tell by the devilish look on his face that while he’s joking, he also isn’t. You shake your head, a smile on your lips, as he pushes the door to your bedroom open.

All you get out is, “can’t argue with that”, before you squeal as he tosses you onto the bed.

next part here!!

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #dad austin #austin butler imagine #austin butler one shot #austin butler blurb #austin butler fic #austin butler x y/n #austin butler fluff #austin butler angst #austin butler fanfic #butlervol6writes

846 notes · View notes

galaxyquakeflakes · 27 days

Text

A Daughter for a Daughter (1)

*I've been sitting on this idea of a sorta ATWOW rewrite for months and decided to post it! For better or worse. Link to a post I made about it here if you want more info. Gonna be multiple chapters. Let's do this thing!*

Pairing: Neteyam x fem|human OC

Summary: Neteyam and Quaritch's daughter go flying and watch Kiri and Lo'ak get their ikran.

Word Count: 3276

Links: (Next)

---

Pandora was an apt name for the foreign world humans had invaded. Though the means of which the planet was named always felt off. They named her Pandora in reference to the old Greek myth of the woman Pandora who unleashed all the known ills on the world. Pandora had a lot of dangers. Even the very air was poisonous to human lungs.

That was a disservice to the true nature of Pandora. Pandora meant all-gifted. That befitted the beautiful world of wonders that humans had been lucky enough to witness. The true ills that had been unleashed upon her were the humans themselves.

Not all of them were bad. There were a great many who looked at Pandora with the same adoration and care the natives did. Who saw this world and wanted to learn more about her and her people.

The Na'vi were rightfully wary of these people who came from the stars. They cut away at their home and harvested the world which went against the tenets of Eywa. Their goddess, their deity, their mother that is made of all living things. They selfishly came and tried to claim her as if something like that could actually be done.

There was a war. Between the Na’vi and the Sky People. There were uncountable losses on both sides. Though the loss the Na’vi suffered burned hotter with the destruction of their sacred sights and homes. When the battle was over, the Na’vi were victorious. A new era was ushered in as the ramifications started to play out on the world.

It was not easy for anyone. But the thing about life is that it will always persist. It will regrow. From ashes the buds of plants poke through and sprout anew to replace what was destroyed.

The people persisted. New Na’vi were born and a new human as well. Not the first human to be born on Pandora but certainly the latest. Millie McCosker. Dead parents and too small to be put into cryo for the trip back to earth. Forced to grow up in labs, raised by a pair of loving foster parents and a team of scientists that weren’t too sure how to keep track of someone so young and wild but they managed just fine.

She grew up with a bright and inquisitive mind like the scientists she was raised by. When she was not traversing the Pandoran jungle she was in the labs learning all she could. She had a real talent for the work too.

While Millie was human she behaved so alien compared to the others. That had to be blamed on how much time she spent with the Na’vi. From the time she was just a tiny kid she was running around the forest all on her own without a care or fear in the world. As familiar with the expansive forest and her ways as any Na’vi child was.

It was a curious predicament. Too human for the Na’vi and too alien for the humans. But she was a good kid. Though her lineage left a lot to be desired.

She spent almost all of her time out of the labs hanging around the Sully children. She learned to climb and hunt and speak right alongside them. She grew with them. Though they were much taller than her at an early age even though she was the oldest of them. Because of how short she was compared to them it earned her the nickname Pixie and soon it was all anyone called her, both within the Na’vi and in the human labs. Except for her parents that only ever called her Millie despite her insistence that she be referred to as Pixie.

Pixie at the age of fifteen was the oldest out of all her Na’vi friends. The closest to her in age was Neteyam who trailed behind her by one year. Kiri and Lo’ak were two years younger and the youngest Sully was Tuktirey by eleven whole years. Even little six year old Tuk was catching up to Pixie in height! A six year old was eye level with her! Human six year olds were a little less than four feet tall. Tuk was over five! Pixie had at least two inches on her still but it was only a matter of time till she exceeded five foot six and left Pixie as the shortest again.

It was a normal day as any day on Pandora could be. Pixie had gotten up early to eat breakfast and get ready before donning her exopack and running out into the jungle to meet her friends. It was an important day! Lo’ak and Kiri were going to find their ikrans today! Neteyam had gotten his last year and now that Lo’ak and Kiri were old enough they got to go out too! Typically they should have waited till they were at least fourteen but considering that Neteyam had convinced Jake and Neytiri to get his early they couldn’t exactly tell Lo’ak and Kiri no.

