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heartseungs-archive · 4 months ago

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going below zero | l.dh

genre ❄ coworker au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, fluff, angst pairings ❄ attorney!donghyuck x attorney!reader word count ❄ 10.2k synopsis ❄ Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out. warnings ❄ mentions of alcohol info ❄ merry christmas everyone!!! i hope you enjoy this small present and hava a very warm holiday wherever you are <3 (it's currently below freezing in seoul and I'm typing this barely half-alive in my hotel room at 1.50am after returning from gocheok sky dome)

You enjoy your job. Mostly.

Besides the long hours, gruelling paperwork, inefficient district judiciary, and shitty coffee, of course. It’s all bearable, especially if you think about the multiple zero digits in your annual salary and the occasional bonus. And of course, you’ve developed a certain fondness for your office, which gives you a lovely view of the palaces and Seoul’s skyline.

“Y/N. Your coffee.” Karina passes you one of two mugs, specifically the one with daisies on it. Everyone working on your floor has made a deliberate effort to get distinct coffee mugs out of disdain for sharing, and you’re all the more grateful for it, especially on days like this. You take a tentative sip, and barely prevent yourself from spitting it out.

Maybe the burnt espresso will be the tipping point for your resignation after all.

“I still can’t believe the tenth floor shares their cups communally. Renjun would flay us if we tried suggesting it,” Karina mutters. She’s dressed in a form-fitting suit today, blouse slightly untucked. It’s been two years since she joined as a paralegal, and you’ll miss having her careful eye to look over your documents. Still, if there’s anyone deserving of becoming an associate, it’s her.

“It’s what happens when you have a floor that’s ninety-per cent men. Especially with people like him.” Your voice narrows to a sharp point, and Karina already knows who you’re talking about.

“I still don’t know what’s up with the both of you,” she muses, and you shrug. “It’s a long story. One that I’ll tell if I’m drunk and tired. Unfortunately, it’s currently-” you steal a glance at your watch, “-nine-thirty on a Monday morning, so wrong time.”

She gives a nod of acceptance, grimacing at the harrowed expression on your face. “Well, if you need anything, I’ll be outside.”

“Wait. Karina,” you call out, and the girl halts, arching an eyebrow at you. “Where’s the case that we were working on last week? The medical negligence one.”

There’s a nervous expression on her face when she takes in your words, and you don’t have a good feeling about what she’s going to say next.

“Karina. What is it.”

She smiles sheepishly, and that’s when you really start getting scared.

“Haechan…said he could take over because you were busy with your current ones and Mr Kim agreed. It happened when you were on leave last Friday. I thought he emailed you.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Karina tries to flash a smile, but it comes out more like a pained cringe as she watches you close your eyes, and then take a deep inhale. You’re deathly quiet, and it’s slightly terrifying. “I’ll be back,” you force out, and she turns, alarmed, as you stride out of the office.

“Where are you going?”

You don’t answer.

Haechan gives it approximately five minutes before you reach his office. It takes three minutes for you to take the lift up, and it’s about twenty metres from the lobby to his personal office.

If you’re particularly enraged, however, your pace might be a little faster, so he accounts for that too.

“Three…two…” he counts down to himself, before the sharp knocks come.

“One.” The last word leaves his mouth with a note of finality, before you’re standing in front of him, eyes alight with indignation. It’s one of his favourite expressions on you. “Lee Haechan!” You shout, and he jumps a little at the loudness of your voice.

“You know, if you’re going to come in before I even allow it, you might as well not bother knocking,” he comments, turning his chair to face you.

“If you hadn’t taken my case, I wouldn’t even need to be here. Medical negligence isn’t even your specialty. Go back to whatever you’re doing in real estate.” You wave a cursory hand in the general direction of his desk to emphasise your point.

“But I think it’s interesting. And Mr Kim said he wants the lawyers at his firm to be versatile.” Haechan looks at you innocently as he says it, but the slight upward tug at the corner of his mouth betrays his real intentions.

If this was anyone else, you might have believed them. But Haechan never genuinely wants to help you, not unless he gets something out of it. Sometimes, he just wants to get on your nerves. It’s like some sort of twisted stress relief therapy for him, finding new ways to torment you.

“Look.” You run a hand through your hair, as if it’ll do something to calm your emotions. “Why are you doing this? Just leave me alone and we can live our perfectly happy lives. Doesn’t that sound good?”

For a second, he looks to be deep in thought, genuinely considering your suggestion. Until a smirk creeps up onto his face, and you mentally sink to your feet in dread.

“But that wouldn’t be any fun,” he says while gazing at you innocently, lips settling into a soft pout, and you feel a sharp tick of annoyance.

You’re going to kill him one day. You’re sure of it.

“So, are you drunk and tired enough yet to tell us what your deal with Haechan is? I’m curious, and so is Ningning.” You narrow your eyes at the two girls sitting opposite you, identical stone-faced expressions resting on their faces. “Was that your entire scheme by dragging me out on a Saturday night?”

Karina grins. “Maybe.”

You look to Seulgi for support, but she only shrugs. “I kind of want to know too.”

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” You ask, and Ningning shakes her head, pouring another shot of soju for you to down. You take it gratefully, relishing the cold burn as the alcohol makes its way into your system. Where do you start?

“I’ve known Lee Haechan since high school, if you have to know.” There’s a soft murmur of surprise from Karina at that piece of information, but you ignore it and continue.

“We’ve been competing over everything since we were teenagers. Think student council presidency, valedictorian, and best speaker at debate club sessions. When we got to university, it was the dean’s list and travel scholarships.”

Seulgi hums in thought. “And now that you’re both in the same company, it was the promotion to associate.” You nod. She’s quick to catch on, but you’re not finished.

“It wouldn’t be that bad if he was just a competitor. But of course, with my shitty luck, that man just so happens to be the devil’s incarnate,” you mutter venomously, and Ningning raises her hand. “But I think he’s got a good sense of humor.”

When no one responds, she coughs awkwardly. “Sorry.”

She’s not entirely wrong, of course. Haechan’s funny in the way an internet video is, when you see someone getting pranked and laugh at them for not figuring it out sooner. However, it’s a bit harder to find joy in it when you’re on the receiving end.

“Have you considered…being friends? Maybe he’s just trying to get closer to you,” Seulgi suggests, and you shake your head vehemently. Her statement is a bizarre one in itself. If Haechan wanted to make amends, there were hundreds of better, other ways that he could have gone about it, instead of making you want to tear your hair out at every turn.

“Not happening. We’re way past that now,” you decide, and she looks at you doubtfully, as if she wants to say something. Before she can open her mouth, however, Ningning sits up in alarm, temporarily sober as she looks directly at you.

“I overheard Mr Kim saying he was looking to promote one of our senior associates to a partner next year. But doesn’t that mean….”

You stiffen at her words, the grip on your cup growing impossibly tighter. There’s a mental list of the senior associates in your firm that you quickly run through, but they’re all eliminated for various reasons here and there, until you’re left with two options.

You grit your teeth.

“Oh dear,” Karina mutters as she looks at your expression, as if already aware of what’s about to happen. Seulgi instinctively reaches a hand out to comfort you, but you barely register it.

Compared to the trivialities of freshman year, this is vastly different. Being a partner at the firm means a stake in the company, a concrete role and title that will cement your position. It’s every associate’s dream, and something that you’ve wanted since you first walked through the shiny glass doors of your office building. You’ll be damned if Haechan takes it away from you now, when your dreams are so close in reach.

There’s nothing much you can do now, however, besides crossing your fingers and waiting. You’re not sure if anyone’s keeping a tally of the cases that you or Haechan have won so far, but if there is, it’s likely neck-and-neck. Still, you hope your clean record and stellar performance count for something, even if you lack the natural charisma that he’s brimming with.

If you’re lucky enough, Mr Kim might select you for the diversity representation, just to even out the gender statistics in the company’s annual report. It’s not a fair or honourable way to win, but it’s a win nonetheless.

“On the bright side, there’s only a week until our Christmas break. You won’t need to see Haechan in office at all for a month at least.”

Seulgi’s good at saying the right things in the right situations, and you feel a sigh of relief escape you at the thought of being free of his presence for a good amount of time.

Until you realise she’s dead wrong.

At your guttural groan, Ningning looks over in alarm. “Are you sick? You should have listened to me when I told you not to drink so much alcohol-” She’s cut off by Karina placing a gentle hand on her arm, and waiting for you to respond. “Y/N, is there something wrong?”

It’s a few too many moments before your head comes back up, hair dishevelled and expression pale. “Remember when I said Haechan and I went to the same high school?” It’s a rhetorical question. Of course they remember. You swallow thickly, gaze roaming over the three girls in front of you as they patiently wait for you to continue.

“I may have forgotten to mention that our parents have been best friends for the past two decades.”

There was one clear memory of Haechan that you had from your childhood, and it involved crying. A lot of it. You had an irrational fear of sunflowers and subsequently bees, perhaps because there were always swarms of that exact insect around them.

It only took two days of Haechan finding out about this before he snuck sunflower seeds into your lunchbox, and told you that eating them would cause said flower to grow in you. Your teacher had found tears streaming down your cheeks once the bell rang, and Haechan ran off to tell everyone about how easily you had believed him, how gullible you seemed.

The relationship between the both of you never quite seemed to repair properly after that incident, even as your parents made hopeless attempts to make the two of you playmates.

You would have assumed that the animosity between both of you would mellow out once you turned older. After all, it was nothing but a foolish stunt pulled by a mischievous child.

Yet, the awkwardness devolved into competition and mutual dislike, especially when you realised that the both of you were constantly fighting for the same opportunities. And then he became wittier, always saying the right comments to make anger creep up the back of your neck.

Your parents might have saved a lot of effort if they knew the state of things between the both of you now.

“Well, isn’t someone looking cheerful today.” The familiar cadence of his voice grates at your ears. Haechan had been an avid member of the choir in his younger years, and you can still recall him winning district singing competitions. You would enjoy his voice more if it was disembodied and separate from the man himself.

“I rather walk than sit in your car,” you retort, but you know you’re lying through your teeth. Even then, he won’t abandon you, considering how his mother was very firm about the both of you showing up together and giving her regular updates. You wouldn’t put it beyond Mrs Lee to facetime the both of you at any time, just to check.

Haechan’s car is comfortable, and it seems to be the one thing he splurges on, besides his apartment in downtown Seoul. The leather seats are plush behind your back, and there’s a faint lavender smell that lingers inside. You’re not sure why you can recall those exact bits of information, considering you can’t remember the last time he drove you somewhere. Two years ago, he still had an old Toyota Camry, and the both of you would usually just take the train.

There were a few good things about the pandemic, and one of them was getting to work from home. The second was that you didn’t have these yearly trips back with Haechan, established as a tradition after the both of you relocated to Seoul for university.

Still, you’ll endure it, if it means getting home to spend Christmas with your family. The holiday has always evoked a sense of homesickness in you, and it’s likely due to the amount of effort your parents put into celebrating it. They weren’t religious, but they made sure there was always plenty of presents and hot chocolate.

It was fun, even if you were sent over every Christmas morning as an eight-year-old to wish the Lees a merry Christmas and endure Haechan’s teasing.

“I can’t believe you still listen to Michael Jackson.” The song that plays through the speakers is something you haven’t heard in years, but you’d recognize it anywhere.

“It’s good music. I’m not sure why you dislike him so much.”

“I would enjoy his music a lot more if you hadn’t blasted it at two in the morning during finals season,” you say bitterly, and Haechan lets out a low chuckle. The both of you are stuck in traffic, and the silence that settles in the car is painfully awkward. You and Haechan don’t have much to say to each other, besides sharp words, and you’re starting to regret it a little.

You can feel Haechan’s eyes on you when he turns his head, fingers drumming on the wheel. However, you refuse to afford him the pleasure of meeting his gaze, your eyes resolutely fixed on the car in front of you.

His throat bobs slightly, nervously. “Look, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us, and I rather it not be in silence. Let’s just pretend the company doesn’t exist. Truce?” He asks, and you try not to make the relief too obvious on your face. At your nod, Haechan breaks out into a brilliant smile, one that makes his features irk you less.

He should smile more instead of that smirk that he has all the time, you think. You would prefer it more.

“Now, what song do you want to queue? I’ll let you have music rights for the next three hours.”

The house looks exactly as you remember. Even then, the colours are brighter, more saturated in your eyes, tinted with the unmistakable nostalgia of childhood. You step carefully onto the robin’s egg-blue porch, luggage behind you as you ring the doorbell.

It’s like both your and Haechan’s movements are in sync, likely looking identical from the back.

You had forgotten to mention to the three girls that the two of you happened to be next-door neighbours as well.

There’s the pitter-patter of footsteps against wood before the door flies open, and your mother is in front of you and hugging you tightly. She feels so much smaller than you, so different from the imposing figure of your childhood. There’s weathered lines across her face, but the brightness in her eyes is still identical to your memories.

You smile. “Hey, mom.”

“Look who’s here,” the low timbre of your father’s voice rings out before you see him, and your smile grows inexplicably wider. “How was the trip here? Haechan drove safely, didn’t he? I should buy something for them later. Gas is expensive these days, you know.”

“He was going to make the trip anyways. Besides, doesn’t it save more gas if we travel together?” You question, and your mother rolls her eyes. “I forgot about that mouth of yours. It’s only become worse since you’ve become a lawyer,” she sighs out, but her eyes are full of mirth.

Your luggage is deposited in your room by your father before you can even offer to help, and you realise that your family hasn’t made any effort to redecorate the empty space, instead leaving everything as it is. Some of your vinyls still sit on the shelf, along with photographs and trophies from different competitions. If you dig hard enough, you might be able to find your old clothes as well.

“Oh, Y/N, don’t unpack yet. Help me bring this over to the Lees,” she hands you a cooler bag, and you peer inside to find banchan neatly packed into tupperware and freshly-baked cookies. “Don’t you want to deliver these yourself?” you ask hopefully, but immediately sink back down when she shakes her head. “It’ll be good for Mr and Mrs Lee to see you. Now go.”

It’s a small consolation of sorts that Mrs Lee is the one opening the door when you knock, and Haechan is nowhere to be found.

“I feel like I say this every time I see you, but you’ve grown so much.” The warm smile on her face elicits one from you too, and you wonder why the apple fell so far from the tree. As you go past the hallway, you can’t help but feel like you’re transported back to childhood. The house is as familiar to you as your own, even if most of your time here was spent bickering with him.

Once you reach the kitchen, you unpack the lunchboxes, tiptoeing to reach the fridge drawer. “I think these are good to be refrigerated for two weeks. Where should I put it?”

“Anywhere on the top shelf is fine. Do you want coffee?”

A latte isn’t usually your drink of choice, but you’re grateful for any caffeine hit after the long ride. Along the way, you had decided to take a nap, and Haechan had woken you up by blasting a song in your ear at full volume.

“Mom, did you see my winter coat- Oh, it’s you,” Haechan says when he steps into the kitchen, and you muster a polite smile on your face. Mrs Lee frowns slightly. “That’s no way to speak to our guest. And it’s on the uppermost shelf of your cabinet. Why don’t you walk Y/N out?”

“It’s fine, Mrs Lee, I live right opposite-”

“Sure,” Haechan cuts in nonchalantly, and you widen your eyes at him, a silent question. He deliberately ignores your heavy gaze and loops his arm in yours. “Well, come on. Let’s go.”

“Why are you looking for your winter coat? It’s not that cold yet,” you ask curiously, and Haechan halts in his steps, a puzzled expression on his face.

You’re shifting uncomfortably now, tense as Haechan continues staring at you. “What?”

Until the confusion on his face fades to a certain sort of mischief, and he leans down until his face is inches away from yours. You step back abruptly, putting some distance between the both of you, but the smug smile doesn’t leave Haechan’s face.

“Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“We’re going to a ski resort. You and me.”

There’s a light in Haechan’s eyes as he says it, one that seems to spell death and doom. You’re too stunned to speak, everything tuned out save for his face in front of yours.

At least now you know why your mother stopped you from unpacking your luggage.

There’s something about the airport that makes you feel like you’re dreaming. It’s the hallways that seem to stretch on endlessly, and the way you lose track of time save for the numbers displayed in bright red on the large digital clock.

It’s one of your favourite places in the world. Planes, however, not so much. The dry air, cramped seats, loud noises, and the fact that you’re tens of thousands of feet above solid ground serve no purpose other than making you uneasy. Even though the improvement in Haechan’s and your salaries mean that your families can escape sitting in economy, you still can’t ignore the fact that the only thing saving you from falling to your death is a hunk of floating metal.

“Any drinks for you?” The air stewardess in front of you is bright-eyed, absent of the anxiety swirling in your stomach. “Just apple juice, please,” you mumble, setting the cup down in the holder in front of you. You probably won’t drink it anyways.

When takeoff begins, you try your best to ignore the rumbling of the plane, instead choosing to lean back and close your eyes. The sooner you fall asleep, the better.

Until the plane jerks violently, and your eyelids fling open. You can faintly hear the pilot apologising for the upcoming turbulence, but it barely registers, fading into background noise in favour of your thundering heartbeat. It seems sleep will be far out of reach today.

“Hey, you okay?”

You’re tempted to ignore Haechan, but he doesn’t sound teasing, instead genuinely concerned. You’re quite sure your face is twenty different shades of pale, but having him see you like this brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you force out, and wonder if you can request to change seats.

It’s been a long time since you last got on a plane, and when you were young, you would be sandwiched between your parents. You’re wishing now that you had insisted on sitting with one of them, but it was obvious that this was some sort of double-date arrangement between your families, with you and Haechan as collateral.

You’re an adult, Y/N. Pull yourself together.

Your knuckles are bone-white from how hard you’re gripping the armrest, and Haechan, perceptive as ever, quickly figures out what’s wrong. “You’re scared of flying, aren’t you?”

