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dreamerstreamer · 3 years

Text

Like You A Latte

Pairing: barista!Sapnap x gn!reader

Summary: [Coffee Shop!AU] Sapnap usually hates the closing shift, but when one crazy storm sends you barreling into his life, he might just change his mind.

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: this was requested by a sweet anon who wanted something in a real life setting! i took some creative liberty with the au, but i hope you all enjoy nonetheless!

Sapnap grimaced as he stared out at the café window, his lips curling downward into a frown at the sight of the pouring rain. Driving home is gonna suck, he thought.

With a sigh, he turned back to wiping down the table in front of him, trying to ignore the incessant pitter patter on the roof above him. Screw Clay for ditching him with the closing shift. Sure, he might have that presentation tomorrow morning and Sapnap might have let him leave early, but he still sucked. The closing shift sucked.

It didn’t help that it was pouring buckets outside. No wonder the café was empty—there wasn’t a single soul in their right mind who would be outside at this hour and in this weather.

Except for him, apparently.

He sighed, eyeing the clock on the wall. There was an hour left until he had to close up shop, and he was bored out of his mind. He had already scrolled through all of his feeds and was sick of the music they were playing over the speakers. Usually he had at least one or two customers to chat with if they were in the café, but today there was none.

Looks like I’ll be alone for an hour, then, he thought to himself bitterly, leaning his forehead against the wall. Fun.

It was at that moment that the unmistakable sound of the door chimes echoed through the air, and Sapnap’s eyes went wide.

No way.

He lifted his head, turning to see a silhouetted figure standing in the doorway, their clothes sopping wet as they painted. He winced at the sight. Not even an umbrella would have been able to shield yourself from this kind of rain, but it was still painful to see just how soaked to the bone you would get.

Just then, the figure stepped inside, and his mouth went try at the sight.

One thing stuck out about you, and it wasn’t the fact that you were dripping water on the floor he had just mopped.

You were cute.

He just barely remembered to stop gaping as you approached the counter, brushing back some hair that was stuck to the side of your face. You opened your mouth to speak, but what came out of your mouth startled him.

“How many shots of espresso can you fit into an extra large latte?”

He blinked at you, eyes wide. “I’m sorry, what?”

You cleared your throat. “How many shots of espre—?”

“No, no, uh,” he stammered, waving his hand in front of him, “I heard you, it’s just that...” He paused, trying to find the right words. “...why do you want that much caffeine?”

You let out a deep sigh, dragging a hand across your weary face. “Look,” you said, “this paper is due at the crack of dawn, the wifi at my place is out, the library just closed, and I’m either handing it on time or I am going to die trying.”

He raised his eyebrows at you and sucked in a deep breath. “Okay,” he began, “um, an extra large latte, was it?”

You nodded. He turned, grabbing the tallest of the paper cups he had stacked behind him, eyeing it. “Alright,” he mumbled, “that’ll probably fit around... thirty shots of espresso?”

You paused, blinking, and he could practically see the gears turning in your head. “Okay. Okay, cool.” There was a beat of silence, a look of contemplation crossing your features, then you nodded again. “Can you give me like twenty shots, then?”

The words flew from his lips before he could stop them. “What the hell.”

When you only stared at him, he coughed. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to even give someone more than four at once.”

You sighed for what must have been the millionth time as you shoved a hand into your pocket, digging around for a moment before fishing out a wallet. Opening it up, you pulled out a ten dollar bill. “This,” you said, waving the bill in front of him, “will be your tip.”

His jaw dropped, but no sound came out. After a few seconds of tense silence, something desperate shot across your face. “Please,” you said quietly, “for the sake of my paper. I need it.”

Sympathy welled up inside of him at the look on your face. Every college student knew the struggle of handing something in last minute. What kind of person would he be to say no?

“Okay,” he said, grabbing a sharpie from his apron pocket and uncapping it with his thumb, “this is gonna take a bit. Please, take a seat...?” He trailed off, expectantly waiting for your name, his eyes locking onto you.