Pixie was halfway to the village when she got the uncanny feeling that she was being watched. She slowed and looked around the canopy of trees. It was far too quiet. Then a shower of morning dew rained down on her!

“Ah!” she saw the leaves that had been rustled starting to still and a shadow moving above them. Who did he think he was fooling?

“Hey golden boy!” Pixie shouted, “I know you’re up there! I can see you!”

The branch behind her shook as someone landed on it. Pixie whirled around and saw Neteyam now standing across from her. “I see you too, bite sized.”

“Hardy har har, you are so funny.” Pixie playfully shoved him. “What are you doing out here this early?”

“I was actually on my way to get you. Since Lo’ak and Kiri are getting their ikran today I figured you’d appreciate a ride up so we can watch them flail about.” Neteyam turned his face skyward and called for his ikran. A bright green and black ikran flew down from the trees to land next to them.

“Hey there Mekul.” Pixie greeted the ikran with affection, petting their neck. “Neteyam giving you plenty of treats?”

“I don’t need to give him treats, you fatten him up plenty.” Neteyam connected to Mekul and held a hand out for Pixie. Effortlessly he pulled her up onto the ikran, nestling her in front of him so that she didn’t fall off.

“Are they already heading up?”

“No. Not yet. Figured we’d get a flight in beforehand. Do you mind?” he asked.

“You know I never pass up a flight.”

“That’s what I figured you’d say.” he smiled wide, showing off his extra pointed canines and his two buckteeth. It still amused Pixie to no end that Na’vi could have buckteeth. Maybe that was the bit of human in him.

The pair of them took off into the sky. They flew higher and higher until the forest below looked like nothing more than moss on a rock. “Hang on tight!” Neteyam called over the wind.

Suddenly Mekul’s wings slanted to their sides and they were diving back towards the ground. Pixie let out a whoop of adrenaline as the world hurtled closer. Right before they could hit the treeline though the wings expanded again and they were soaring high once more. Pixie held her arms out to embrace the breeze that fluttered around her.

“Hey!” Neteyam pinched her thigh. “I said to hang on. You wanna fall off?”

“You are such a worry wart!” Pixie laughed but put her arms back down. She leaned back against Neteyam. “Besides, I know you would catch me if I fell.”

“Well, I’d rather not have to practice that.”

“Maybe you should.” She looked down. There was plenty of air between where they were and the trees. “Starting now.” She ducked out from under him and slid off the ikran.

“PIXIE!” Neteyam screamed and dove after her free falling body. He flew under her and grabbed her arm, catching her successfully. “Are you mad! You could have died! Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry!” Pixie laughed. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just couldn’t resist.”

“You are going to be the death of me.” he sighed. Resting his head on her shoulder.

“Awe, I love you too, golden boy.” she pinched his cheek.

“Stop!” he swatted her hand away. His brow furrowed and he started flying closer to the top of the trees. “It isn’t funny, Pixie. You could have seriously gotten hurt. You’re smarter than that. You’re lucky I don’t tell your parents.”

“How can you? They’re dead.” her attempt at humor fell with Neteyam’s glare. “Okay. I’m sorry. I really really am sorry for doing that. It was stupid. I didn’t mean to worry you so much.”

“Lo’ak already does enough foolhardy stuff for me to be worried about. I don’t need to start having to worry about you too.” Neteyam said. “You said before that we gotta be the responsible ones cause we’re the oldest. That doesn’t end just because it’s just us two hanging out right now.”

“I know.” she laid her hand over one of his. “That doesn’t mean that we can’t have a little fun. We’re still young too, Neteyam. We don’t have to be the upstanding older siblings all the time.”

“There’s a difference between cutting loose and putting your life in danger.”

“And I’ll be more conscious about it from now on. I promise.” she squeezed his hand. “Forgive me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” he turned his hand over to squeeze her back. “I forgive you, bite sized.”

They flew around some more before it got to be later and they went to watch Kiri and Lo’ak. They landed by the waterfall that led to the nesting ground of the ikran and met the others that were coming to claim their ikran.

“Kiri! Lo’ak!” Pixie jumped off the ikran. “I see you.”