You screw your eyes shut, exhaling shakily. “Shut up, Lee. I can’t do this right now.” He falls silent, and you think he might have temporarily retreated from teasing you for the moment.

The feeling of someone’s hand over yours quickly catches your attention, however, and you’re temporarily pulled away from your fear to look down, bewildered. “I used to have a younger cousin who was scared of flying.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

You hate to admit it, but the warmth of his hands provides a welcome respite from your unease. When the plane jolts again, your grip tightens momentarily, and you expect Haechan to have some sort of teasing quip at how easily you jump. Contrary to your expectations, he simply smooths his thumb over your hand, a calming, repetitive motion that makes it easier for you to breathe.

Even when the seatbelt sign flickers off, Haechan doesn’t make any motion to move away. “Feeling better?” He asks, and you nod slowly. There’s a grin on his face at your response, one that is surprisingly genuine.

It takes a few seconds of Haechan staring at you before you cough awkwardly, immediately extricating your palm. It makes you feel slightly foolish, realising that he must have wanted you to let go of your own accord so he wouldn’t feel bad. He almost looks disappointed, but you’re convinced the fear has induced a hallucination of sorts.

You’re feeling fine now, or at least that’s what you think.

Until hours later, when the pilot announces descent, and your heart rate picks back up. Haechan doesn’t wait for you to ask this time, immediately slotting his fingers between yours.

“Thank you. You don’t have to do this,” you say thickly, strangely grateful for the man sitting next to you. Despite his endless teasing, he seems to know how to help at the right times. Maybe Ningning’s right, that he’s not all that bad. You suppose you’ve demonized the boy to an extent, driven by years of childish retorts.

In reality, you don’t hate him as much as you make it out to be. There’s just a feeling of walking on eggshells at his presence, a certain way that Haechan makes you feel off-kilter from never being able to predict what his next actions will be.

“You know, if you just wanted to hold my hand, you could have said so.” Haechan’s words make your cheeks burn, and you whip your head to the side to stare the boy down.

“I take it back. You’re the most infuriating person I know.” His forehead wrinkles slightly at that, and you realise he had not been privy to your previous thoughts. “Take what back?” He asks, and you ignore him. The apple juice is conveniently placed in front of you, and you gulp heavily from it. Anything to avoid telling Haechan what exactly you were thinking.

He moves closer, and you choke slightly at his proximity. At this distance, you can see your wide-eyed expression reflected clearly in his eyes. He scrunches his eyebrows in thought, and you can’t help but think he looks almost…adorable. Until you give yourself a violent kick mentally.

“You said that you wanted to take it back…you don’t think I’m infuriating?” There’s a hopeful glint in his eyes, one that makes your heart stumble at an unfamiliar pace. “Perhaps….even endearing?” He muses, unable to hide his smirk now. You’re lost for words, cheeks painted scarlet as you stare at the boy.

The buzzing of the overhead intercom jolts you out of whatever trance Haechan has put you in, the clicking of seatbelts filtering into your ears. You shove him away lightly, enough to put much-needed distance between the both of you but not enough to wound him. A breath escapes Haechan as he falls back into his seat ungracefully, but his eyes remain fixed on your figure as you hurriedly get up to take your overhead bag.

Until you tiptoe, fingers scrabbling at empty space, and decide that whatever higher powers up there must really have it out for you. The familiar black duffel bag is just out of reach, likely having shifted backwards during the course of the flight. You’re prepared to admit defeat and ask your father to help, when there’s the feeling of someone’s back against yours, warm and solid. You jerk your head around in alarm, only to see Haechan easily grabbing the bag and holding it in front of you.

He’s too close. Much too close for comfort.

“What are you doing?” you demand, but it comes out more as a high-pitched stutter, betraying your nerves. “You seemed to need some help. You know, I didn’t realise how short you were without your heels,” he comments, and you’re left unable to reply, too distracted by the way he’s still pressed close to you. It suddenly feels difficult to get enough oxygen, and your heart is going a mile a minute. There’s an exhale of relief that escapes when he finally moves away to make way for another passenger.

You don’t miss the way his eyes follow you even as you stride quickly down the aisle to join your parents, and a flush creeps at the back of your neck.

This holiday is going to drive you mad.

“So, how’s the trip going? With Y/N, no less,” Renjun asks, unable to hide his grin. Haechan hums in thought, settling on a pillow as he decides on a response. “Not bad. We’re making progress.”

“Progress as in…she’s less interested in homicide and more towards assault?” Haechan genuinely considers it for a second, before he nods in assent. The look on Renjun’s face is a mixture of frustration and bewilderment.

“Lee Haechan, you’re hopeless.” He sits up indignantly at that statement, glaring at Renjun even through the grainy screen. “Honestly, I’ll be surprised if Y/N even reciprocates your feelings. For a successful attorney, you sure are an idiot.”

The lack of faith is disappointing to Haechan, but no matter. Getting you to like him back has been at the top of his wishlist since junior year, and he’s not about to give up now.

The memory of you walking into the club room with your school blouse neatly tucked in and hair tied back still remains fresh in Haechan’s mind. You had been a model student, but not in a way that felt too overbearing. Maybe sometimes you would frown at his bright Converse shoes, or loose tie. But they technically weren’t against school rules, so Haechan continued to tiptoe the fine line between dress code and responsibility as vice-president of Student Council.

Originally, the boy was happy enough to be the chairperson of the debate club, until Jaemin, his labmate, had very cleverly pointed out that the both of you would get to head the annual prom together.

And so he decided to campaign, effectively providing one of the most stressful experiences of your high school years.

Those were some of the best memories of his final year, sitting in the classroom with you and ironing out details for hours. It was obviously something that you were passionate about, giving up so many sleepless nights just to research the exact decorations.

It was one of the things he liked most about you, that spark in your gaze when you saw something you liked, or fixed your mind on something. On occasion, it would appear when he teased you, though it was often accompanied by anger. Still, he craved it. Haechan liked having your eyes on him, even if they were narrowed with exasperation.

And when finals had ended, the invisible heavy burden on your shoulders had seemed to lift, and you laughed easier, smiled more. Even when he pestered you, there would only be an indulgent smile on your face. Prom was barely a week away, and he thought that would be it. That he would ask you to be his date, and maybe, finally you’d see him in a new light, beyond the boy who always seemed to be competing with you.

And then you disappeared from school without any information whatsoever, right up until the day itself. He had even asked Ryujin, the secretary of student council. Everyone was clueless.

The next time Haechan saw you was in the university lecture hall, and his shoulders had sunk in relief at the sight of your face.

Now, seven years later, Haechan was still playing a game of catch-and-toss for your heart, but he didn’t mind.

The boy had been feigning an expression of nonchalance when he offered his hand to you in the plane, but when you didn’t pull away, Haechan was quite convinced that his heart was going to leap out of his chest.

He’s not sure if you’ll let him hold your hand again, but a man can dream. The doorbell rings then, jolting Haechan out of his thoughts. “Give me a second, Jun,” he mutters as he sets the phone down, slippers thudding softly against the carpeted floor.

When he flings the door open, the last person he’s expecting to see is the one that’s been taking up his thoughts.

You’re swamped in an oversize hoodie and leggings, hair dishevelled and reading glasses balanced on the tip of your nose. It’s obvious you’ve woken up recently, and he steals a glance at the clock before focusing back on you.

You look different. But a good different.

“Weren’t you going down with them to the village?” He asks, and you smile sheepishly. “Overslept.”

The ski resort the both of you were in was located high up in the mountains, and there was a shuttle bus going down to the winter village twice a day. Your parents had suggested going down for dinner, but Haechan had work to clear up and decided to stay back.

It seems fate has a funny way of leaving the two of you together, Haechan thinks as he looks at you, still slightly drowsy. “Wanna go get dinner?” There’s an involuntary grumble of your stomach at his words, and Haechan chuckles slightly. He presses the end call button without a second thought, before grabbing his leather jacket.

“Come on, let’s go.”

He tries to hold back his smile when he feels your footsteps behind his.

The first thing you realise is that the restaurant is full of couples. You’ve only seen one family so far, the rest of the patrons seating in tables of two. You chalk it down to pure coincidence, even as the waiter hands you a menu that’s awfully thin.

“I’m Jisung, and I’ll be your server for today. Our menu is a four-course set with seasonal ingredients designed for couples. Let me know whenever you’re ready to order.” The boy standing in front of your table looks awfully young to be working at a fine-dining establishment, but his voice is level as he arranges the silverware.

You suck in a nervous breath when you notice that the price isn’t even printed on the menu. It means that it’s expensive, and you’re not sure you want to know how much. You’re not one to splurge unnecessarily. “The food better be good,” you mumble, not noticing the way Haechan smiles softly at your comment.

“I’ll cover the bill,” he suggests, and at the resistance in your eyes, Haechan waves a dismissing hand. “I picked it anyways.” You don’t protest further.

Despite the steep price, you can’t help but admire the high ceilings of the restaurant, black marble walls offset by tasteful streaks of gold.

“Y/N.” At the mention of your name, your attention is pulled back to the man sitting opposite you. In the warm glow of the candlelight, his features are rounder, more delicate, and his hair somehow darker. It leaves you breathless, and you’re not sure if it’s the atmosphere around you, or the way that you’ve been feeling stranger and stranger around Haechan lately. Your eyes flit momentarily to the rings adorning his fingers, the ones that you’re used to seeing every day.

If there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with Haechan might just be the opposite. Having to interact in close proximity daily for the past two weeks has made him more tolerable somehow, an acquaintance rather than a nemesis. He seems to have lightened up on the taunts as well, instead replacing them with sarcastic quips that aren’t directed at you and that elicit a laugh more often than not.

It reminds you of senior year, when the both of you had been working so closely for the student council. Haechan had been your partner and your equal then, his competition more of a motivation than a threat. But university had been a rat race with thousands of other brilliant minds that sought to outdo and outlearn, so individualistic that the both of you never did quite talk about the almost-friendship that had formed.

“I assume you know about Mr Kim’s intentions to promote one of us to partner next year,” you start, unsure of what else to say. It’s been something that presses at the back of your mind, even as you go for hot chocolate runs with Haechan and sit in the lounge room together to clear last-minute emails. “I hope you know that I’m not intending to give up.”

Haechan smiles. “I wouldn't expect anything less.”

“But…” you trail off slightly, and he leans forward, eyes curious. You decide just to bite the bullet, not leaving any room to reconsider.

“I think you’re good at what you do. And I think it would be easier for us to work together in the future if we weren’t constantly at each other’s necks.” Your voice gradually gets softer as you continue, but Haechan hears every word. He notices you worrying your lip and the faint set of your eyebrows, and realises that you’re nervous. It’s no secret that he finds certain habits of yours endearing, but this expression on you might be one of his favourites.

“Well, height-wise, you’re still at my neck.”

“You-”

“Kidding. So we’re friends now?” He has to bite back a laugh at your glare. You’re still so easy to rile up. “We can be anything you want to be,” you say nonchalantly.

Haechan knows that you don’t mean that literally, but he thinks about the possibilities anyways.

He wants to say more when Jisung appears, a bottle of red wine grasped in his hands. You look up from your bowl, confused. “Oh, we didn’t order red wine.”

At your protest, however, the boy smiles. “It’s on the house. Are the both of you celebrating anything? An anniversary or a birthday perhaps,” he suggests, and you shake your head. “We’re not…we’re not a couple.” You’re unsure why you stumble over your words, but Haechan seems to find it amusing from the way he’s coughing politely into his napkin.

Jisung blinks awkwardly, and you blink back. “Apologies for assuming. Enjoy your dinner,” he replies after a moment too long, rushing off after filling both of your glasses.

“I think we scared him off,” you say guiltily, and Haechan snickers. “He’ll be fine. To be fair, this is a dinner set for couples.”

“But we look nothing like a couple,” you interject, and there’s a flash of doubt that crosses Haechan’s face, before he quickly schools it into nothing. He takes a large gulp of the wine, before grinning at you.

“Of course. I’m too good-looking.”

It’s a blatant lie, of course. Haechan thinks you’re the prettiest person he’s ever seen, even when you had your thick-rimmed glasses in second grade and the most obnoxious blue braces. He’ll never have the courage to admit that, however, and Haechan’s starting to fear that his feelings are going to go unspoken forever.

This time, you manage to not oversleep.

The alarm goes off two hours before dinner, reminding you that it’s time to get ready. Your presents are already prepared at the corner of the bed and neatly wrapped, even though you know that your parents aren’t the kind to require excessive formality, and neither are Mr and Mrs Lee. You’re not sure about Haechan, if he’s remembered to prepare gifts. When you asked him at breakfast, he had evaded the question, which meant that he either had something prepared or was too embarrassed to admit that he had forgotten.

You’ve been waiting to wear this dress for a long time, a blush pink satin that’s pretty but comfortable enough for you to move around in. It’s been a long time since you’ve had the luxury of taking your time to get ready, considering you’re always cutting it close to sneak in extra sleep before work.

Despite your early preparations, however, the clock seems to tick much too fast. You’re tugging on your heels when there’s a sharp knock at the door. “Coming!” you shout, giving yourself one last look in the mirror before you pull the handle open.

“Oh, wow. You look…nice,” you say absentmindedly, only realising the words are too far gone to take back when a glimmer of satisfaction shows up on Haechan’s face. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him wearing a suit- attorneys practically live in a blazer and slacks, after all- but this one is all-black, the top two buttons of his blouse unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones. It makes his features even sharper, fabric contrasted against his warm, honey-toned skin.

You try not to think about how it’s the same exact material as your dress, and that people- namely your parents, would have assumed the both of you planned it beforehand.

Haechan’s appraising gaze makes warmth creep up your neck, and you shift from foot to foot, waiting for him to say something. Anything. “You clean up pretty well too. Ready for dinner?”

The both of you are friends, Y/N. Friends can compliment each other, you assure yourself, even as your pulse flutters uncontrollably at his words. He offers an arm out to you like a perfect gentleman, and you exhale shakily through your nose.

This dinner may be more difficult that you expect.

The both of you are guided to your table by a different waiter this time, Jisung nowhere in sight. Thankfully, there’s a much wider menu to choose from now, and your parents are splitting, offering a respite to Haechan’s wallet.

“Oh, I wanted to pass you your present first,” you say, retrieving the gift and placing it in front of Haechan. There’s excitement bubbling in your chest as you watch him arch an eyebrow curiously. “Open it,” you encourage, and he lifts up the cover, a surprised laugh escaping him.

“Where did you get this?” He asks, and you crinkle your forehead slightly. “I ordered it online, and I was scared it wouldn’t get delivered in time because of the snowstorm. Take it as a present from one vinyl collector to another.” Haechan breaks out into a brilliant grin at your words, one that illuminates his entire face. The corners of his mouth quirk up, however, when he places a velvet box on the table.

“You actually remembered to get a present? From your reaction at breakfast today, I thought…”

“You think too lowly of me,” he complains, poking his tongue into his cheek. Your eyes are bright, however, as you take the box from him, only realising that it’s velvet once you smooth your fingers over it. “This isn’t something scary, is it?” You question doubtfully, and he shrugs.

“You gave me fake insects half a decade ago, so forgive me if I’m not entirely trusting-” you fall silent when the box clicks open, revealing a pearl choker that you immediately recognize.

“Haechan, this-”

He barely reacts to your wide-mouthed shock. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.” The wish is sincere, and the way he says it makes your heart stretch just a little wider.

You can’t believe he remembers.

For prom, you had suggested a vintage 1980s theme, and Haechan had seen the Vivienne Westwood necklace sitting in your online cart along with the decorations. You never did purchase it because of the hefty price tag, and it was gradually forgotten.

Seeing the three rows of pearls in front of you now, however, brings on a wave of nostalgia.

“You should try it on. It matches nicely with your dress.” he offers, and you pick up the necklace from where it’s resting, hands shaking slightly as you close the clasp around your neck. “How does it look?” you ask, swallowing nervously as you focus back on Haechan, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

“Beautiful,” he mutters softly, but his eyes don’t dart down to your neck at all. You want to think that he’s lying. However, the way his eyes remain transfixed on your face as he says it has your pulse fluttering wildly.

There’s a lump in your throat as you fiddle with the necklace, feeling the cold of the pearls against your skin.

“I wanted to give it to you on the night of prom,” Haechan says then, a silent question in his eyes. The implication behind his words is heavy, considering that all you remember having with Haechan in senior year was a rivalry-turned-tentative-friendship by necessity.

Instead of the anger you expect it to provoke, the idea of him being the one fills you with a certain nerve-wracking thrill, like the kind you get just before a rollercoaster drops.

“I wanted to go, you know. But something happened with my family, and I-”

“It’s okay, Y/N. We’re still here now, aren’t we?”

His question isn’t one that you need to reply to, because you know the answer.

Haechan is one of the people you know best in this world, besides your family. He thinks you’re a little too uptight sometimes, but you find him too aloof. That you’re not particularly extroverted, preferring to stick to a close circle of friends, while Haechan can talk to almost anyone and everyone. Until you forced yourself to make it to parties and meetings in order to beat him out in garnering votes from the student body. And then gradually, it became easier.

He’s always pushed you out of your comfort zone effortlessly, and you hate to admit it, but you wouldn’t have done this much if he hadn’t been right in step behind you.

In the end, the both of you boiled down to one similarity- pure ambition, the kind that pushed you to endure long hours and sleepless nights in order to get what you wanted.

Currently, the both of you are teetering on the edge of an invisible precipice, steps away from tumbling into wildly unfamiliar territory. And what terrifies you the most is that you don’t particularly seem to mind the idea of falling. Haechan has always been able to provoke reactions so easily from you, split-second impulsivities that make you lose control of your emotions.

You and him are not polar opposites, as much as you would like to think. Haechan just covers his with a veneer of casual confidence, while you would rather not be in the spotlight unless necessary.