Your lips curled into a small smile, and he felt something jump in his chest. “[Y/N].” You raised your brows at him. “You do realize I’m the only one in the store, right?”

His cheeks flushed, and he tore his gaze away from yours, fumbling to scribble your name on the cup. “Oh. Um, right. Sorry.” He offered you a sheepish smile. “Force of habit.”

You laughed while you slid your backpack off your shoulder and it sent a tingle up his spine. “Nah, I get it.” As you plopped onto the bar stool seat, your eyes darted to his chest, flashing with recognition. “Thanks, Sapnap.”

He nearly dropped his sharpie, his heart doing a backflip in his rib cage. How did you—? He glanced down, nearly shriveling with relief. Right. I’m wearing a name tag.

Sending one more glance in your direction as you pulled out your laptop, he turned, cracking his knuckles. Twenty shots was going to take more than just a few minutes to brew, and he’d be damned if he didn’t stick to his guns and deliver this absolute monstrosity of an order to you.

A good fifteen minutes later, Sapnap found himself staring down into a pitch black cup. Where the smell of coffee beans was usually even distributed throughout the store, it was now almost entirely concentrated in one cup. With a delicate hand, he oh-so slowly poured in some frothed milk, carefully moving it as a design began to form on the coffee’s surface. A few moments passed in devoted silence, and he pulled away to reveal a perfect milk heart staring back at him.

Indeed, he was holding an extra large latte with twenty shots of espresso. He was half impressed and half horrified by his own creation.

With a small smile, he picked the cup up, sliding it over the counter toward you. “Voilà,” he said, bowing dramatically, “your order is served.”

You looked up from where you were typing on your laptop, blinking blearily at him before recognition set in. A grin tugged at your lips as you picked the cup up. “Oh my god,” you breathed, taking a heavenly sip, “you are such a lifesaver. You have no idea how close I was to passing out just now.”

Sapnap chuckled at your enthusiasm, picking up a rag and walking over to the sink. “I don’t know how you’re going to enjoy drinking that, but I hope you stay conscious.”

You raised your cup up toward him in a silent toast, the mirth in your eyes sending something light and warm dancing across his bones. As you turned back to your paper, he began cleaning up the mess he had made while brewing twenty shots of espresso.

Time passed in a blur as he shifted cups around and wiped down machinery, only sped along by the sound of your frantic typing. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he saw as you raised your now empty coffee cup in your hand and tossed it across the room. In an elegant arc, it landed squarely in the trash can a few feet away.

“Nice throw,” he said, smiling at the satisfied look on your face.

You sent him a thumbs up with a hum, your face looking delightfully warm and much more awake. “Thank you.”

Another moment passed in silence when a realization suddenly hit him. “Wait a second. You finished it? All twenty shots?”

You didn’t even look away from your screen. “Yep.”

His look was one of complete and utter disbelief. “That quickly?”

You deadpanned. “I think the most I’ve slept in the past three days is something like three hours. I’m kind of dying.”

He chuckled. “Understandable.” His lips curled downward as his expression grew serious. “For real though, once this caffeine wears off, I want you to sleep for like, half a day, okay?”

Your fingers faltered in their typing for a moment, and your eyes briefly met his. “You don’t even know me.”

Something in his stomach churned. But I would like to, he wanted to say.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest with a teasing look. “Can you really blame me for being concerned? Twenty shots is more than a lot.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but he didn’t miss the way your lips twitched. “Ugh, fine.”

He bit back a laugh. “Fine is good enough for me.”

You returned back to typing, squinting harshly at the glare from your screen as you mouthed some of the words you had written. His eyes darted to the clock once more and blinked in surprise. Was there really only fifteen minutes left until closing? He hoped you could finish in time.

Sapnap turned and bit the inside of his cheek, the cogs in his head churning. I feel like I’m forgetting to do something. An image of the water you had tracked into the café flashed through his mind, and he found himself eyeing the mop and bucket sitting by the corner where he had left it nearly an hour prior.

Do I really want to wipe the floor again? He paused for a long moment. Not really. He thought of the streaky puddle left in your wake one last time, then shook his head. Ah, whatever. George has the opening shift tomorrow—it’s a him problem, now.