“I see you, Pixie.” they motioned back to her. “Come to watch us?”

“You know it! I am going to have a great time watching the two of you get beat into the ground trying to wrestle one of these bad boys.” she laughed.

“You’re just jealous you don’t get one.” Lo’ak punched her arm.

“I don’t need one. I have you idiots to fly me around.” she punched him back.

“Always glad to have you here, Pixie.” Jake approached and ruffled her hair. He looked back at Neteyam. “You remember what I told you about flying with her? Make sure she stays safe.”

“Yes, sir.” Neteyam nodded.

“We are always safe, Uncle Jake.” Pixie bit back a laugh. She looked back at Neteyam and he was shaking his head.

“I don’t trust that look but I’m not worried about you two right now. Let’s go kids. Time to party.” Jake motioned for the others to head through. Pixie saddled back up with Neteyam and they flew out and found a spot to watch from a distance.

“Who do you think is going to go first?” Pixie asked.

“Probably Lo’ak. He wants to be a big man and prove himself. How long do you think it is gonna take him?”

“I’m gonna go ahead and say five minutes.”

“I was gonna say fifteen.” Neteyam smirked.

“You have so little faith in him.”

“Cause I know he loses focus the second he gets cocky. His ikran is going to make him work for it.”

“Unlike you, golden boy. How long did it take you? Less than two minutes? You big show off.”

“Is it showing off or do I just know what I’m actually doing?”

“Just because you know what you’re doing doesn’t also mean that you aren’t showing off.”

Everyone began to crowd on the cliffside along with the ikran below. Pixie and Neteyam watched as Lo’ak was the first to step out to claim his ikran. “Told you he’d go first.”

“You got this Lo’ak!” Pixie shouted in encouragement. Many of the ikran flew off as Lo’ak waded through them. Then, one stopped and stood their ground. They had a beautiful purple hue. The ikran screeched at Lo’ak and charged.

Lo’ak swung out the restraint to tape the mouth but it fell short and the ikran bit it. “Damn it. Come on, Lo’ak.” Pixie wrung her hands in the fabric of her tanktop.

Lo’ak was able to recover the restraint but the first failure had already shaken him. He loses focus when he gets cocky but he gets reckless when he feels like he’s failing. “Come on, bro. Don’t be stupid. Keep it together.” Neteyam muttered, clearly concerned about his little brother’s safety.

The others were shouting encouragement down below as Lo’ak finally got a tether around the ikran’s mouth. He was able to jump on the ikran but was having significantly harder trouble wrestling it down into a position that he could make the bond.

“Tsaheylu!” Pixie shouted again. “Make the bond! Make it!”

“Make the bond!” Neteyam shouted alongside her. “Make the bond, idiot!”

They watched in relief as Lo’ak was able to finally get the queues together and the ikran stilled. “How long was that?”

“Six minutes twenty two seconds.”

“Ha! Didn’t do it under five but he did do it under fifteen.” Pixie laughed. Lo’ak sat astride his ikran and with a less than graceful shove from Jake, sent them over the edge of the cliff. “Let’s go!”

Neteyam scooted Pixie back so she was pushed firmly against his chest and they took off from the cliff to fly after Lo’ak. Thankfully it didn’t look like he was having any problems flying. He was soaring through the sky like a natural. “Aye aye!” Pixie and Neteyam yelled, catching his attention.

“Way to go baby brother!” Neteyam said, teasingly but with genuine pride as well.

“I think I’m gonna name him Da’to.” Lo’ak said, the widest smile Pixie had ever seen on his face.

“Anything is better than what your dad named his.” Pixie said. “Seriously, it’s an ikran. Who names an ikran Bob?”

“Don’t make fun of Bob! He’s sensitive!”

Pixie threw her head back with a laugh. A voice came over their coms. “Boys,” Jake said, “Kiri’s going up next if either of you wanted to see.”

“Oh I gotta see this!” Neteyam started to turn around.

“I’m gonna fly for a while longer. I’ll meet back up with you!” Lo’ak disappeared around some floating mountains. They didn’t blame him for wanting to keep riding. The first ride was the most important after all.

Pixie and Neteyam flew back to their spot just as Kiri was walking out. There was something strange about it though. The ikran weren’t flying away from her. They parted but they didn’t leave. Pixie shared a look with Neteyam who was just as confused.