“Haechan, if-” you start, and the look in his eyes when he hears you speak is so hopeful, so full of anticipation that it causes you to stop abruptly. He’s beautiful, you think. The slant of his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw- it’s no secret that Haechan is attractive by most conventional standards, but it’s the first time he’s rendering you speechless. You’ve never really been able to truly look at him, too focused on the imminent threat that his presence seemed to signify.

And now that it’s gone, you’re genuinely seeing Haechan for what he is. Your equal, and someone you’re hopelessly attracted to, for good reason.

Until the jolt of a chair yanks you out of whatever trance-like state you’re in, and you whip your head around to see Haechan’s father, along with the rest of your families.

“Sorry for the wait. What were you young people talking about?” He asks, and your mind blanks for a second.

How are you supposed to tell him that you think you might have feelings for his son, after fighting tooth-and-nail with him all these years?

You make eye contact with Haechan then, and there’s a silent promise in his gaze. The both of you will talk about whatever it is between you eventually. For now, you’re here to celebrate with the people you love most in the world.

Lee Haechan included, you suppose.

Hangovers are not a good look on Haechan.

At least, that’s his first thought when he wakes up, head heavy and throat dry. But he’s an adult now, and that means taking responsibility for his not-so-sober decisions.

By the time he takes a cold shower and brushes his teeth, it feels like some semblance of life has returned to him, and he uses the thought of breakfast as motivation to get dressed and head down. It’s a petty sort of consolation that everyone else will probably be feeling worse than him, you included.

He makes a direct beeline for the hot food, piling a plate with bacon and eggs. And then he reaches the drink section, pausing for a second. “What did she say she liked again?” he mutters, staring at the juices with two cups in hand.

When he reaches the table, there are soft ‘good mornings’ from everyone, and Haechan takes the seat opposite yours, smiling brightly. “Here. I wasn’t sure which one you might want, so I got both,” he says, setting the drinks down in front of you. One’s a cappuccino, and the other cranberry juice.

You blink tiredly, looking up at him in mild surprise. “Thank you,” you mumble softly, before returning to your food.

He frowns. Haechan’s seen you hungover before, and it’s usually not like this. And he’s quite sure you didn’t drink as much as him, considering you weren’t the hugest fan of alcohol. It would be wiser for Haechan to leave you alone to rest- after all, you did say thank you, so surely nothing’s wrong.

However, he wouldn’t be him if he didn’t get to the bottom of things.

“Are you feeling unwell? There’s hangover medicine in my luggage, I can pass you some-”

“Nope, I’m good.”

“How about ramen? We can make some later,” he prompts, watching your expression carefully. You shake your head, and Haechan tries not to look too shocked.

“But it’s ramen,” he continues, expectation evident in his gaze. Haechan knows you. You would never turn down an offer of your favourite food.

“I’ll pass this time,” you reply, shifting uncomfortably in your chair. He falls silent, watching as you pick at the rest of your food.

When you stand up, the sound of the chair scraping seems a little bit too sharp. “I’ll head back first. I forgot about something,” you explain, turning on your heel. Haechan’s eyes dart to the untouched drinks, before they meet your mother’s gaze. He wipes the corner of his mouth hastily with the napkin, before rising as well. “I’ll go find Y/N,” he declares.

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t too crowded at this time, and he spots you just in time. When Haechan skids to a stop in front of you, your hands are around your jacket, pulling it tight around you.

“Hey,” he greets, breathless. You look taken aback, and Haechan runs a hand through his hair, pausing to collect his thoughts. “Are you…I might just be stupid, but are you okay? You seemed a little off at breakfast,” he points out, watching as the emotions on your face change from shock to doubt to…hurt?

“Do you remember what happened yesterday?” You ask, a tremor in your voice as you peer at the boy.

Haechan frantically scans through his memories, heart dropping when it comes up empty. He was talking to his father about football, and then your mother brought up memories from when the both of you were in elementary, causing everyone at the table to laugh.

Anything that happened after the fourth cocktail was a blur.

He pulls himself out of his thoughts to focus on you, shaking his head. Haechan’s eyes are wide as he stares at you. “Nothing out of the ordinary,” he mutters, watching as you nibble on your lip nervously, before sighing. “Come with me,” you instruct, before grabbing Haechan’s wrist and dragging him to a quieter part of the lobby.

You’re standing in front of him, fiddling with your fingers, and Haechan can tell you’re thinking of what to say. “If I did something stupid, you can tell me,” he assures, and the glance you give him is disbelieving. However, the dark clouds in your expression have cleared a little.

“No, it wasn’t stupid, I just have no idea if it was some sort of joke or if you meant it-” you trail off, looking distraught. Haechan becomes alert at the mention of that, his heartbeat picking up slightly. “Y/N, what did I say?”

You’re never one to beat about the bush, and the way you keep hesitating has him nervous.

“You said you liked me,” you finally answer, and Haechan’s world stops.

The memories flood back into his brain a few moments too late. Your parents choosing to rest early, Haechan saying he wanted to stay on a little more-

Oh God.

“It’s three am, Donghyuck. You’re going to wake everyone up,” you scolded, but there was a grin on your face. He had been singing some ridiculous rendition of a carol at top volume, causing you to look away, embarrassed. The staff working the graveyard shift had barely even batted an eye at his antics.

“Huh. You’ve never called me Donghyuck before,” Haechan noticed, blinking slowly. The alcohol was really getting to his brain now, making it foggy. It’s nice, having you call him a name that’s solely reserved for close friends and family. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to,” you say, looking caught.

“Of course you can. We’re close.” Haechan tries not to coo when he sees your cheeks warm slightly, and you find yourself unable to meet his gaze, instead focusing on getting to the correct hotel room.

Just as you pull out the keycard, you feel someone come up right next to you, and you look up in alarm. “Is something wrong?” Haechan shakes his head, leaning down towards you. He’s not sure whether you’re one for physical affection, but he can’t help himself when he pinches your cheeks gently.

“Hae- Donghyuck, what are you doing?” You’re confused at his sudden movements, but you don’t pull away, even as he comes closer. Haechan blinks slowly, your face swimming in and out of his vision.

“You’re adorable, you know that? Sometimes I don’t know what to do with you. But you’re also mean to me sometimes,” Haechan whines out, and you’re equal parts flustered and amused by him. “You- you really need to get to bed,” you say once you’ve collected your thoughts, pushing him in the direction of his room.

He’s not sure if it’s the alcohol, but there are words fighting to escape, and Haechan rather not think about the consequences when he has you in front of him, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. You look pretty like this, and you’ve never let him get this close to you before.

It makes him brave.

Which is why he presses his feet into the carpet to prevent himself from moving, turning around sharply to face you again. He’s determined now, looking at you with a certain sharpness in his eyes that makes your pulse unsteady.

“I like you, Y/N. A lot. I’ve liked you for eight years, and I thought you would figure it out by now, or at least look my way, but-” he hiccups slightly, “you haven’t. Is it because I’m annoying?”

Haechan doesn’t remember what your answer was to that question because he might have fallen asleep on his feet then, and quite frankly, he’s terrified to find out.

“Oh.”

The statement makes it obvious that he remembers everything now, and your eyes widen in incredulity. “Is that all you have to say?” you ask, and Haechan feels like he’s at a crossroads.

Renjun would definitely laugh at him for this.

But Renjun would also tell him to be honest, considering the secret is already out. It’ll be awkward no matter what he does.

Haechan might as well give it a shot. He was too scared in senior year, but he’s less fearful now.

“I wasn’t joking,” he starts, swallowing nervously before looking at you.

“I liked you in junior year, so much that I joined the student council for you. And since then, I’ve just been waiting, and waiting, but I’m not sure how much longer I can go-”

Haechan gets cut off when the collar of his hoodie is jerked forward, allowing him to finally meet your height. There’s a look of exasperation on your face, and Haechan’s not entirely sure what that means in the context of him confessing his feelings. Maybe you’ve decided you’ve had enough of him, and you’re going to leave his dead body to be found once the snow melts.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

There’s relief that fills him at the lack of murderous intent in your voice, but he doesn't get a chance to respond before you’re tiptoeing and closing the distance between the both of you.

It takes Haechan a few moments too long to register that you’re kissing him before he reciprocates in equal measure. He feels like his heart might burst from the way you’re holding onto him, as if the both of you are the only ones existing at this moment.

When you finally let go of his hoodie, the plain disappointment on Haechan’s face causes you to let out a giggle.

He shakes his head slightly in an attempt to clear it, before looking at you. “Can we do that again?” His question earns him a swat on the back, but you don’t resist when Haechan loops his arms around your waist.

It’s only his second time kissing you, but Haechan’s quite sure there aren’t many feelings that can compare to this.

He might just get hooked on it.

“I can’t believe the holiday’s over,” you sigh, sinking into the armchair. Your luggage is next to you, Haechan looking down with a bemused expression on his face. “Doesn’t this happen every year? Just wait another three hundred and sixty-five days.”

From where you’re seated, you’re not able to reach Haechan’s waist, so you settle for hitting him on the thigh. He looks at you indignantly, but whatever retort he has dies on his tongue when your father calls for the both of you to get into the car.

It’s only when the both of you are comfortably seated at the very back, that Haechan leans over, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re not going to get scared on the plane again, are you?” He asks, and you narrow your eyes.

As much as he jokes about it, Haechan was also the one who offered his hand to you on the flight here. “Whatever,” you mutter. “Just hold my hand now.”

You don’t give Haechan time to interject before you intertwine his fingers with yours, missing the way a blush settles at the back of his neck. He forgets that you’re occasionally imbued with bursts of confidence, allowing you to act in ways that have his heart thundering in his chest.

When he finally looks over again, you’re leaning against the side, appreciating the scenery that drifts by. A smile makes its way onto his face subconsciously, and Haechan’s grip on your hand grows imperceptibly tighter.

You’re the best Christmas present he could have asked for.

130 notes · View notes

paperdice · 5 months ago

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Hi is it possible to have toshinori yagi (all might) x male reader. The reader is a famous doctor who walks with a cane (following an accident). They are married and it's a secret, only a few people know (izuku doesn't know) but a journalist surprises them together and publishes it on the Internet. I'll let you imagine how the fans, Izulu and others will react (sorry if there are spelling mistakes, English is not my mother tongue.

𝐓𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐘𝐚𝐠𝐢 (𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭) 𝐱 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭)

"I will change your name and keep it a secret, cause I love you and you love me."

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆You had quite the title that you lived up to, the infamous doctor that helped develop the study of quirks, finding ways to enhance both others and your own quirk for the greater good. A well respected doctor that whenever mentioned on any platform, it was always about either a great discovery or a great stepping stone for the future.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Your own quirk was a healing type, a very rare and special ability that you used to use to help others all the time. But due to an accident, for whatever reason, and you can't tell if your age also takes place in this your quirk has been having some difficulty activating. You had already been working on the study of increasing others quirks, hence this accident encouraged you to focus on the study more.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆You weren't seen often outside of work, if you were out cause of some sort of announcement or you were just on the sidelines to observe whatever you needed for research. So when people do meet you in person they always compliment yourself and your work, or sometimes people praise you for helping them due to your older works. You can only imagine how devastated the public was to hear of your incident, it was big for a good while.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆But behind this rather reserved hardworking doctor, there lived a years long hidden secret. The love life between you and Toshinori Yagi, the symbol of peace. The two of you have been happily married for a long duration, carefully hidden under the rug from everyone aside from a few important people in your lives. You both didn't know if there'd be a time to share this to the public anyways, the question was shrugged off.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Years ago, in the years of both all mights prime and your own, a villain attacked the area you were in. To this age you vaguely remember what happened that day, what you remember is your future husband paying you a visit in the hospital. All might himself was sitting next to your hospital bed for whatever reason, come to find out you were in a coma for about five months.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Apparently all might asked the doctors to please send a future email of your predicted awakening, if there was any sign of you waking up that is. You already had visits from family but all might?? Well truth be told he felt guilty for 'allowing' you to be so severely injured while he was saving the day. His head looming in disbelief that you had been under his protection and he failed you, a rather important figure in history too! man he messed up, he thought..

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆The relationship was so endearing, you balanced each other out perfectly. Always looking out for one another mentally, physically and emotionally even if being separated for work reasons in a rather long period. The simple things with such earnest thought, Toshi messaging you if you got to work/home safely or him randomly dming you "are you okay?" in the middle of the day. Then freaking out if you take hours to reply.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆All the time you bring work papers home and having to look over them, or just sit in whatever spot you pick and type into computer for some time. If Toshi's home and having his own relaxation in the comfort of the shared home, he'll look over where you're working, just to take in the sight of you being busy. He loves this sight especially, your focused face double checking the pages. Toshi stares so lovingly at you everytime for years on end that you've grown used to it.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆What you've also grown used to is him accidentally falling asleep while admiring you, you try and catch his eyes getting heavier before he knocks out, so you can encourage him to rest. Toshi smiles and quietly chuckles each time you tell him that, agreeing that your probably right but he rather spend the little time he has with you. His dearest husband, how could he leave at this sight of him?

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Stress is common with you two, the cause always being work. So stress checks are too common, if one notices the other is a bit more impatient or anxious than usual they always step in. Though, after so many years spent together it seems like Toshi still isn't all that confident on what is the right thing to do for you. Confident or not, his efforts are always appreciated.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Dates are often, normally after overworking the whole week causing the many separations. It can get tough trying to have a date outside so you two gotta get creative with the plans. That's why it's extra special, talking about your weeks and sharing sincere words after holding them back to save it for this very moment. Funny how even at the ages y'all held now, you can still feel weakly in love.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆After working on loads of research on increasing quirks, overtime you felt a guilt dragging you in the mud. You wanted this for the future heroes, for yourself to activate your healing quirk and go out to help again. But to also help Toshi, you see how at times he just wants to go out to aid the civilians or UA students. If you can just help him maintain even just a little of what he has left of his quirk, that'd make you both happy.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆But not much luck lately, you found yourself in a repeated cycle to find answers. Through this cycle guilt found itself attaching to you, all week you were just thinking of helping your husband, determination was turning into desperation. Clearly distracted from your work recently, Toshi thought to pay you a visit at your work place with some snacks and his winning smile.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆This wasn't a huge deal at your work place for him to just show up for you, after all,, your research can help him with his past injury. This was just him checking up on progress that's all, nobody makes a deal of it.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆He finds your work space and asks if you could go outside instead, get some fresh air and have a quick chat, leaving the snacks behind. Now you were standing in the back where nobody could see you two alone. Toshi gets straight to the point after the "how you been" and "hows work", he asks what's been stressing you out so badly.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ��Seeing you this wrecked happened rarely, he's concerned. After some poking and reassuring words you spilled, softening his heart in the process. "it's okay, you don't need to worry about that. I just can't help myself when I see an opportunity where I could've- swooped in and saved the day.." Toshi sighs, now holding your left hand, it's bare and alone.. having abandoned the wedding ring at home. His thumb rubs on your ring finger as he continues "I've passed down one for all, even if you did help me it wouldn't go as far as you think. Because I don't have my quirk anymore."

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆The truth was.. He was right. And you knew that. It just didn't sit well with your heart, "I love you for trying and thinking of me.. really, I do.." his other hand was now rummaging through his pocket, "ever since you laid out your heart for me, I just- how could I have been so lucky?." he pulls out something in his pocket, but he's still hiding it with his hand.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆"I'm grateful that I married you, secret or not, I'm happy it was you I fell for." confessing his love, he pulled your hand up to his face and kissed your ring finger, the item he pulled out was none other than your wedding ring. Toshi ever so gently puts it on your finger, staring at you with what you sworn you saw was heart eyes. Little did you both know, this sweet moment was going to uncover the hidden secret that was lonesome from the public eyes.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆About a day later an article was published from a trusted journalist, "Symbol of Peace All might and Infamous Doctor y/n's Hidden Marriage" ...What.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆It was spread like wild fire all over the internet, what made it worse, there was solid proof right there. Toshi holding your hand, kissing it and placing the ring. With another hidden shot of the shared kiss before heading back to work. Worldwide. you couldn't even go to work that day, neither of you could.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Not because of hate no, just questions about the relationship and how long y'all been together ect ect. There was a mixed of reactions, the people who didn't approve two men dating (homophobia), the group who didn't care and supported, then there was the all might simps left heartbroken that he was taken all along. Fortunately the support was higher than the hate, because why care?

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆If you two seemly have been married and kept this secret for an assuming while, why bother hating? You two were happy, there were even theories out that suggested you two had to hide it due to fear of homophobia. All might- Toshinori, has saved so many people and inspired others worldwide, the least they can do is support his love life, it's not like he can control his heart.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆Young Midoriya messaged Toshi with panicking texts, asking the same questions everyone else did, asking why he didn't trust to tell him but it's okay that he didn't and how he's happy for him.

It was a lot.., Toshi was all slumped and apologetic to you about not being careful and "stupid" enough to take you out and do that rather than being in closed doors.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆That's when he felt like he had a good idea of telling the public everything, to make a video. Which you knew it wasn't going to work, you saw how badly he wanted to get it over with that he forgot how awkward he can get on camera plus it would be so cringe. You let him discover this on his own, dozens of restarts later he came to the same conclusion.

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆You patted his back with a smile, "how about we do it in person? A conference so we can answer all the questions."

⊹₊ ⋆✦ ┆So that's what you both decided on, Toshi was understandably, a bit nervous. Just for the worries to be washed away with rather respectful asks, very few had made you both uncomfortable but never extreme. It was a relief to see how many people had accepted it so quickly, support on the internet with cute fanart of you two, people saying how you were both lucky catches for one another.

in the end, it was all okay.

How convenient would you say it is to be needing more information on teenagers quirks that the principal from UA invited you over to observe the hero course students train.

where your husband worked at.