A soft yell broke him out of his thoughts. “Hell yeah!”

He lifted his head in time to see you close your laptop screen, a wide grin stretched across your face. “Did you finish?”

You flopped onto the table, letting out a relieved groan. “Yes, finally. I thought I was never going to be done.”

He opened his mouth to respond when your face suddenly scrunched up. Before he could ask if you were okay, you ducked your face into the bend of your elbow, a sneeze escaping your lips. Sapnap’s heart leapt at the sound.

Cute—your sneeze was cute.

His lips quirked up at you as he sent you a worried glance. “You cold?”

You wiped at your nose, shivering a little. “A bit, yeah.” You offered him a lopsided smile. “The rain kind of did a number on me.”

He fiddled with his keys in his pocket, gulping. “I’m, uh, gonna close up in a few minutes. Did you want me to give you a ride back to your place?” He paused for a moment, then quickly added, “I promise I’m not a creep.”

Your laugh made him want to dance. “Oh, yes please.” Suddenly, your smile dimmed, and you curled back a bit. “You—you won’t mind if I get your car a little wet, will you?”

Sapnap stared at you and your dripping clothes, something tugging inside his chest. If it was Clay or George asking, he’d probably kill them if they even attempted to get into his car while soaking wet.

But for some reason, the way you looked at him with your wet hair sticking to your face and a hopeful glimmer in your eyes made his heart skip a beat.

“Not at all.”

“George wanted me to tell you that you suck.”

He turned, feigning an innocent look. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Clay sent him an amused look. “Something about a puddle? And that you’re a huge prick for not wiping it up for him.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “He’s just being whiny. I was stuck by myself yesterday because you bailed on me.”

Clay gaped at him. “I had a presentation and you literally let me go! That’s a valid reason!”

When Sapnap only gave him a levelled stare in response, he sighed. “I’m here now, okay? I’ll even man cash for you so you can just do the easy clean-up stuff, too.”

Sapnap grumbled but didn’t protest. “C’mon, man.” Clay leaned over to gently prod his shoulder. “I bet you today’s closing shift is better than last night’s!”

He waved a hand dismissively, focusing his attention back on the order he was working on. “Sure, sure.”

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Clay was right about one thing—today’s shift was better already. It wasn’t raining like crazy again, and the café wasn’t completely deserted. Well, you were there yesterday, but he had already accepted that the two of you probably wouldn’t interact again. It’s not like you were a regular or something.

He was vaguely aware of the door opening, the chimes tinkling like bells as it swung open and shut. Footsteps approached the counter as he pushed some stray trash into the garbage can, not particularly paying any attention. That was when a familiar voice spoke up.

“Can I get an extra large latte, please?”

Sapnap froze then whipped around, eyes wide as he took in the sight of you standing in front of the cash register. Before Clay could even confirm your order, he blurted out, “[Y/N]? You’re back?”

You grinned at him from the other side of the counter, your wallet in hand. “I like coffee, okay? And you’re not too shabby of a barista.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “‘Not too shabby’? Rude.”

You giggled, tapping your credit card on the PIN machine. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. I did mostly want to say thanks for the other night, since you are pretty great, Sapnap.” Your eyes flashed. “But...”

“...but?” he prompted.

“But,” you said, grinning teasingly, “you might cement yourself as my favourite barista if I maybe got a free snack.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “A free snack, you say?”

Your smile widened. “Yes, sir.”

Sapnap paused, cocking his head. “I’ll... keep that in mind. Go ahead and grab a seat for the time being though, alright?”

You nodded in assent and slid into the bar stool you had sat in the night prior, pulling out your laptop once more. Once you were out of earshot, Clay leaned over to Sapnap. “You know ‘em?” he asked.

Sapnap couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah—[Y/N] is kind of the reason why George thinks I’m a prick, right now.”

“Nah,” he said, “George knows you’re a prick. He just thinks you’re being particularly prick-y today.”

Sapnap playfully pushed him away with a shove. “Screw off.”