She kept moving forward until she came to an ikran that was as blue as the sky. The ikran didn’t screech or click. It didn’t charge or bare its teeth. Kiri and the ikran circled each other. It was not like they were sizing each other up but rather that they were dancing. Kiri stepped here, the ikran stepped there. Head moved up, head moved down.

“Is she doing a mating dance?” Neteyam joked. Pixie elbowed him in the ribs. She wanted to see this.

Then, Kiri took another step forward. The ikran took a step back. She took another step forward, the ikran did not move. Pixie had always known that for whatever reason, Kiri had some strong connection to Eywa. Wherever she was, creatures followed and danced with her. If she fell asleep somewhere listening to Eywa’s heartbeat she was sure to wake up with dozens of atokirina resting atop her.

She bowed her head towards the ikran and the ikran bowed back. She pulled her queue from around her back and held it out to the ikran. “No way this works.” Neteyam muttered.

“Shh!” Pixie shushed Neteyam. Everyone below had gone silent as well. They stood still as statues, waiting to see what would happen.

The ikran turned its head, offering up one of its own queues. Time seemed to slow as Kiri stepped closer and made the connection. Her first act upon creating the tsaheylu was to hug the ikran’s neck. She mounted the ikran and without any coercing, they flew over the edge. Everyone stood in dumbfounded amazement at what they had just witnessed.

“I think she broke your record, golden boy.” Pixie turned back to look at Neteyam.

“We are getting more information on that right now!” Neteyam flew off after her. “Kiri! What was that?”

“What was what?” she called back to the two of them.

“That! Back there! You didn’t have to wrestle them or anything!”

“Don’t be mad that the ikran like me more, Neteyam.”

“What are you gonna name her?” Pixie asked.

Kiri thought for a moment then smiled. “August.”

Augustine. Pixie thought to herself but didn’t say anything. They met back up with Lo’ak and explained the unconventional way that Kiri had managed to get her ikran. Together the siblings soared through the air and raced across the sky.

“Any of you want to try evasive rescue maneuvers?” Pixie called to them.

“Rescue maneuvers?” Kiri looked at her confused.

“Not a chance.” Neteyam used one arm to loop around her waist and plaster Pixie to him. “Never again.”

“Ooooh!” Lo’ak had a shit-eating grin on his face. “You two need some fly time alone?”

“Shut up! It’s not like that!” Neteyam snapped at him. “I’m just making sure she doesn’t fall off.”

“Golden boy, you break my heart. And here I thought we had something special.” Pixie made a big show of sniffling and whimpering like a sad puppy. “Do I mean nothing to you? Is there someone else?”

“Pixie.” he replied flatly.

“I should have known. All those long trips. Coming home with lipstick on your shirt collar.”

“Pixie.”

“Does she give you things I can’t give you? Does she love you more than I love you?”

“Pixie!”

“Well you can be the one to tell little Jimmy why he now comes from a broken home! You unfaithful--AH!”

Neteyam rolled Mekul over so they were flying upside down.

Kiri and Lo’ak were laughing their dumb little blue butts off next to them. First from Pixie’s dramatics and then at the sight of her clinging onto Mekul for dear life. “Neteyam! This isn’t funny!”

“Neither was your stunt this morning!” he laughed. He rolled back over so they were right side up again. “Now we’re even.”

“What happened this morning?” Kiri asked.

“Something that is not going to occur again. Right, Pixie?” Neteyam held her more firmly to his chest.

“Yes sir.” she rolled her eyes.

“How does that old earth rhyme go?” Lo’ak started talking in a sing-songy voice, “Pixie and Neteyam sitting in a tree--”

Neteyam got under Lo’ak and unbalanced him long enough to stop the rhyme before he could get to the spelling part. “Come on, let’s go show mom that you two didn’t manage to die.” With that Neteyam flew ahead of Kiri and Lo’ak back towards the village.

Pixie sighed and pushed Neteyam’s arm off her. “Something wrong?” Neteyam asked.

“No. I just don’t need you to keep holding me. I’ll be good and hang tight on my own.”

“Okay.” he didn’t push it farther but he could tell that something was weighing on her mind. Now was not a good time to ask though. She would tell him in her own time. She always did.

#atwow #avatar #avatar way of water #neteyam #neteyam sully #fanfic #neteyam x human girl #neteyam x oc #way of water rewrite

20 notes · View notes