You stood outside the school building, it's rather intimidating height staring down at you. "Hello! I'm down here!" A voiced called, and your already familiar with it. Looking down seeing none other than principal nezu, he's so small and he was waving at you with a smile.

"I'm glad you could you make it, I thought I'd help you with your analysis regarding to better understanding the youths quirks." Nezu's smile never left and his little eyes was just adorable.

You smiled back to the principal, "Could you kindly tell me how will you be aiding me? Am I seeing the students training up close?" Questioning what he meant by his words within his invitation. "Right now they're training in our gym gamma, I'll lead you the way and tell you the details!"--

-Walking in you saw Eraserhead, Ectoplasm and your husband. But currently Eraserhead and Toshi had their backs towards you, it didn't seem like they were waiting for you. Weird..

"Have you two already forgotten who was paying a visit today?" Nezu called them out from behind, his voice perked up their ears as they both turned towards you. Aizawas face was slightly confused but his face relaxed after, meanwhile Toshi's face lit up.

Aizawa questioned Nezu, "Oh, it was today?. Thought it was next week." He rubbed the back of his neck. "W-what, I wasn't told any of this, you were planning on visiting?" It was so cute how flustered he was to see you, you could tell he was holding back excitement. everyone could

While both you and nezu were explaining things, some students noticed you.

"Ouu is All mights boothang came and visited him? So cute!" Mina teased from afar, she was loud enough that a good chuck of the other students heard and looked over.

"Awh, that's sweet, All Might's one lucky guy huh." Jiro smiled looking straight at Toshi. He didn't know what to say, so you had to speak for him, "A visit is part of why I'm here, I just need to gather up some info from you kids quirks then I'm out"

After Aizawa told them not to get distracted, you were then told by nezu to watch the students close one by one and get whatever you needed. So you did, but not before asking to step aside with Toshi first.

Sure you could speak to him after the examination or at home, but you had to cram this into schedule and you knew you'd be staying at work a bit later tonight. So why not chat a bit now?

The whole time as you two spoke you heard all kinds of wingman type of hyping up in the background from the students, some of them at least.

It was getting to Toshi since his face was all pink and he was starting to stumble on words a bit. That went on like that, for the entire time you were there. It was very sweet you can't lie, some asked about the relationship, a handful mentioned about your research and few didn't say anything. And one asked about where you got the sick cane Kaminari.

By the end of it all you did gain some things that you needed but now you also gained a bunch of mini wingmans by your side.

"You know, if we were exposed a bit sooner, I think I'd invite them to our wedding."

"Seriously.."

Ahhh I really hope you like it, sorry for the wait I really wanted to nail this one! It was fun writing the ideas and story build, come back and roll again if you're thinking of another request!

#Mha x reader #Bnha x reader #All might x reader #Yagi toshinori x reader #Fluff #Headcanons #I think I wrote a liltoomuch..

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thollandneedy · 2 months ago

Text

The homecoming trick- Peter Parker

A/n: I took the inspo from a "Never been kissed" scene.

Warnings: Language

Summary: Peter comforts you after you get tricked by the popular guy from school.

Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here

Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻

Running footsteps could be heard from the empty corridor where Y/n was hurrying to find his best friend, Peter Parker. Looking quickly through the small rectangular windows of the classrooms, she finally found the room she was looking for, opening the door without worrying about the people in the class. The girl caused a bang, causing all the students sitting around the chemistry table to withdraw their attention from the teacher and turn to Y/n.

“PETER PARKER. YOU DON'T KNOW WHO ASKED ME TO THE HOMECOMING DANCE!” Y/n almost shouts, causing the brunette to blush as he realizes that the prying eyes have turned their attention to him.

“Miss L/N!” The middle-aged teacher who was teaching the class calls out to the girl, who straightens her posture while biting her lower lip, realizing that she had made a mistake by shouting into the classroom.

“Sorry.” The girl says quietly. “Peter?”

The brunette stands up promptly, removing his transparent goggles and positioning them under the massive stone desk. Parker asks his teacher for silent permission, who only answers him by rolling her eyes and looking down. Leaving the room to find her best friend, the door closes behind the pair and Y/n is able to express her happiness without being judged for her outbursts.

“Who asked you to the dance to make you act like that? Harry Styles?” Peter asks, drawing a laugh from the younger girl.

“You know I've emailed him several times, but he always ignores me.” Y/n replied, crossing her arms. “Cody Taylor” The girl breaks into a huge grin, jumping up and down with joy that almost causes Peter to overbalance and fall against the chain of blue lockers positioned on the walls of the little-trafficked corridors.

“Ah... Cody”

Peter hated Cody Taylor, and he had a reason. It wasn't because he was popular, and therefore extremely popular, but because he didn't have a good feeling about the boy with the light brown eyes and wavy blond hair. Cody had a bad reputation with girls, and some might even say that he just uses girls to “get what he wants”, and then disappears off the map pretending that he never met the person he got involved with. Even so, he attracted rivers of girls who would even give their souls so that he could have a day with this Cody Taylor.

“You don't seem excited.” Y/n tilts his head to the side, frowning as he realizes the frustration in Peter's voice.

“Y/n, I-” Peter tries to say, but is cut off by his best friend.

“I got a letter with his name on it, but I thought it was a bad prank. When I was going out for lunch, he called me over and said he'd had his eye on me for ages, but I'd never noticed him. So he asked me out at the last minute. Isn't that great?” The girl nods as she remembers the previous events with Cody, looking away and thinking back to the boy's voice calling her to the dance.

Peter stays silent, pulling Y/n back to reality.

“I don't like Cody, Y/n. In fact, I've never liked him, and that's nothing new. You know about his fame.” Peter crosses his arms, looking down at his own feet.

“Welllll, but you like me. Then you should be happy.” The girl tries to reverse the boy's thinking.

Let's put the cards on the table

Y/n wasn't the type of girl that Cody Taylor was interested in. Whenever he showed up with a new girl, she was wearing short clothes and big necklines, even though the school didn't allow it. They were sexy women, who could attract a man by their body and their manipulative eyes, while their manner was petty and extremely needy of attention from other men who could fuck her with their eyes. Y/n was part of the book club on Wednesday afternoons; she had a limited group of friends; she always wore colorful socks with characters on them and she didn't like being the center of attention.

For Peter, she was perfect

Y/n didn't let school influence her to be sexier or more mature than she needed to be, and that's what made her stand out among all the girls who once stayed with Cody.

But Peter would never admit that to her.

At least not when he was competing against the most desirable boy of the last year.

“And you accepted?” Peter asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Of course I did!” Y/n says excitedly.

“Well, then it's a deal.” Peter nods, continuing with his arms crossed.

“What about you? Have you called Liz yet?” The girl puts one of her hands on the teenager's arm, who undoes his posture looking for the right words to lie.

Liz Allen had rejected Peter, and he had no one to go to the dance with except Y/n, who now had an unexpected date. However, it was no surprise that she would reject him, since he had never had a gallant enough track record to get a girl to agree to go to the dance with him. Once again, he was going to sell his ticket and feign a mysterious illness the day before the event.

“She said she already had a date, but if she didn't, she'd go with me.” Peter lies.

It was much nicer to say something like that, than to repeat: “Not even if you made a pig speak my full name and shit out a golden invitation, would I go to the prom with you.”

“I'm sorry, love.” The girl took pity on her best friend, then slowly approached him until she was around him in a loving embrace. “Tell me a color. Any color. I want you to choose what I'm going to wear to the ball. So that you can take part in it even a little bit.” The girl asks, drawing a silly laugh from the brunette.

“Y/n...” Peter tries to say, but is cut off by a hand that flies to his mouth, preventing him from saying anything.

“Just say it.” The girl asks insistently.

“Green. You look beautiful in green. Especially dark green, like that dress you wore to May's brunch last year.” Peter recalls the dress his best friend was wearing for his aunt's birthday.

That day, Peter was sure that Y/n wasn't just a friend. Parker sketched the girl's body with his eyes, making his heart beat faster than usual and his throat go dry as he noticed her toned legs. He had always known that he liked Y/n, but after a lot of research with his friend Google and his friend Buzzfeed quiz, what he felt could have been a lack of affection for the loss of his parents. For weeks he tried to deny his feelings, telling himself that he was lying to himself and that his friendship couldn't be ruined by a desire he didn't even know was mutual.

“Do you remember me from that day?” Y/n shrugs at his friend's comment.

“I do. It was when you started to like wearing dresses more, and you bought this one after I told you it would look perfect on you.” Peter comments, causing the girl to smile without showing her teeth.

“Liz is an idiot not to go with you to the dance, you know that, don't you?” Y/n tries to cheer Peter up, causing the boy to smile sideways as he agrees with the girl in front of him who was wearing a gray sweatshirt and ripped jeans.

“I like to believe so.” Peter looked away from the teacher who was calling to him through the window, asking him to return to class with only a reproachful look for spending too long outside the classroom. “I need to get back to class, but will you wait for me so I can take you home? My lesson finishes at 4pm.”

“Sure. I'll stay in the library.” The girl replies, and then Peter reaches out for the door handle. “Wait!”

“What?” Peter throws his head back, pretending to be annoyed by Y/n's presence.

“I love you, Peter. Cody will never take me away from you, as much as I'd like him to.” Y/n touches the student's strong muscle, making both their hearts race at the subtle but tender contact.

They both blush, and Y/n quickly removes his hand and puts it in the pocket of his jeans.

“I love you too, Y/n.” Peter smiles blushing, silently says goodbye to Y/n and enters the classroom again.

(...)

The pink speaker was positioned on top of Y/n's bedspread, playing “Drunk in Love” at high volume. Y/n was sitting next to the speaker, hunched over so that she could reach the strap of her silver high-heeled shoes, which she would be wearing tonight. The week had passed quickly since the day Cody had asked her to the dance, even after Peter had sent her countless hints that she shouldn't go to the dance with a boy with such a reputation. As much as she knew it, her need for a teenage movie experience was greater than her rationality. Just as Parker tried his best to blur Y/n's mind of the unrealistic and sexual wonders that Cody could offer, she tried to take him to the dance as an extra chaperone.

The sound of a knock on the door was heard, and Y/n stood up promptly, quickly turning down the music. Fixing her loose hair in a curling iron, the girl looks at herself in the dressing table mirror, searching for any lint that might be out of place. Her mother's voice says loudly:

“Ah, Peter! You look great.”

The door closes and she hears heavy footsteps coming towards her room. The brunette opens the door slowly, as if asking before entering, but without words. A part of his face is seen by Y/n, who laughs at the boy's action, saying:

“You can come in, Peter. I'm not without clothes.” The girl says, picking up her cell phone to locate the car in which Cody will pick her up in a few minutes.

As soon as her eyes wandered away from the cell phone screen, her stomach seemed to drop like when she was on a roller coaster. There was Peter, wearing a black tuxedo and a green striped tie to match Y/n's dress, which covered her breasts with a corset decorated with flowers in the same dark shade, while the skirt descended between several layers of silk fabric. The girl gave a slow smile, moving towards the boy who seemed at a loss for words at the sight of Y/n dressed like a princess.

“Yeah, Parker... You don't look half bad.” The girl approached him, placing one of her hands on his tie and stroking the fabric with her fingertips.

“You look great.” Peter smiles, making Y/n look away in a nervous smile. “If I hadn't agreed to go, I would never have seen you like this. Apart from the many photos I know you'll be taking to post on Instagram later,” he comments.

“You look really great, Peter.” Y/n says again in a sweet voice. “I've never seen you like this before.”

“Do you like it? When I become rich, I'll make a point of only wearing a tuxedo to please you.” Peter tries to charm him, only to receive a low chuckle.

The weather seems to be getting hotter than usual, as if something is descending into the air and making it hotter, even though it's not summer to feel such heat. The sound of a loud horn interrupts the gazes fixed on each other, causing the couple to move away quickly and Y/n to run for the front door, while Peter grabs the bag hanging from the chair on the girl's dressing table, then rushes after the girl.

The black car stops in Y/n's driveway, and then Cody Taylor gets out of the car. Peter grimaces as he notices the visible ego of the boy, who didn't seem to care about the brunette's opinion. Cody adjusts his light gray blazer, allowing room for the car door to swing open, hinting that Y/n could say goodbye to get into the vehicle. The blond smiles without showing his teeth, and before Y/n can do anything, the boy stops her from speaking:

“Sorry I'm late. I had to stop by the market to pick up a few things.” Cody says with a satisfied smile.

Two more girls and a man come out of the vehicle. They're all dressed as if they were in a gang looking for a victim to torment. Y/n frowns in doubt, turning his head away when he notices that there are more people than expected. Those girls and that boy were part of the little group that hung out with Cody in the corridors and threw huge parties for the children, whom they thought were enough to sit with him. Peter put his hand on Y/n's shoulder, realizing that something was wrong.

“I thought we were going alone.” Y/n says, causing Cody's girls to laugh quietly.

“We? No, Y/n. There is no we.” Taylor gets into the car again, as the boy in the red tie pulls his cell phone out of his pocket to record, while the girls pull out open egg cartons from behind their hands, which turned out to be used as weapons against the girl in the green dress.

The eggshells broke easily against Peter's chest, who stepped in front of Y/n to protect her from the thrown eggs, but his chest burned when he realized that only he was being soiled by the yellowish yolks. Y/n positioned herself next to Peter, feeling the hard shell break on her chest and her newly rented dress. Thinking it was over, the same boy who had recorded the scene pulled out a packet of wheat flour from behind him, which was thrown at the couple standing in front of the entrance to Y/n's house. As soon as the box was empty, Cody's friends got into the car, the door slamming shut quickly and the sound of screeching tires screeching against the asphalt as they decided to flee their cowardly act.

Peter looked at Y/n, dirty with eggs and wheat flour. Her eyes shone and her mascara ran down in the shape of a black drop. The girl took a deep breath, straightening her hair and removing the small white pieces from her dress.

“You were right.” Y/n mutters quietly, taking a deep breath to stop herself from bursting into embarrassed tears in front of Peter. “Cody is pathetic.” His jaw clenches.

“Y/n...” Peter put one of his hands on Y/n's dirty cheek, pulling her into a warm embrace.

The crying was low, but Peter could hear the sound of her heart breaking into pieces. The boy ran his hand through his best friend's hair, trying to make sure that their bodies made as much contact as possible through a gesture of care. Peter looked at the horizon, still able to see Cody's car driving away. As much as he thought about chasing after it to get revenge, Y/n needed someone right now. The girl's chest heaved as she coughed between loud cries of pain.

“Let's go in.” Peter said into her ear, kissing her forehead afterwards.

“I don't want my mother to see me like this.” She said through heavy tears.

“Let's go around the back then. Up the tree that leads to your bedroom window.” Peter holds her hand gently, trying to guide her somewhere that isn't soiled with the remains of her shame.

(...)

Y/n lay with her head on Peter's outstretched arm, who lay behind her stroking her hair. The brunette replayed the scene several times in his mind, planning future revenge in whatever form, but one thing was certain, Cody Taylor would regret it. Over the younger woman's shoulder, the brunette could see that she was watching several stories of her friends at the party with drinks in their hands. Y/n wasn't going to admit that she felt pathetic for being carried away by her silly desires to go to the dance with a popular guy. On the other hand, she didn't feel sad about the situation itself, but about having embarrassed herself and probably becoming a walking meme when the video was leaked. The smell of shampoo was present in both of their wet hair, but even the clear smell couldn't cover up the egg smell.

“Watching videos of them won't help, darling.” Peter said in a low voice, causing Y/n to snort low.

The light from the television shone against the faces of the teenagers lying on Y/n's bed. Fortunately, Y/n's parents thought they had already gone to the dance and left the house alone a few minutes after Peter and his best friend went up to the girl's room. Everything was dark, but the heavy atmosphere between the two was clear. Y/n put her cell phone face down and tried to focus on the Star Wars episode on television. Peter's tuxedo and Y/n's dress were placed in a large bag in front of Y/n's bed so that they wouldn't forget to take it out to wash during the week. After much insistence, Peter had finally persuaded her to watch the third one in an attempt to distract her with the thousand and one facts he told her about the movie for more than half an hour.

The girl in the cherry-print pyjamas turns to Peter after picking up the remote control and turning off the television. Y/n stares at him with watery eyes, and allows her head to rest in the passage between his shoulder and neck, as if it were a place of safety. Peter hugged her, closing his eyes and thinking of what he could say to cheer up his friend in some way. His head was screaming for him to be able to confess the way he felt, exposing that he would never put her through anything like this if he were hers.

“I feel terrible.” Y/n proclaimed.

“At least we have enough eggs to make an eggnog.” Peter says comically, failing to get a smile out of Y/n.

“I'm not sad. But it's like I've been exposed. My innermost and most genuine feelings have been trampled on and pushed aside as if I'm not human enough to feel anything.” Y/n cringes. “Have you ever felt that?”

Peter denies silently

“It sucks.” Y/n says at last.

Silence

“Too bad you couldn't take a picture in the dress.” Peter says quietly, remembering the many times during the week that his friend had commented on the many beautiful photos she would take when she arrived at the ball.

“I did, but you hadn't arrived yet so we could take one together.” Y/n says, feeling her knees touch his.

Silence

“Cody's just another rich piece of shit who got into school because his dad is friends with the principal and he wants to get into an Ivy on a sports scholarship. He's dumber than a door, so don't think he won't end up falling after all this. It will take time, but it will happen. And it's going to be beautiful.” Peter says as if there's poison in his words.

“I'm dumber than a door. I shouldn't have let my illusion cross the line.” Y/n says, moving a little away from the brunette who was staring at her, deep into her eyes. “You have beautiful eyes. They've always reminded me of those little chocolate balls in cookies.”

“I think that's hunger.” Peter laughs quietly. “Are you okay? I mean, fuck. I'm sorry. Of course, you're not okay.” The brunette in the gray shirt and striped pants closes his eyes tightly, placing one of his hands on his forehead as he says it.