Clay didn’t even flinch, only wheezing under his breath as he greeted the next person in line. Sapnap rolled his eyes again as he grabbed an extra large cup from the stack, his hands moving like clockwork as he poured in some freshly brewed espresso and frothed milk. Making a regular latte was infinitely faster than making one with twenty shots, to say the least, and practically no time had passed before he was walking over to your seat.

“One extra large latte for [Y/N],” he said, sliding the cup onto the space next to your laptop with ease, one hand tucked behind his back.

Your face lit up. “Thank y—”

“And,” he suddenly added, pulling his other arm out to reveal a pastry, “one chocolate croissant.” He gave you a sly wink as he held it in front of you. “On the house, as requested.”

Your smile fell. “Oh, wait, no. I was joking. You don’t actually have to—”

“Shh,” he whispered, dangling the croissant in front of your face, “just take it. No one else is going to buy it anyway. Consider this thanks for yesterday’s tip.”

You gingerly took the croissant from his hands, your cheeks growing warm. “Okay, fine.” You held the pastry up to your lips, sinking your teeth in and beginning to chew. Your eyes widened in shock as you swallowed. “Oh, wow. This is really good.”

He placed his hands on his hips triumphantly. “Aren’t you glad you took it, now?”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you took another bite. “Thanks, Sapnap. Seriously, what would I do without you?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, actually be well-rested instead of chugging caffeine?”

“For the record,” you pointed out with a slight glare, “I did sleep for like half the day like you asked me to, but now I’m behind on everything.”

He cocked his brows at you. “So, you’re just sticking around to finish some stuff, again?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah—the wifi at my place sucks and my roommate hogs all the bandwidth, plus you guys are open later than the library, soooo.....”

You gestured vaguely, and he nodded in sympathy, crossing his arms over his chest. “Makes sense.”

He could have let the conversation die there, could have just gone back to wiping down the tables and cleaning up after Clay. But instead, he found himself slipping into the seat next to you, curiosity nibbling away at his restraint.

“I don’t think I ever asked,” he said, resting his hand on his chin, “but what are you studying?”

You grinned at him, his ears growing warm as you began telling him about your major. You asked him about his and what he wanted to do after graduation, and it didn’t take long before the two of you slipped into casual conversation, almost as if you were old friends. While he did have to go take some orders every once in a while, he was mostly able to chat with you while the both of you worked. It was nice—spending time with you was nice.

And it seemed like his heart agreed, too.

The ringing of the door chimes made Sapnap raise his head. He opened his mouth to give the official café greeting before closing it, a fond smile overtaking his features. “Hey, cutie.”

You grinned back at him as you strode up to the counter. “Hey, loser.”

He pretended to wince at your words, clutching his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, your lips curling up as you dug a hand into your bag. “Kidding. Can I get a—”

“Extra large latte with a normal number of espresso shots,” he finished expertly, reaching around to push a cup onto the space in front of you. When you didn’t say anything, your wallet balanced delicately in the palm of your hand, he coughed awkwardly. “I know your order.”

You stared at him in utter shock. “You do?”

He pretended that his lungs didn’t feel like they were on fire. “Y-Yeah.”

A smile tugged at your lips, and you opened up your wallet. “I wish I had a memory as good as yours, Sapnap.” You pulled at out a ten dollar bill and slapped it onto the counter, grabbing your coffee with the other. “Thank you so much, and keep the change, okay?” You took a step back, sending him an apologetic look. “I have to get going, but you’re the best.”

He picked up the bill, waggling it in front of his face. “I know.”

You paused, tastefully adding as you turned, “...loser.”

“Hey!”

You laughed at him while you bounded out of the café, and he felt his irritation die in his chest, something blossoming in its stead. “Kidding!”

As the door swung shut behind you, he sighed, a dreamy haze filling his mind. Weeks had passed since you two had first met, and he could feel himself falling harder and harder. He always knew that he wanted to get to know you better, but now that feeling had grown tenfold. There was something so subtle and real about everything you did—about the way you talked and laughed, about the way you pointed and smiled.