“It's okay, Peter.” Y/n's voice was soft, but faint because of the involuntary tears that ran down her makeup-free skin. “We're still in the first year. Worse things will probably happen.” The girl shrugged, even though her spirit was still sick with shame.

Peter nodded, looking away for a few seconds and carefully picking up the words he was going to say to his weakened friend.

“How well are you coping?”

“You taught me. That day at May's brunch. When my aunt died and I just told you at the end of the day, and you told me that I would never be strong enough to cope with everything in life, so if one day I was about to break down, let me remember that everything can be fixed. My aunt wouldn't come back from the dead, but I know she wouldn't want to see me in a bad way.” Y/n comments. “I know I'm in a bad way, but if I think I'm going to be okay, I'll heal faster. Positive psychology, huh?”

Parker smiles without showing his teeth, silently agreeing. A warm feeling embraces his chest, making the air less heavy than it was. The sound of the wind beating against the window and the leaves of the trees rustling against each other was what made the silence soothing. For a moment, everything felt like a peaceful sea, where the moon was present and commanded the slow waves. They both felt connected to each other, but the commotion wasn't usual, but a line of various emotions that curled into a tangle of desires. Their breaths seemed to be merging slowly, and neither side intended to move away.

“I got jealous.” Y/n confessed quietly. “When you asked Liz to the dance instead of me that week before Cody asked me.”

“What?” Peter makes a confused face, not understanding why she would be jealous of him, sitting back against the pillows of Y/n's bed.

“Last year we went together, and then Liz joined the school. You only talked about her, so I got busy obsessing over someone else too so it would hurt less that I wanted to go out with you, but you were immersed in the Liz Allen world.” The girl sat down next to Peter, allowing their shoulders to touch briefly as they spoke to each other.

“Shut up,” Peter replied, disbelieving what he was hearing. ”Why didn't you tell me this before?”

“Maybe because you spent hours talking about how beautiful her skirt looked on her body, or how you'd sell your collection of Legos to get a sexy compliment from her.” Y/n recalls Peter's words.

“Okay! I exaggerated about the legos, but all that was platonic.” Peter defends himself. “I didn't want to call you because I didn't want to seem weird, especially because...” The dark-haired man tries to say, but loses his words in the middle, noticing that he was about to say something considered his personal secret.

His face reddens, and even if he tried to tell Y/n so that she would forget what he was about to say, she wouldn't. The pyjama-clad girl sat down in front of Peter, crossing her feet and projecting her posture forward in an attempt to listen carefully to what he had to say. Peter nodded, looking at nothing and turning his attention to the girl in front of him, who was staring at him expectantly.

“I like you too, Peter.” Y/n proclaimed before the brunette could say anything.

His eyes sparkle, and his mouth goes dry.

“D-do you?”

“I do. Do you?” Y/n asked fearfully, thinking that perhaps she had misunderstood the teenager's signals.

“I do”

“Why did you talk about Liz then?” Y/n bites her lower lip as she asks.

“Why didn't you ever give me any signs that you liked me back? You always hugged me and kissed me, but I never felt it was anything more than friendship, also because you do it with all your friends. You don't show it when you like someone, apart from when you said it about Cody Shitty. You're an enigma, and that's very attractive. Apart from the fact that you're the person I trust most in the world, even though you have terrible taste in socks.” Peter confesses, playing with his fingers as he says it.

“Peter...” Y/n touches his striped pants-covered leg, sliding his hand up the inside of his thigh.

Parker's chest juts forward, gently grasping the back of Y/n's neck as he moves in for a kiss. Their moist lips complete each other, pulling their bodies together as if they were magnets lost long ago after failing to connect with each other. Y/n's breasts are pressed against Parker's strong chest, at the same moment that the girl climbs onto the boy's lap, releasing the weight of the feeling she was carrying with her to deposit it in synchronous movements with his lap. The brunette placed one of his hands on the girl's waist, guiding her sloppy movements as the kiss continued to escalate.

Their tongues wore each other out, seeming as if they had known each other for ages. The fit was perfect, and the movement of their mouths had the same hot desire for more. Their chests shared the same heart rate because of the excitement. Their movements became faster, and their clothes seemed to jump from their bodies to the floor without even touching them. In the midst of kisses down their necks, the sound of a key banging against the front door was heard, causing the couple to move away in fright.

“My parents are back”

“At least they don't know we're here.” Peter says low with his body paralyzed on top of Y/n.

“Y/n and Peter. Can you come down here please?” Y/n's mother's voice echoes loudly.

“How the fuck does she know we're here?” Peter says in desperation.

“Sixth sense. All mothers have them. You may be Spider-Man, but she knows a lot more than you do.” Y/n gets up quickly, looking for her blouse lying on the floor.

“How do you know I’m...” Peter puts on his rolled-up gray shirt

“Peter. You don't know how to hide secrets.” Y/n laughs, opening the door next to Peter and closing it behind him.

#tom holland #peter parker spiderman #tom!peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker #mcu!peter x reader #mcu peter parker #mcu!peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #tom holland x fem #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #tom holland fanfiction

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peppymintdreams · 22 days ago

Note

isaac and pickle get into a fight, pickle starts crying and breaking down in the middle of it, isaac comforts them and and they make-up in the end PLEASEPLEASE im literally begging im on my knees

Of course my child

Broken Promises

Isaac Rhoades x pickle

Isaac was buried in paperwork, his eyes glued to his computer screen, fingers tapping furiously against the keys. The room was dimly lit by the blue glow of his desk lamp, casting long shadows on the walls. Across the room, Pickle sat on the couch, watching him with growing frustration.

“You promised,” Pickle’s voice finally broke the silence, cutting through the tension that had been building for days.

Isaac didn’t look up, too absorbed in whatever document he was typing. “What?”

“You promised you’d take a break tonight. You’ve been working non-stop for weeks.” Pickle’s voice wavered, but they tried to stay calm. This conversation had happened too many times before, and Pickle was tired of the same excuses.

Isaac sighed, still not taking his eyes off the screen. “I know, I know, but this is important. I just need to finish this report.”

Pickle’s chest tightened, their hands curling into fists as they fought to keep their cool. “It’s always one more report. One more email. One more late night.”

Isaac paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard, but he didn’t respond.

Pickle stood up, their frustration boiling over. “You said you’d take a break, Isaac! You promised we’d spend time together tonight. But here you are, working again, like always.” Their voice shook now, the pent-up hurt and disappointment spilling out.

Isaac rubbed his temple, finally glancing over at them. “I’m sorry, okay? But I can’t just drop everything because you want me to. This is my job. You know how much pressure I’m under.”

Pickle’s heart sank at his dismissive tone. They weren’t asking for much, just a few hours of his time. “I’m not asking you to drop everything. I’m asking you to keep your promise, to us,” they said softly, their voice trembling with emotion. “We never see each other anymore.”

Isaac sighed again, louder this time, as if Pickle’s words were an inconvenience. “You don’t get it, Pickle. I have deadlines. Responsibilities. I can’t just—”

“Of course, I don’t get it!” Pickle interrupted, tears stinging their eyes. “How could I? You never talk to me anymore. You’re so caught up in your work that it’s like I don’t even exist!”

The room fell into a tense silence. Isaac blinked at them, caught off guard by the raw emotion in their voice. Pickle rarely got this upset, but when they did, it was like a dam breaking.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Pickle whispered, their voice breaking. “I can’t keep feeling like I’m second to your job, like I don’t matter.”

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. He hadn’t realized how deep the hurt had gone. Pickle’s hands were shaking now, and before Isaac could say anything, they sank onto the couch, burying their face in their hands.

“I’m sorry,” Pickle mumbled, their voice muffled by their hands. “I just— I just want you back. I miss you, Isaac.”

Isaac felt a knot tighten in his chest as he watched them break down, the weight of his broken promises settling over him like a heavy cloak. He could see now how much he’d been neglecting them, how his constant work had driven a wedge between them.

Slowly, Isaac stood and crossed the room, sitting beside Pickle. Gently, he placed a hand on their back, feeling the way they trembled beneath his touch. “Hey…,” he murmured, his voice soft now, filled with regret. “I didn’t realize how much this was hurting you.”

Pickle didn’t lift their head, their sobs shaking their small frame. Isaac’s heart clenched as he pulled them into his arms, wrapping them tightly in a comforting embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into their hair. “I didn’t mean to push you away.”

Pickle’s sobs quieted as they leaned into Isaac, clinging to his shirt as if he might disappear. “I just feel so alone,” they admitted in a shaky breath. “I know your work is important, but I need you too.”

Isaac held them closer, guilt coursing through him. “You’re right. I’ve been working too much. I just get so caught up in everything, and I didn’t see how much I was neglecting you. But I promise I’ll do better. I’m here now.”

Pickle sniffled, wiping their eyes with the back of their hand. “You always say that, but nothing ever changes. I just… I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Isaac felt the weight of their words, and it hit him how many times he had made that same promise. He had let them down, again and again. “I mean it this time,” he said softly. “I’ll make time for us. I don’t want to lose you, Pickle. You’re more important to me than anything else, I swear.”

Pickle looked up at him, their eyes still wet with tears, but there was a flicker of hope there too. “You mean it?”

Isaac nodded, his voice steady. “I do. I’ll take that break, I’ll make time for us starting now.”

Pickle searched his face, as if trying to believe him, before nodding slowly. “Okay… but I need you to actually do it, Isaac. Not just say it.”

Isaac gently brushed a tear from their cheek, his expression soft. “I will. I promise.”

For a long moment, they stayed there in the quiet, holding each other as the tension began to dissolve. Isaac rested his chin on Pickle’s head, feeling their breathing slowly steady as they calmed down in his arms.

“I missed you too,” he whispered. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

Pickle closed their eyes, leaning into his warmth. “Just… don’t forget about me again, okay?”

Isaac pressed a kiss to their forehead, pulling them closer. “I won’t. I promise.”

And this time, Isaac vowed to keep that promise.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #peppymintdreamsproduction #isaac rhoades x reader #zsakuva isaac #isaac is angy #isaac rhoades #isaac x reader #isaac #ask the mint and you shall receive

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blushstories · 2 years ago

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I’m back…I’ ve had mote thoughts. If possible please can you write something with Butcher and reader + the boys like figuring something out and reader makes a really good point or gives really useful information and Billy just gets really excited and snogs the living daylights out of her in the middle of the room. Like cheek grabbing full on. idk…i just UGH. I have too many thoughts about this man djkdke. Thank you!!!

you know what ME TOO!!! at first i wondered whether he was the type to do this but i think i made it work!!

“Oh, we’re dead,” Hughie hasn’t blinked for a few seconds. “We’re so, so dead.”

Butcher tuts, running a hand over his jaw, his beard. He tugs a little at the hairs by his ear, a nervous habit you’ve noticed kicking around recently.

Your tongue presses against the roof of your mouth, winding up your jaw with it. Your heart stutters as you try to gather your courage to speak in the testosterone-heavy room.

“No, we ain’t. You ‘aven’t got a clue if they know,” Butcher insists. He’s got Hughie to work his computer magic to connect to a Vought server, and Hughie completely believes that they’ll track his connection.

“What are we even looking for? Do you know how this stuff works?” Hughie says, voice taut and pitch wobbly.

“Not one bleedin’ idea. Not like I give a fuck anyhow, that’s what you’re for,” Butcher says with mock cheerfulness.

“Guys—“ You’re immediately spoken over.

“Oh, great. Here I thought we were friends. So much for canary.”

“You might want to—“

“Oh, give over.”

“You know what, Butcher, I—“

“Hello?!”You say, loud and sharp. As if buckets of ice water sloshed onto their heads, they paused. You take a deep breath and smile.

“Great, thanks. I just wanted to say, you might want to check that folder,” you point to a spot on the screen. “Annie told me it’s where Homelander saves promotion emails, under-the-table emails, everything. He’s not as secretive as he should be.” You watch with silent delight, Butcher’s eyes flashing with recognition, plans being drawn up in his mind’s eye, creases by one eye introduced by an enlightened smirk.

Double click of the mouse.

“It’s password protected,” Hughie frowns.

“Oh, it’s biggestdick2,” you say. Butcher scoffs with amusement, then snickers when Hughie inputs it… and it works. He’s silent for a moment, rolls Hughie’s chair over and he scrolls and scans some documents, before freezing and looking up at you with glee in his eyes.

When he stands, the ends of his coat almost can’t keep up with his movements, and then there’s warmth on your cheeks and his lips are on yours and he kisses you with everything he has. It’s passion and love and admiration and relief.

You’re breathless and giddy when he pulls away, shoulders heaving, “That’s my girl.”

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #the boys #the boys tv #the boys fanfiction #x reader #karl urban characters #karl urban #billy butcher x you #billy butcher x y/n #william butcher #william butcher x you #the boys x reader #billy butcher fanfiction #william butcher fanfiction #butcher the boys

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valiantstarlights · 1 year ago

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[Wedding Planner AU] Part 3: Wedding Dress

Part 2: On the Restaurant's Balcony Area

I would like to thank @seiya-starsniper for reminding me about this AU, and making me realize that I had not, in fact, posted this chapter yet. 🙇‍♀️ It has literally been sitting (90% completed) in my labyrinth of notes since June 25. 😂

CW: just the usual 28 angsty stab wounds 😊

Being inside the Endless mansion is like being in a tomb.

Not that Hob has been to any tombs, since that would require a fuckton of money as well as the absence of common sense, but the air inside was noticeably heavier. No doubt the tangible weight of generations' worth of expectations and disappointments.

He remembers Dream not wanting to go back home for the holidays. How he took his sweet time packing, and even then he only packed light: a toothbrush bought from the convenience store near the dorms, a bottle of black nail polish, and snack sized chocolate bars enough to last him a month. He didn't take any of Hob's clothing with him, even though he wore them almost exclusively during the school year. He claimed that it was because they might get taken from him, but Hob suspected that it was because Dream had been ashamed of him.

Their eventual break up had proven him right.

"Mr. Gadling!"

Hob turns towards the pool area and spots Ms. Muse, wearing a bright yellow sundress and looking positively radiant. Meanwhile, Hob is a frazzled mess, having come straight from Constantine's main office all the way across London, making nonstop calls to catering companies in his car about the billion and one hors d'oeuvres Mrs. Muse and Mrs. Endless wanted.

"Ms. Muse," he greets amiably, and notices the distinct lack of her groom-to-be, as well as their overbearing mothers. "Is everyone else running late?"

"Oh, no," Ms. Muse says, and gestures to the comfortably padded wicker chair beside her. It seems that this meeting will be taking place in a less formal setting. Hob wonders if it is for his benefit or hers. Does he look as sleep-deprived as he felt? "Mother and Mrs. Endless are attending a soiree in Berlin, and Dream is working inside." She points to the side, where a dark figure is seated behind a desk, typing on his laptop, face set in concentration and earplugs in.

Hob remembers that face well. Dream is deep in 'the zone,' as they called it, back in the day. Hob remembers bringing him tea once in the early days, only to find it cold and untouched, and Dream apologetic afterwards. He had insisted on drinking the cold tea, but Hob took pity on him and drank the tea himself. After that incident, he would only make tea for Dream when he surfaces from his 'zone,' and it's a system that worked for them.

He wonders if Ms. Muse knows that, then mentally slaps himself. Of course she does. She's Dream's goddamn fiancee.

And more to the point, she would know Dream better than him, being in the same social class. They probably attended the same rich people parties all the time since they were kids.

Hob should just get this over with and leave. He still has more than three dozen calls he has to make before the end of the day, and an appearance to make at one of the junior wedding planners' small wedding receptions, to make sure that everything goes well, and to serve as back-up in case something goes wrong.

It's barely midday and he's already so fucking tired.

He takes out a stack of bridal magazines, since Ms. Muse expressed in her email that she prefers to flip through magazines rather than browse pinterest boards. Hob went the extra mile and got a couple of good vintage issues as well, in case she prefers the style of older gowns.

"Here," he says, and slides the stack towards the middle of the glass-topped wicker table between them. "Please feel free to browse and point out anything you like, even if it's just a color palette from a certain gown, the style of the lace, or the hairstyle of the model. We'll narrow down your choices later, and I will write and note down all your preferences. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me."

Ms. Muse dimples at him and excitedly flips through the topmost magazine on the stack. "Thank you for doing this, Mr. Gadling," she says. "I know it's not easy, what with our mothers' extravagant ideas, but you still manage to do everything so well and so professionally. I'm glad you're our wedding planner."

"Of course," Hob says, returning her smile, but doesn't say anything more. Lord knows what would happen if he were to speak his mind and tell her that all he's thinking about lately is foisting off the Muse-Endless wedding to someone else, preferably to someone who doesn't have a romantic history with the groom-to-be.

Hob notices that Ms. Muse is different when her mother and Mrs. Endless are not around. She looks more at ease, and instead of holding herself up so rigidly, she was slouching a little, one elbow on the table and one leg tucked neatly underneath the other.

She has told Hob that she definitely wants to have a simple, Grecian style gown made with light fabrics, and maybe a short train. She wonders if she could have a wedding gown that ombres from white to a dark orange at the bottom, while her bridesmaids (Dream's sisters and her own), could wear sunset-colored gowns to a style of their choosing that would fit their body type well.

"Delirium would definitely want to wear something like this, but have it ombre from a dark pink at the top to white at the bottom," she says, pointing to a Cinderella-style gown.

"Is Ms. Delirium Endless your maid of honor?" Hob asks as he notes down the page where the Cinderella gown is located, as well as the title and the issue number of the magazine where Ms. Muse found it.

Ms. Muse nods absently, waiting for Hob to finish his notes before flipping the page. "We have been friends since we were toddlers. I remember getting into so much trouble when she dared me to dye my hair bright green."

Hob chuckles. "I'm sure you looked like a very beautiful forest nymph."

"That's certainly one way of looking at it," Ms. Muse says, smiling. "But now I hope to repay the favor by making Deli look like a very beautiful radish."

Hob hums and reviews his previous notes. "Seeing as all the gowns of the wedding party are to be sunset-themed, I'm sure your mothers wouldn't take issue with it, if that's something that you're worried about."

Ms. Muse sighs happily. "I'm so glad we see eye to eye, Mr. Gadling. Oh, but please don't tell anyone about the secret meaning of Deli's dress!"

Hob smiles at her, this beautiful woman with a sunny personality. No wonder Dream fell hard for her. "Your secret is safe with me, Ms. Muse."

They talk about colors and fabrics some more, as well as the style of wedding veil that would pair well with her wedding gown. Ms. Muse, Hob is coming to find, is a very reasonable woman, very much unlike her own mother.

He just knows that she will be a good wife to Dream.

Hob had just finished answering her question about the feasibility of long wedding veils at a beach wedding and how detailed their embroideries can be, when Dream comes out from his office space and walks up towards them.

"Dream!" Ms. Muse says cheerily. "Are you going to be joining us after all?"

Hob makes sure the lines of his body are relaxed as he writes some more detailed notes, so he has the excuse of not looking up and greeting Ms. Muse's groom-to-be.

"No," Dream says. "I'm just taking a short break to get some tea. I still have emails to reply to and a meeting to oversee."

Ms. Muse nods understandingly. They really are a good match. Were it Hob in her place, he would have pestered Dream to eat something as well, and maybe rest his eyes and mind and hands for at least ten minutes. He would have asked Dream to lie down on his lap and stroke his hair until he falls asleep, then wake him up with kisses once his low-volume alarm beeps.

No wonder Dream got tired of him.

"That's too bad," Ms. Muse says. "But no worries! I'm having fun looking through the bridal magazines Mr. Gadling brought. Maybe we could even decide on what flowers to put in the wedding bouquet today."

"Sounds wonderful," Dream says, and he does sound like he means it. Hob wishes he could excuse himself without drawing any attention. He's sure Dream wouldn't even notice or care if he disappeared, but it would be rude to Ms. Muse if he just left.

Maybe he should just leave anyway so the bride and groom could have some time for themselves. Let them unwind for a bit and openly show each other affection without an unwanted audience.

"It is," Ms. Muse says brightly. "I was nervous because the task seemed daunting, but Mr. Gadling has been super helpful. He really knows his stuff, and he listens well and is very kind."

A pause. "He is," Dream says, and there's something in his voice that sounds unsure and vulnerable and maybe even a little hopeful. Hob quickly squashes that treacherous thought. Dream is about to get married. He would do well to remember that.

"Oh, hold on," Ms. Muse says, standing up. "Let me ring someone for tea. We could all use some, anyway."

She walks away, her yellow sundress waving like a flag behind her.

Hob does not have to look at Dream to know that he is staring after her.

Hob says nothing. He has nothing to say. Not now, when he is just the help.

"Thank you for assisting Calliope," Dream tells him, when Ms. Muse has disappeared from view.

"Of course, sir," Hob tells his notes, his tone bland and professional. "It's what I'm here for, you know. Gotta be helpful somehow or I'm gonna get fired."

The last part comes out bitter, and Hob doesn't know why he thought to say that. He should have just stopped talking after the first sentence and left Dream to navigate the awkward silence alone.

"Our mothers wouldn't dare to fire you," Dream says quietly. Gently. Hob grits his teeth as subtly as he could. "You are the best in your field. They would be hard-pressed to find someone better."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Mr. Endless," Hob says airily, and this time he looks straight at Dream when he says it. Dream looks taken aback when their eyes meet. Hob wonders if he could see the pain of the last ten, fifteen years in Hob's eyes. Hob hopes he does. Hob hopes he feels every last fucking glass shard buried in Hob's heart, still bleeding to this day. "I'm sure they would immediately find someone better to replace me with."

Dream looks like Hob just slapped him.

For a moment, there is pure devastation on his beautiful face. Lips slightly parted as if feeling the need to explain, eyes wide and wet, brows furrowed in hurt.

Hob has never seen him look like this before. They had never argued badly enough in the past to the point where Dream would be brought to tears.

Hob almost stands. Almost reaches for Dream to hold him in his arms, and allow him to hide his face against his neck while Hob pets his hair softly and soothingly, shushing him and murmuring against his ear that he doesn't mean it. That he's just hurt. That the last thing he wants is to hurt Dream.

But before Hob could do anything, decide whether or not to comfort the lost love of his life, Dream's mask reforms, and between one blink and the next, he is once again the picture of neutrality. "As you say, Mr. Gadling."

Hob opens his mouth. To apologize, perhaps, or to ask Dream how long it took him to move on.

'How long before you and Ms. Muse got together after we broke up?'

'How long before I'm only just another bad memory from the past?'

'How long did you really love me?'

'Were you actually in love with me, or was I just another way for you to rebel against your parents?'

He closes his mouth and says nothing. And for a few moments, he and Dream just looked at each other, Hob cataloguing all the ways Dream is still the same, wondering if he could have maybe done something differently that would have made Dream stay with him. Or maybe their relationship has always been destined to fail. They come from different backgrounds, after all, and Hob should have known to listen to fairytales.

Princes do not end up with paupers. They end up with beautiful princesses and live their lives happily ever after.

The only indicator of Dream's tumultuous thoughts is him raising his hand and almost unconsciously fidgeting with the ruby pendant of his necklace.

As soon as Hob's eyes drop to it, though, Dream stops entirely and places his hands on his sides, like nothing happened.

They were startled out of their silent staring when the door to the side opens, and Ms. Muse comes out like she brought the sun with her, as well as a fancy metal tea tray with three cups and a kettle that would not be out of place in 18th century Versailles.

"Mrs. Jones would be by in a bit with afternoon tea snacks," Ms. Muse says, just as Hob rises from his seat to take her burden from her. "Oh, thank you, Mr. Gadling. See how kind he is, Dream?"

"I have to return to my work," Dream says, and plucks the black teacup and its accompanying saucer right out of the tray that Hob is still holding.

Like Hob is just another goddamn servant employed by the Endless.

Then again, Hob thinks sardonically, that's exactly what he is, isn't he?

It's actually so nice to finally see that this is how Dream really sees him. Now Hob won't have to guess just what he is to him. What he always was.

Ms. Muse shrugs. "Sure. But don't work too hard, okay? Death will have my head if she finds out you're not taking proper breaks."

Dream visibly softens at the mention of his favorite sister. "Of course. I will see you later, Calliope." A colder glance at Hob. "Mr. Gadling."

Hob fights the urge not to bow mockingly. He settles for his default professional mode. Dream has just shown him where his proper place is, and Hob would do well to stay in it. "Mr. Endless."

Without another word, or indeed, another glance at Hob, Dream turns and walks away.

#wedding planner au #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs #note to self: for everyone's sake please title your notes properly 😭🙏#oh and (hugs everyone) sorry for the angst #i hope you guys enjoyed it though 🖤

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gooseprotocol · 2 months ago

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Spice Girls interviewed by Kathy Acker in 1997 for the Guardian Weekend edition.

All Girls Together by Kathy Acker

The Spice Girls are the biggest, brashest girlie group ever to have hit the British mainstream. Kathy Acker is an avant-garde American writer and academic. They met up in New York to swap notes – on boys, girls, politics. And what they really, really want.

Fifty-second street. West Side, New York City. Hell’s Kitchen – one of those areas into which no one would once have walked unless loaded. Guns or drugs or both. But now it has been gentrified: the beautiful people have won. A man in middle-aged-rocker uniform, tight black jeans and nondescript T-shirt, lets Nigel, the photographer, and me through the studio doorway then a chipmunk-sort-of-guy in shorts, with a Buddha tattooed on one of his arms, greets us warmly. This is Muff, the band’s publicity officer. We’re about to meet the Girls … They are here to rehearse for an appearance on Saturday Night Live. Not only is this their first live TV performance, it’s also the first time they’ll be playing with what Mel C calls a “real band”. If the Girls are to have any longevity in the music industry, they will have to break into the American market and for this they will need the American media. Both the Girls and their record company believe that their appearance here tonight might do the trick.

There is a refusal among America’s music critics to take the Spice Girls seriously. The Rolling Stone review of Spice, their first album, refers to them as “attractive young things ... brought together by a manager with a marketing concept”. The main complaint, or explanation for disregard, is that they are a “manufactured band”. What can this mean in a society of McDonald’s, Coca-Cola and En Vogue? However, an email from a Spice fan mentions that, even though he loves the girls, he detects a “couple of stereotypes surrounding women in the band’s general image. The brunette is the woman every man wants to date. Perfect for an adventure on a midnight train, or to hire as your mistress-secretary. The blonde is the woman you take home to mother, whereas the redhead is the wild woman, the woman-with-lots-of-evil-powers.” So who are these Girls? And how political is their notorious “Girl Power”? Even though I have seen many of their videos and photos, as soon as I’m in front of these women, I am struck by how they look far more remarkable than I had expected, even though Mel C is trying not to look as lovely as she is. I had intended to say something else, but instead I find myself asking them: “If paradise existed, what would it look like?” Geri speaks first, and she is, I think, reprimanding me for being idealistic. “Money makes the world what it is today,” she says, almost before I have time to think about my sudden outburst, “a world infested with evil. All sorts of wars are going on at the moment. Everyone’s kind of bickering, wanting to better themselves because their next-door neighbour’s got a better lawn. That kind of thing.” “Greed,” Victoria adds. Mel C: “Instead of trying to be better than someone else, you have to try to better yourself.” In a few minutes, they are explaining to me that the Spice Girls is a type of paradise, Spice Girls is a lifestyle. “It’s community.” That’s Geri again. She and Mel B – one in a funky, antique Hawaiian shirt, the other in diaphanous yellow bell-bottoms and top – do most of the talking. Mel C, in her gym clothes, is the quietest. Geri: “We’re a community in which each one of us shines individually, without making any of the others feel insecure. We liberate each other. A community should be liberating. Nelson Mandela said that you know when someone is brilliant when having that person next to you makes you feel good.”

‘The Spicey life vibey thing’ ... The Spice Girls film the Euro 96 theme song video. Photograph: Dave Hogan/Getty Images

“Not envious,” adds her cohort, Mel B. These are the two baddest Girls. At least on the surface. I suspect otherwise. “It inspires you.” Geri again. “That is what life’s about. People should be inspiring.” I can’t keep up with these Girls. My generation, spoon-fed Marx and Hegel, thought we could change the world by altering what was out there – the political and economic configurations, all that seemed to make history. Emotions and personal – especially sexual – relationships were for girls, because girls were unimportant. Feminism changed this landscape in England, the advent of Margaret Thatcher, sad to say, changed it more. The individual self became more important than the world. To my generation, this signals the rise of selfishness for the generation of the Spice Girls, self-consideration and self-analysis are political. When the Spices say, “We’re five completely separate people,” they’re talking politically. “Like when you’re in a relationship,” Mel B takes over, “and you’re in love, you feel you’re only you when you’re with that person, so when you leave that person, you think ‘I’m not me’. That’s so wrong. It’s downhill from then on, in yourself spiritually and in your whole environment. In this band, it’s different. Each of us is just the way we are, and each of us respects that.”

“As Melanie says,” adds Geri, “each of us wants to be her own person and, without snatching anyone else’s energy, bring something creative and new and individual to the group. We’re proof this is happening. When the Spice Girls first started as a unit, we respected the qualities we found in each other that we didn’t have in ourselves. It was like, ‘Wow! That’s the Spicey life vibey thing, isn’t it?’”

Geri turns even more paradoxical: “Normally, when you get fans of groups, they want to act like you, they copy what you’re wearing, for instance. Whereas our fans, they might have pigtails and they might wear sweatclothes, but they are so individual, it’s unbelievable. When you speak to them, they’ve got so much balls! It’s like we’ve collected a whole group of our people together! It’s really, really mad. I can remember someone coming up to us and going, ‘Do you know what? I’ve just finished with my boyfriend! And you’ve given me the incentive to go ‘Fuck this!’” At this, the Spices cheer. Giving up any hope of narrative continuity, I ask the girls if they want boys. “Some of us are in relationships.” Mel B. “I live with my boyfriend. For three years now, yeah.” I tell them that I’ve never been good at balancing sexual love and work. “Of course you can. It doesn’t make me a lesser person to be in a relationship makes me a better person. Because I can still go out and . . . flirting is natural.” I’m listening to Mel B, but all I can think, at the moment, is how beautiful she is. “I can stay out all night and come in when I want. Your whole life doesn’t have to change just because you’re with somebody else.”

What man could handle all this? ... The Spice Girls at the 1997 Cannes film festival. Photograph: Bertrand Guay/AFP/Getty Images

“It depends on the individual,” says Geri. “I think whoever we would chose to be with should respect the way we are... and our job as well...” Mel B. “The way we are together. None of us would be interested in a man that wanted to dominate, wanted to pull you down, and wanted you to do what he wanted you to do.” I wonder what man could handle all this.

“If one of us was to go out with a dweeb of a man,” says Mel B, “he would probably feel threatened by the five of us. Because we do share things about our relationships, so it’s like a gang. Like a gang, but we’re not. We can have relationships, but they have to be on a completely different level.” Emma talks only about her mother, and Mel C is very quiet. What hides, I wonder, behind that face, which appears more delicate and intense than in her photos? Victoria, I learn later, is upset about an ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of her confidence – throughout our discussion she looks slightly upset. Several times she says that, above all, she wants privacy. Perhaps paradise is not as simple as it seems. I know that, to find out more about these Girls, I must change the subject, but instead, I just blurt out: “Let’s stop talking about boys!” “Yeah,” agree the Girls.

Do they think the Spice Girls will go on forever? And if not, what will they do after it ends? What do you really want to do? “We talked about that the other day, didn’t we?” Geri, sitting on the floor, turns around to the three girls sprawled on a black sofa. Emma, in a white from-the-Sixties dress, perches on a high chair. Their hair has been done, their faces powdered, and they’re ready for the photo.

Spice Girls: Say You’ll Be There - video

“I want to own restaurants,” Victoria takes the lead. She wears a skin-tight designer outfit, perfectly positioned Wonderbra and heels seemingly too high to walk on. Unlike the other girls, she never lets her mask break open.

“The entrepreneur,” remarks Mel B fondly. “Restaurants and art,” Victoria continues. “I’ve always liked art. Ever since I was...” She pauses. “And I’d like a nice big house, and to fill it with, you know...” “Sculptures!” Mel B. “Nude men.” That’s Mel C. All the girls are laughing. Victoria admits – and her emotions finally start to show – that’s she’s always fancied doing art. A few years ago, she and Geri were going to return to college, but they didn’t have the time. Now the others are teasing her about her shoes. I like these girls. I like being with them. “I don’t know what I want to do.” Mel C. The Spices who haven’t yet said anything are now talking. “At the moment I am completely into what I’m doing, and I find it hard to think, right now, what I want to do later on.” Mel B. “I want a big family, like the Waltons,” Emma admits. “I like taking care of people, I love kids.”

“You can look after mine.” Mel C.

Everyone’s saying something. Victoria wants to live with her sister, and maybe her brother Emma’s thinking of her mother. I’m beginning to realise how different from each other the Girls are. Mel C says she likes living alone, but wishes she were geographically closer to her family.

“Me and Geri,” pipes up Mel B, who’s rarely silent for more than a minute, “come from up north. It’s like living in a little community, isn’t it? And moving down into London, it’s like moving into the big wild world. I don’t even know my next-door neighbour, do you?”

“No,” answers Mel C. I like these girls. They’re home girls. “I’d be in a cult, or join a naturist camp or something, and just live there, like back in the Sixties in the hippy days,” Mel B is gesticulating, “where everything’s just One Love, everything’s free, and there are no set rules, where nobody judges you...” Geri tells me that she is a jack-of-all-trades. After speculating whether she might do her own TV show, or go into films, write a movie script, she announces that her model is Sylvester Stallone.

I think of Brigitte Nielsen. “I’ll tell you why.” He couldn’t get a part in Hollywood, she explains, so he wrote, directed and produced Rambo himself. “I just think that’s what it takes I always love it when the underdog comes through.”

The Girls have been in showbusiness for years. Emma started when she was three. All of the others were professional by the age of 17 or 18. I’m beginning to understand why these Girls have been picked, consciously or unconsciously, by their generation to represent that generation. Especially, but not only, the female sector. In a society still dominated by class and sexism, very few of those not born to rule, women especially, are able to make choices about their own work and lifestyle. Very few know freedom. None of the Spices, not even Victoria, was born privileged nor, as they themselves note, are they traditional beauties. Christine, a student of mine, watching them on Saturday Night Live, remarked to me: “They’re not even slick dancers or exceptional singers! They’re just the girl-next-door!”

And they are they’re just girls as more than one of them remarked to me, “We never really had a chance until this happened!” They’re the girls never heard from before this in England look, there are lots of them ones who’ve known Thatcherite, post-Thatcherite society and nothing else, and now, thanks to the glory and the strangeness of British rock-pop society, they’ve found a voice. Listen to the voices of those who didn’t go to Oxford or Cambridge, or even to Sussex or to art school...

Geri: “I didn’t really know that much, you know, history, but I knew about the suffragettes. They fought. It wasn’t that long ago. They died to get a vote. The women’s vote. Bloody ass-fucking mad, do you know what I mean? You remember that and you think, fucking hell. But to get back to what Victoria was saying about us, that we never got anywhere, you know, the underdog thing. This is why I feel so passionate. We’ve been told, time and time again, you’re not pretty enough, you’re too fat, you’re too thin...” All the Spice Girls are now roaring. “...You’re not tall enough, you’re not white, you’re not black. What I passionately feel is that it is so wrong to have to fit into a role or a mould in order to succeed. What I think is fan-fucking-tastic about us now is that we are not perfect and we have made a big success of ourselves. I’m swelling with pride.” But you are babes. They all protest. “We were all individually beaten down... Collectively, we’ve got something going,” says Geri. “Individually, I don’t think we’d be that great.”

“There’s a chemistry that runs through us and gives us... where I’m bad at something, Melanie’s good, or Geri’s good at something at which the rest of us are bad,” says Victoria. Look, I say, I’m feeling stranger and stranger about these politics based on individualism. There are lots of girls who have the same backgrounds as they do, right? “Right.”

So what is holding those girls down? Keeping them from doing what they really want to do? They start to discuss this. I can hardly make out who’s saying what in the ensuing commotion. I hear “society and conditioning”; another one, Emma perhaps, is talking about being in showbiz, receiving job rejection after job rejection she’s saying how strong you have to be to keep bouncing back. Geri mentions Freud, then states that parents’ beliefs often hold back a child, parents and then the child’s reception in her school. “When you go and see a careers officer,” ponders Mel C, “and you sit down and say, ‘I want to be a spaceman’, instead of responding ‘Go study astrophysics’, they go, ‘Yeah, but what do you really want to do?’ That is so wrong. I think there should be a class in – what do you call it? – self-motivation. Self-motivation classes, self-esteem classes.”

I still feel that a bit of economic realism is missing here, but I can’t get a word in edgewise. Not in all the girl excitement. These females are angry.

“I think it all goes back to everyone wanting to feel that they’re part of an ongoing society,” Geri tries to analyse. “The humdrum nine-to-five, you know what it’s like... What do you do when you leave school? You go and get a job to have money to pay off the mortgage, you get a flat and have a nice boyfriend, pay off your bills, you go to work with your briefcase and your suit, and that’s it. That’s people’s normal, everyday thing, isn’t it? And if you branch out from that, it’s... well, ‘What does she think she’s doing?’ It’s going against the grain a bit – which not many people do. It’s not even going against the grain it’s just clinging on to the bit you want to do and thinking I’m going to do it, who cares?” The Girls, including Geri, tell me that they’ve got an American philosophy, an American dream. “But me,” says Mel B, “before I was in the band, I thought I’d like to be a preacher. I still do. Something like that. They’ve actually got this place in London which is called Speaker’s Corner. You get up on your stand there you can speak about anything. I’d like to speak about people, the emotional or mental blocks people have, especially regarding other people, things like that. That’s what the tattoo on my stomach means, ‘Spirit, Heart and Mind’, because that’s what fuels me – communication fuels me. You learn about yourself, about other people and life in general, through communication.” She says that’s she’s been writing since she was 11, writing everything down, “why the world is this shape, what would happen if everyone on earth died...”

“Stoned questions...” murmurs another Spice. “I’d love to go back to the Sixties,” Emma says in her clear voice. “I’d love that. I wouldn’t wear headbands though.” What about some of the politics of the Sixties, I ask. Malcolm X? The fight against racism? “The other day I watched The Killing Fields.” Now Geri’s doing the talking. “That was in the Sixties, Vietnam. I think it’s very healthy that there’s an element of that today. Through the media today we can see people demonstrating for human rights. In Cambodia, on the other side of the world. I think it’s brilliant when you see people standing up, when they have a voice, it kicks the system, a little bit, into touch.”

Spice Girls: Spice up Your Life - video

But what about in England today? I mention that in the US, racism is still a big issue.

Mel B and Geri start talking about racism. Geri tells me that she’s learned about racial prejudice from Mel B, who says, “The thing I find really bizarre about America and England ... You say that the racism thing is worse in America, yet if you look at television here [in NYC], they’re really scrupulous about making sure, for instance, that they have a black family in an advert. On the adverts in England, you wouldn’t find that.” Suddenly all the Spices are talking among themselves. I can’t understand anything. Then we’re on the subject of Madonna, of people who have inspired us, and Geri starts speaking about Margaret Thatcher. Why she admires her. “But we won’t go down there!” “Don’t go down there!” advise the Girls.

“We won’t go down there, but...” and Geri, who never seems to listen to reason, begins. She says that when politicians discuss the economy, they’re just talking about shifting money from one spot to another, and someone always suffers. This is the same distrust of government that so many Americans, both on the right and left – and especially among lower and working-class people – are feeling and articulating.

Mel C says softly, “We talked about suffragettes and getting the vote to women, and all that. But a lot of women don’t vote a lot of our generation doesn’t vote. I don’t. I don’t feel I should because I don’t know anything about politics ...”

“That was what I was going to say,” adds Emma. They blame the lack of political education in schools. Whether they like or dislike Margaret Thatcher or Tony Blair, they distrust both the political industry and the related media. “Intellectual people chatting in bathrooms,” comments Mel B. “We are society,” exclaims Geri, “so really ...”

“... We should be running it,” Mel B finishes the statement.

“I’d like to run it for a day,” says Victoria, looking directly at me.

“But Victoria, who’s going to let you do such a job?” Geri reminds her. “The only way to go is growth,” says Mel B. “I think everyone’s turned a bit to the spiritual life.”

“You know,” interjects Victoria, “if you believe in evolution, we only use 20% of our brain ... if that. So it’s natural that we can evolve to the next level. We’ve got to, really.”

“Nowadays, people do sit down and ask themselves ‘Why am I doing this?’” Mel B continues. “They question themselves and what they’ve got around them. I know I do it, and you find your own little mission. And you fucking go for it. A lot more people are like that now.” Do they all feel like that? There’s a general quiet, then a “Yeah” all around me. I ask the Spices to describe themselves. For a moment, they’re lost for words. Victoria: “I love what I’m doing. I’m with my five best friends, and I’ve seen some great countries. I’m happy, I’m very happy. I care a lot about my family. Regarding my personality, I’m private. There are things for me to know and no one else to find out.” She hesitates. “I just accept the way I am. You have to make the most of it, make the best of yourself. I’m a bit of a fretter. If I’m going to do something, I want to do it properly. I want to do the best I can. I’m a perfectionist.”

Emma: “Me, I’m definitely a bit of a brat. I worry about what other people are feeling, that sort of thing.”

Geri: “I have quite an active mind. Quite eccentric, really. A conversationalist. I believe in fate in a big way, a very big way.” Mel B: “I’m always asking inward questions about things. I live off the vibes, I do, that people give me. If I don’t like someone then I won’t speak to them, even though something might be coming out of their mouth that I should listen to. I like to think I’m a bit of a free spirit. I don’t run by any rule book. I live on the edge a little bit. I always think, well, at least I’ll die happy today rather than worrying about it tomorrow.”

Mel C: “I’m very regimented. I really enjoy my own company, although I love being with other people.”

I’m watching the Spice Girls perform Wannabe on Saturday Night Live, but not seeing them. In my mind, I’m seeing England. When I returned there in July last year, lad culture was in full swing. Loaded was running what had once been a relatively intellectual magazine culture. Feminism, especially female intellectuals, had become extinct. “Where have all the women gone to?” I asked. Then came a twist named the Spice Girls. The Spices, though they deny it, are babes – the blonde, the redhead, the dark sultry fashion model – and they’re more. They both are and represent a voice that has too long been repressed. The voices, not really the voice, of young women and, just as important, of women not from the educated classes. It isn’t only the lads sitting behind babe culture, bless them, who think that babes or beautiful lower and lower-middle class girls are dumb. It’s also educated women who look down on girls like the Spice Girls, who think that because, for instance, girls like the Spice Girls take their clothes off, there can’t be anything “up there”.

The Spice Girls are having their cake and eating it. They have the popularity and the popular ear that an intellectual, certainly a female intellectual, almost never has in this society, and, what’s more, they have found themselves, perhaps by fluke, in the position of social and political articulation. It little matters now how the Spice Girls started – if they were a “manufactured band”.

What does this have to do with feminism? When I lived in England in the Eighties, a multitude of women, diverse and all intellectual, were continually heard from – people such as Michele Roberts, Jeanette Winterson, Sara Maitland, Jacqueline Rose, Melissa Benn. Is it also possible that the English feminism of the Eighties might have shared certain problems with the American feminism of the Seventies? English feminism, as I remember it back then, was anti-sex. And like their American counterparts, the English feminists were intellectuals, from the educated classes. There lurked the problem of elitism, and thus class.

I am speculating, but, perhaps due to Margaret Thatcher – though it is hard to attribute anything decent to her – a populist change has taken place in England. The Spice Girls, and girls like them, and the girls who like them, resemble their American counterparts in two ways: they are sexually curious, certainly pro-sex, and they do not feel that they are stupid or that they should not be heard because they did not attend the right universities. If any of this speculation is valid, then it is up to feminism to grow, to take on what the Spice Girls, and women like them, are saying, and to do what feminism has always done in England, to keep on transforming society as society is best transformed, with lightness and in joy.

#spice girls #kathy acker #spice up your life

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astercontrol · 3 months ago

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One of the exercises my pattern recognition loves, for some reason, is to take widely accepted ideas in fandom, things that are basically considered obvious from canon, and figure out ways that the truth could actually be something else.

This is an obnoxious thing to do, sometimes.

I get annoyed at my pattern recognition routines for this.

Especially when I don't even have any particular reason to want the new interpretation.

And especially when (like a lot of my sudden weird inspirations) it happens in the middle of the night.

----

But it is difficult to fight against.

Because whenever there is "proof" that something isn't true in canon, a creative enough mind will find ways around it.

If the proof is "no character ever mentioned that, and they would have mentioned it if it were true"…. all it takes is a plausible reason for someone to keep something secret, or even just not to bring it up in a particular context.

If the proof is "a character literally SAID that was not true"… likewise, all it takes is a plausible reason for someone to lie.

If the proof is "it involves a character who is dead in canon," we just need a reason why the character is believed to be dead but is actually not. (This is especially feasible in canons where there is a potential in-universe mechanism for someone to be copied, resurrected, etc.)

If the proof is "we saw something happen onscreen that is extremely incompatible with the new interpretation," then there's always the possibility of that onscreen event being some type of illusion (especially in canons with magic or technology that make that very feasible).

And I am especially irritated with my Recognizer… (I think that's what I'm going to call it from now on-- Recognizer, an annoying little Pattern Recognizer that buzzes around my head like a tireless insect, looking for puzzles to solve that absolutely nobody needs solved)…

…for becoming fixated, lately, on the question:

What is it, exactly, that makes TRON 2.0 incompatible with Legacy?

(Thank goodness the Recognizer isn't trying to take the comics into account… yet, at least. If I had to watch it try to reconcile Betrayal and Ghost in the Machine with the other canon and with each other, I'd probably eat my computer.)

Anyway. So far I've got:

The structure of ENCOM. I need to look more closely through all those emails from 2.0… they show the power balance of the company changing in ways that seem to diverge from what we see at the beginning of Legacy. (At least Flynn seems to have disappeared in both? Though the times may not line up.)

However, I imagine a lot could change at ENCOM between 2003 and 2010. And we have to remember that not everything said in every email has to be true. Some might even be spoofed emails, sent by FCon for whatever deceptive reasons they might have. We can theoretically disregard any 2.0 canon that comes from the contents of an email, if we can explain it on those grounds.

Alan's family. In 2.0, Lora is apparently dead from a digitization accident, and she and Alan have a son. Neither of these were mentioned in Legacy (although lack of mention isn't proof in itself). Also I believe Lora appears, alive, in some of the supplemental Legacy material.

Going from what I saw of the game's plot, we could imagine that Lora was somehow recovered, later on, from the data that became Ma3a. (If I recall correctly she was eaten by a Seeker? But that doesn't necessarily mean destroyed?) Anyway, if enough of her ended up being recoverable, she could theoretically have been found and rerezzed back into the User world, sometime between then and the events of Legacy.

And, of course, possibly the biggest obstacle: In 2.0, Alan is aware of the world inside the computer.

He got digitized in there as part of FCon's sabotage attempt. It appears (though it doesn't seem absolutely certain?) that this was the first time he'd been digitized into the computer, or even knew it was possible. But after the events of 2.0 he definitely knows about it.

If Alan knew this could happen, it would be… challenging, at the least, to explain a lot of how he acted in Legacy.

---

(And this line of speculation, I think, is really what my Recognizer is focusing on.

See, I don't think it even cares all that much about reconciling 2.0 into the canon. I think it mainly just wants to believe there were some early days when Flynn and Alan and Lora and Roy had fun together exploring the world inside Encom and meeting their programs.

If it were a rational being, it would just make up an AU for this.

But it is not a rational being. It's a deranged pattern recognition subroutine, and its entire obnoxious goal in life is to find or force connections between things, until it can figure out a way everything makes SENSE together.

Sometimes the most nonsensical thing you can possibly do is try to make everything make sense, Recognizer.)

---

First issue: If he knew that people could be digitized into computers, why did Alan not find out what had happened to Flynn?

Well… maybe he did know. Or had good reason to suspect. After all, someone's been paying the electric bill at that arcade to keep the computer running all these years.

If so, though-- why had Alan not tried to get Flynn out of there?

Maybe Flynn had specifically requested for him not to, not unless he paged asking for help.

Or: maybe Alan had tried. Maybe he'd even gone in! Maybe he barely made it back out with his life, without even being able to confirm Flynn was in there somewhere. Maybe he looked through the code trying to fix things from the outside, but realized there was no totally safe way to extract Flynn at this point or even identify him for sure.

Or: Maybe he did extract Flynn from there, time after time. Maybe Flynn kept going back in, and getting his stupid ass in trouble again and again. And the more it conflicted with his job, and the more stress it put on Alan… the more Alan decided, I am too damn old for this, this is a job for someone young and crazy and reckless like Sam, but even Sam is gonna have to wait until Flynn actually admits he needs help and actually pages me asking for it, the stubborn idiot.

In any of these scenarios, though, there's the further question: why did Alan not tell Sam more about what he was getting into?

And there, again, we can only speculate:

Maybe Alan reasoned that Sam has had many years to file away his dad's old stories firmly under the heading of "made-up tall tales," and if he told Sam the whole truth, Sam would refuse to believe it and just be angry.

This may or may not be actually true about Sam… but if Alan thought it, he may have refrained from telling him to increase the chance Sam would actually take on the task.

In any case, Alan sending Sam in there is… an ethically questionable decision at best.

Hell, even if Alan didn't know about the world inside the computer, sending Sam in was a questionable decision. He didn't know what would be waiting there at the arcade for whoever answered the page, and for all he knew it could be something dangerous. For all he knew, whoever answered the page could be walking into some hostage situation, with the mafia holding Flynn captive and demanding company secrets or something.

But… I can see his reasoning, even if I side-eye its ethics a bit.

Whatever he knows or doesn't know about the computer system, Alan knows he's not cut out to handle danger nearly as well as Sam is.

And he knows Sam, of all people, would want the closure of doing this, finding out Dad's secrets on his own.

And, if Alan knew something about those secrets already-- that even explains why he kept this solely between himself and Sam, instead of involving anyone else who might be better equipped than either of them to handle ordinary, real-world dangers.

But… all this notwithstanding, there are probably still some hangups for my Recognizer to deal with.

The one it's gotten stuck on now-- perhaps even stuck enough to let me go back to sleep-- is in the Next Day short.

Specifically, the very end, when Alan and Roy are alone together.

Everything up to that, the Recognizer can disregard any statements it doesn't like, because they could have been lies or omissions for the benefit of the public.

But assuming Roy and Alan both have been inside the computer-- as the Recognizer stubbornly wants to believe-- they don't have any reason to lie about it to each other.

So Roy's very last line-- "Why do you think Flynn gave you the cool nickname?" makes no sense, if they've both met their programs and know they were named after them.

But honestly… nothing about that last line makes sense, in any interpretation.

Namely:

Even if they hadn't ever met their programs as living personifications, they know they wrote their programs... and presumably Roy's program was also named Ram outside the system.

Alan (from the earlier interviews in the short) clearly knows he was nicknamed after the program he wrote, so I can't see why Roy wouldn't already know the same.

Ram is an obviously cooler nickname than Tron.

So…. shut up, Recognizer.

Stay stuck.

For now, at least.

#tronblr #tron #kevin flynn #ram tron #alan bradley #sam flynn #tron legacy #lora baines #ma3a #tron 2.0 #the next day #headcanons #pattern recognition nonsense #roy kleinberg

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hxzbinwrites · 1 day ago

Text

Lovestruck Fool Pt 3

Vox x Emotionless! Reader | Cliché Mishaps

(Lovestruck Part 3)

Warnings ⚠️: Cussing, Vox being embarrassing, jokes about suicide, mentions of sexual harassment (only mentioned! nothing happens nor a flashback scene dont worry!),

11:30pm

"What should I say, oh God, what should I say??" Vox muttered to himself. His right, clawed hand gripping the top of his head, whilst his left was gripping his phone equally as tight.

His breathing was as erratic as his heartbeat, as he anxiously paced around his bedroom. His heels were clicking against the cold, hardwood floor. His pants were still on from the workday, but his shirt was completely discarded onto the messy bed in the middle of the room.

After he received the gift from (Y/n), he frantically took the note, and the gift box and nearly sprinted to his room. He nearly knocked Velvette, one of the two associates he shares the organization of Overlords he founded called "The Vee's". He'd have to apologize later. He quickly locked the door and punched her number into his phone, and nearly 3 hours later here we are.

"Hey Baby-"

delete delete delete

"Hey Sweetheart-"

delete delete delete

"What's up (Y/n)? I think I'm in love with you and you're in love with me too-"

DELETE DELETE DELETE

"Ughhh" Vox groaned, flopping down dramatically onto his bed. "This is so stupid. I'm a genius, tech CEO, and Overlord, I should be able to have women begging to get a corny text from me. So why the hell am I so paranoid about this?"

He sat there and stared at the ceiling, before making the spontaneous decision to just say fuck it and texted her just whatever popped into his digital brain.

Vox: Hey (Y/n), I got your gift and your note, thank you. No employee has ever done anything like that for me before. I have some spare time to help with your little predicament.

Vox immediately regretted sending that. He must he be so harsh and arrogant sounding. “Spare time?”, he’d just spent the last three hours dwelling over what to send to this woman.

(Y/n): Thank you sir. Do you have any ideas on what this could mean?

Vox: Well, what exactly is this feeling like? You said it was "this strangely warm feeling in my chest and my face, I feel clammy around you". Can you elaborate?

Vox wanted to face palm re-reading his texts, why is he addressing her so formally? This is a message, something to be shared between close friends, not a damn email!

(Y/n): I'm not entirely sure how to describe it. The closest emotion to it is anxiety, the whole nervousness in your stomach kind of emotion, but not anxiety itself. Is that an okay description?

Vox stared stunned at the message, some part of him almost doubted the note she had left practically confessing her feelings, but now he was completely sure of her feelings for him. Now, how was he going to explain this to her....that was the real issue.

Vox: Take what I'm about to say very seriously.

(Y/n): Okay...?

Vox sighed and typed out the message. He closed his digital eyes before sending it.

Vox: I think you might be experiencing a crush.

Vox quickly turned off his phone and started pacing around his room once more, nervously awaiting her response. A risky text has never felt this serious before. Sure, Val and him had sent some scandalous things back and forth, but this felt more intimate somehow.

Vox felt like an idiot, a lovestruck fool, a naïve man. An Overlord of Hell should not be feeling this way. He went through middle school when he was alive, there was no need to try and relive the awkward moments within it now.

Vox halted in his pacing, as he heard his phone buzz. He slowly lifted up his phone to see (Y/n)'s contact name on the front. He quickly threw it back on his bed, too nervous to even open it.

He sighed, taking off his shoes and pants, replacing them with his sleep pants and a pair of slippers. His chest was still bare, but it was a lot more comfortable than a button up shirt, seeing as he could not wear a normal t-shirt with his abnormally large, screened head.

Vox wasted another ten minuets before picking his phone back up. His heart sunk as he read the message.

(Y/n): I sincerely apologize sir. This is completely unacceptable and unprofessional. I understand if I am to be fired over this.

————

11:55 pm

(Y/n) paced around her room, her pajama's coziness giving no comfort to her situation. She looked like an idiot now! How stupid she felt as this moment could only be comparable to Vox's own doubts, as she felt actual anxiety creep within her.

She was done for, not only was her job on the line, but at Voxtech the employees are conned into signing their souls away to Vox when hired. He was an Overlord of Hell, CEO, her boss as well as the owner of her soul! Now genuine curiosity was going to look like sexual harassment.

Great. Excellent. Her soul was most likely going to be torn apart tomorrow. From now until 8:30am, she should live her life to the fullest because theres no turning back now.

What's even worse is the fact that Vox has left her message on delivered for 11, now 12, minutes at this point.

Unlike her counterpart, (Y/n) was holding her phone the entire time, looking down at the screen of bubbled messages. She nearly dropped the device when the faint text turned from Delivered to Read.

Maybe her message got through to him mentally, and he can find the kindness in his heart to spare mercy on her.

Yeah right, he's an Overlord. Hell, he's not nice whatsoever, nor is he willing to spare lives. Vox has been in his fair share of Turf Wars, and has no regard for the souls he owns, seeing as he gives some of his lowest earners to Valentino to kill fairly regularly.

Her heart sped up as her phone vibrated, showing Vox had finally responded.

Vox: Don't apologize. Don't quit your job either. You will not be fired. Do you really think I could replace you? No. You're far too valuable

(Y/n) let out a sigh of relief, but had to maintain her composure as she kept re-reading the last portion of the message. "He just means valuable to the company, an asset, he's not flirting with you!" She muttered, lightly slapping her hands against her face to calm herself down.

————

12:00am

Vox screamed into his pillow. What the hell was he thinking?! She was just worried about being unprofessional, and here he is, THE BOSS, throwing a flirtatious comment at her value.

Vox really wished he had a hold of some Angelic Steel right now, so he could kill himself and not regenerate.

He glanced at his phone, seeing she had read the message, and groaned again. Vox picked up his phone and threw it across his bed, where it landed on the top right corner of the screen, pressing the FaceCall button.

His eyes widened as he scrambled to grab his phone. He sudden motion made his device fall off the bed, where he leaned over quickly to grab it.

Before he could mash the red button to end the ringing, she picked up the phone. There she was, in her pajamas with her hair a little frizzy from the day the both of them had just worked. Her cheeks were a little flushed as she stared at him through the screen.

"U-Uh, Hi." Vox stupidly said. Angelic Steel was going on the top of his purchase list when he awoke in the morning, though now he doubted he was going to get any sleep at all.

"Hi Vox" She softly said. Oh yeah, no sleep for him tonight,"Why did you call me? Is everything okay?"

"Oh yeah, I uh, actually didn't mean to call you. My phone slipped and landed on the button"

"Okay.." She said, not buying it.

Vox took notice of how much more relaxed she was in this state, not at work just talking to him, late at night. Vox's ego definitely did not need to be fed, but in moments like these with her, and when he's acting like a fool, maybe that's not a terrible thing.

"Sorry Sugar" He said, rubbing the back of his bare neck,"didn't mean to keep you up."

"Its okay Vox" (Y/n) replied,"it's better than me going to sleep worried if I were to have my life tomorrow or not."

"Your life?" Vox said, his eyes narrowing,"You didn't think I would kill you? Did you?"

(Y/n)'s face flushed, as she looked away from his knowing gaze piercing through the screen. "Well, we all know what happens to the lowest earners..."

"Well you're not a low earner, I told you, you're too valuable to lose (Y/n)."

Her face flushed, and she showed a small smile, making Vox's screen flush in return. Both of these stubborn fools were sitting here, late at night, blushing over each other.

Vox's camera moved down a little, something he took no notice of, but (Y/n)'s eyes widened at the realization he didn't have a shirt on.

If Heaven had any mercy on a Sinner, this was it. Not only will she still have her job, and more importantly her life, but she got to see her hot boss shirtless. Damn, he's fine.

"Excuse me?" Vox said, his eyes widening to the same amount her's was

"W-What?"

"What do you mean 'what'?" Vox said, his voice shaking a little from embarrassment,"You just called me fine!"

(Y/n)'s face fell, all of the colors that had dusted her cheeks were gone. "I-Im so sorry sir! I did not mean to say that out loud!"

"You were still thinking it!" Vox said, "damn it woman you really did need my help in the emotions department."

"Okay okay, I do" She said, "I'm sorry, I know you don't feel the same way..but can you at least help me navigate this...?"

Vox stared at the screen. How dense was this woman?! How the hell didn't she know of his raging crush on her?! Whatever, he was going to play dumb until he saw fit.

"Sure, only if we keep this under wraps from the rest of the Ring. I don't want the press flocking you like they do me...well...even more than they already do. I know how annoying it gets, especially handling my PR. You know more than anyone how scandalous this will look. That fucker Alastor would have a field day with my name!"

"Alright." She replied,"So? Where do we start on this?"

"We'll start tomorrow" Vox replied,"Theres no use of saying anything more in this sleep deprived state of yours. Before you argue against that, you can't tell me that this is your usual self, letting things slip like that."

"You're right." (Y/n) sighed," I'll make sure to keep my composure, especially for tomorrow at work and whatever you have planned after that."

"Sounds good. Goodnight Sugar"

"Goodnight Vox".

Vox ended the call, and flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He gripped the sides of his screen, his blue cheeks now a purple from blushing.

Not only did he look like a fool, but she called him "fine". Not only that, he's wormed in his way into teaching her how to feel love, more specifically for him!

Vox groaned, what has he gotten himself in to?

————

8:30am

(Y/n) made her way to her desk. She opened the side door effortlessly and slid into her chair. She logged onto her computer and clocked in. She sighed seeing Vox's timestamps, seeing as he clocked in at 5:30 rather than a normal time.

There was no way 5 hours is an adequate amount of sleep. He might be a machine with a human soul, but his body surely can't handle that little amount of rest. Evidence of that is the amount of caffeine he puts into his body each day.

She frowned, before catching herself. Why did she care? He was a grown ass man, he could make poor decisions for himself. Why was she worried for him all of a sudden?

Whatever, another question for another late night session she supposed as she began to type up his schedule for the day.

There were no unusual meetings for the day, seeing as Velvette was the only one who had scheduled one.

That train of thought was cut short when her work phone rang. (Y/n) promptly answered it.

"Hello this is VoxTech, this is (Y/n) speaking. How may I help you?"

"Ah hello dear (Y/n)!" A static-like voice sang to her,"I am begrudgingly having to use this frivolous telephone cable technology to contact your boss! Ha! I must book a meeting with him at once!"

(Y/n) recognized that accent and that tone, but had to remain professional regardless

"Alright sir, what name shall that be under and what time slot do you want?"

"The name is Alastor! I thought you would've recognized my voice from my coveted radio show!"

"No sir, I don't know who you are" She said, knowing that would bruise his large ego.

Vox came from around the corner, hearing static pour from the phone as he walked. His initial thought was to just casually pass by her, just to see her before she handed him his daily report, but curiosity got the better of him. He leaned against the right wall in the hallway behind her desk.

"Okay 2 o'clock? Oh! I'm sorry sir! It looks like you're banned from Voxtech! You will not be able to place a meeting with Mr. Vox."

Vox smirked. He could hear a slight smile in her voice. Damn, he liked her even more now. She was fucking toying with the Radio Demon. He strode over to her desk, leaning against the counter as he smirked.

(Y/n) blushed, and turned on the speaker phone for him to hear Alastor.

"Banned? I am an Overlord in Hell! I must have a meeting with this Vox character. It is of utmost importance!"

"Im sorry sir but you won't be allowed to book a meeting or step foot onto the grounds of VoxTech. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Hmm, let me speak to that box head through this device"

"No can do sir" (Y/n) lied, holding a finger up to Vox,"He's in an extremely important Overlord meeting right now. Wait, aren't you an Overlord? My, you can just talk to him at your meeting!"

Alastor was furious, not only was he unable to go to VoxTech to get dirt on Vox for his radio show, but now there's apparently an Overlord meeting he was not invited to. He hung up the phone and teleported his way back to the Hazbin Hotel.

(Y/n) and Vox heard the line cut and bursted out laughing, their smiles copying one another. Vox felt like he was on cloud nine, not only did he get to see her smile in its full glory, but he is now witnessing her laughter.

From someone who was emotionless at the very beginning of their encounters, for years, these past few days have been nothing short of a major change. Vox was very welcome to change, especially this one.

Their laughter died out, and they stared into each other's eyes for a moment too long. If they weren't at work, where anyone could walk past and see them, they would surely kiss with how close they were leaning into each other.

"I wonder how his lips feel" (Y/n) pondered as she looked at his digital mouth that was slightly agape, matching her own.

Vox's eyes eventually tore away from hers, as he brought his fist up to his mouth and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Ah, well, I um... just get that report done! Good work on chasing that fucker off." Vox commented, before scurrying away to go hide back in his own office.

————

9:50am

Vox had busied himself with his work to distract his mind. It was ten minutes until (Y/n) would be here with the daily report. Hopefully he didn't make a fool of himself again.

For a TV host, as well as the man who owned everything media related, he surely should've known how to avoid such a cliché moment like that! I mean really, the man leaning over the receptionists desk as they make a prank! It's an exact copy of one of his shows VoxTech produces!

Whatever, that was nothing. It meant nothing. Her smile. Her laugher. The kiss they almost shared-

Okay maybe it meant something, but it shouldn't have.

This should have no effect on him whatsoever, it wouldn't if it was anyone else. But her? He might as well bet against himself, because time after time he will continue to make a fool of himself in front of her.

The thoughts spiraling in his head just made him more motivated to work himself into exhaustion, where he didn't have the energy to even conjure these thoughts.

He typed away vigorously, his sharp nails clacking against the keys as he was drafting a new drone product for his gullible costumers. He was finishing up some of the final code before he sent it off to his tech team to build the beta version of it, test it, and then they'll get it approved by him before sending it off to some of his factories in the other Rings.

While he himself as a Sinner could not traverse rings, his Imp employees could, therefore he owns factories in the Wrath Ring for them to work in and ship back to Pride.

Before he could type the last string of code, his elevator floor rose, to meet the guest who wishes to enter his office, before descending once more, revealing (Y/n), holding the same boring envelope with his daily report.

"Here you go sir" She said, handing him the file. "Your only meeting is with Velvette today at 12:30."

"Excellent, thank you Sugar" Vox replied, taking the file.

"Sir, why do you call me Sugar?" She asked, "you started calling me that when I slipped up and said I..."

(Y/n) flushed at the memory of calling him model worthy, before learning her throat and going back to an emotionless state.

"Anyways, you started calling me Sugar. Why?"

Vox was caught off guard. He didn't even realize he was still calling her Sugar in the first place. Initially, it was to egg a reaction out of her. Now? He was searching for an excuse.

"I don't really know" He finally answered,"Do you want me to stop calling you Sugar...?"

Now (Y/n) was caught by surprise, her voice catching in her throat. She paused for a moment, and attempted to recollect herself in a calm, confident manner. However it seems these past few days, after she witnessed her boss's tough exterior dissolve when he spilled his coffee, that manner she was used to maintaining was no longer obtainable in his presence.

"No..." She said, coming out way softer than she had intended.

Vox rose from his chair without thinking, and walked right in front of her, towering over her. (Y/n) wasn't short by any means, but it is hard to come face to face with a demon who reaches 7 feet.

His chest was rising and falling with tension. The only thing that could be heard in the room was their synchronized breathing, heartbeats, and Vox's fans kicking on due to the heat rising to his face.

He leaned in slowly, and (Y/n) leaned up. Their eyes drooped as they slowly inched closer and closer to one another's face. Vox could feel her shaky breath on his screen, making his face flush a darker purple.

They were so close, (Y/n)'s nose nearly touched his flat screen.

Vox closed his eyes and leaned in, as did she. As they got closer together, their lips touched ever so slightly when Vox's face began to vibrate, as he was getting a call from Valentino.

They tore apart from each other quickly, as Vox threw the call on the screen with his electronic powers. He turned to apologize to (Y/n) but she was already back on the elevator, her hands hiding her face.

Valentino was whining about something but Vox couldn't care less, he was so conflicted. He felt awful for the call interrupting him...but at the same time he was ecstatic. They nearly kissed, it was so close. So terribly close. If it wasn't for Valentino's mindless chatter on the phone, he would have already lost it on his innocent monitors surrounding him.

This day was going to take forever after that.

————

5:30pm

It was closing time for VoxTech employees, usually (Y/n) put in loads of overtime, but today she just needed to get home.

Her face never returned to normal after their close encounter, either adorning a blush, a goofy grin, or both. It was humiliating. She was stone cold, she had the toughest exterior anyone had ever known. Yet this man who's shown her his soft side, rather goofy side, has immediately torn down these barriers. It joyed and pissed her off to no end.

She quickly clocked out and began her trek back to her apartment. Vee employees lived close to the tower, the closest of them being Valentino's employees, who he liked to keep extremely close.

Vox was a lot more lenient on where his employees lived. He could care less as long as they show up on time and work to their full potential, that's all that matters to him.

Yet even with that disregard, high earning employees got a special apartment complex to live in. (Y/n) has always had the same one, even with job shifts, layoffs, hires, and fires, it has always been number 513.

It was always good to see that 513, whether it was a good or bad day, especially if it was bad, that dingy little 513 haphazardly imprinted into her doorframe would always be the most welcome sight in Hell to her.

She stepped inside before closing the door and slumping against it, burying her face in her knees. She let out an embarrassed scream as she recalled her two almost kisses with her boss today, one was just tension but the other? That must be the payback from that divine intervention (Y/n) thought of earlier.

She picked herself up and went through her regular routine, dinner, shower, pajamas, and before she was about to cozy up for a movie, her phone dinged. Odd, she doesn't really have any friends who contact her that regularly.

Her face flushed up when she realized it wasn't an old friend, rather it had to of been Vox himself.

(Y/n) composed herself before picking up her phone, seeing a notification from Vox

Vox: Hey Sugar we need to talk about earlier

She gulped as she replied

(Y/n): What about?

She wanted to face palm herself for asking that stupid of a question, but didn't want to get her hand sticky from her skin care routine that was still setting in

Vox: Don't play dumb with me (Y/n). I felt your lips with my own today, you and I both felt that.

(Y/n): I'm sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I really wasn't thinking when it happened

Vox: That's the problem, it didn't. You're my employee, I own your soul! I shouldn't feel this way about you but I do! I think you understand what I mean.

(Y/n): I do understand Vox. I shouldn't feel this way towards my boss, but I do. I don't understand why or how, I have never felt this way before in my life! On Earth or in Hell!

Vox: Sugar trust me. We will learn to navigate this.

————

6:45pm

Vox stared at his phone, smiling as he finally confessed his feelings. That was a lot harder than it needed to be, he had been storming something up since their kiss was interrupted. He was still at his damn office! He couldn't bring himself to turn around and face the elevator once more after the interruption from Valentino. Even throughout his meeting with Velvette, all he could think about was (Y/n).

He smirked as (Y/n) replied to his message

(Y/n): I do Vox. I trust you.

Vox: Good. I think we should keep this a secret between us for now, but I do wish to continue whatever this is we have going on.

(Y/n): Me too

Vox: Then that settles it. It looks like this will be your first step in the emotional love counseling you requested. Tomorrow, 7:00pm, you and I will be going on a date.

————

Word Count: 4,184

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