He wondered how much more of you he hadn’t seen, and he wondered if you’d show him.

A voice ripped him out of his thoughts. “Are you gonna snap out of it anytime soon?”

He turned, blinking back to reality. “What?”

George stared back at him with paused lips. “Sapnap, you’ve been spaced out for two minutes.”

Clay turned to look at them both. “You look like you just had some big revelation or something. Are you good?”

Sapnap opened his mouth, then closed it, feeling a lump forming in his throat. As much as he ragged on them for being reckless and stupid, Clay and George were his best friends, and they deserved to know what was going on.

Was this going to go poorly? Probably.

But was he going to do it anyways?

Unfortunately, yes.

“Guys.” He sucked in a deep breath, squeezing his fists by his side as he looked up. “I like [Y/N].”

There was a beat of silence, and Sapnap felt the anxiety well up inside him. They were totally about to flame him, weren’t they?

The two of them shared a look, then Clay turned to him. “We know.”

Sapnap blinked. “You knew?” he said slowly. “Both of you?”

George bobbed his head, cocking a brow at him. “Um, yeah? It’s kind of obvious.”

Sapnap gaped, sputtering. “H-How? In what way?”

George opened his mouth when Clay raised a hand, silencing him as a wide grin stretched across his face. His green eyes brimming with mischief, he sidled up to Sapnap’s side, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Hey, George,” he said, “watch this.”

He leaned close to Sapnap’s ear, and whispered just loud enough for all three of them to hear. “[Y/N].”

Almost instantaneously, Sapnap felt his heartbeat speed up as George’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Look at his ears.”

While Clay pulled away and let out a loud wheeze, clutching at his chest, Sapnap’s hands slammed over his ears, hiding them from view. “Do not look at my ears.”

Gasping for air, Clay managed to choke out between shaky breaths, “He’s blushing!”

“No, I’m not!”

“Are—” Wheeze. “—Are too!”

“No—”

“You totally are.”

“George, shut the fu—”

“Alright, ladies, you’re both pretty,” Clay suddenly cut in, clapping his hands. “If you two would stop bickering, then we can actually address the issue at hand, here.”

“Which is that Sapnap is a hopeless simp?” George prompted.

Clay nodded. “Which is that Sapnap is a hopeless simp.”

Sapnap scowled. “I am not hopeless, and I am also not a simp.”

Clay tucked a hand under his chin. “Well, we’re going to make sure you’re not hopeless.” A devilish glint shined in his gaze. “Not for much longer, that is.”

Sapnap swallowed. This couldn’t be good.

“Wait,” George said, furrowing his brows, “what about the simp part?”

Clay blinked. “Oh, no. He can stay that. We’re just going to make him confess.”

Sapnap, who had been staring in stunned silence up until this point, blinked for a moment, then frowned. “Wait a second, you’re going to what?”

Clay leaned forward, patting his shoulder reassuringly. “Trust me, buddy. Everything is going to be just fine.”

With that, Sapnap’s frown only deepened.

Everything was going to be just awful.

Sapnap swallowed anxiously as he slid another cup across the counter toward the pick-up station, George dutifully picking it up as he read out another name. Sapnap had half the mind to realize that they really shouldn’t have let George be the one to read the names, especially when he was so garbage at it, but the other half didn’t particularly care. It was far too preoccupied thinking about one thing and one thing only.

Well, two things actually.

You and his confession.

The plan was simple in theory, at least, but in practice? He had no clue. He’d had it prepared for days now, but he had yet to see you, and he was pretty sure he was slowly going insane.

“Just calm down,” Clay had told him. “Like I said, you’re going to be fine.”

As much as he trusted him, Sapnap didn’t believe him for one second, and he was pretty sure Clay knew it. If he did, he didn’t say anything, but oh boy, could Sapnap see it in his eyes.

Just then, the familiar sound of chimes and footsteps filled the air, and Sapnap felt his anxiety spike.

You were here.

Taking a moment to breathe and calm himself, he casually began to wipe down the counter before him, dragging damp rag across the countertop. At the same time, he felt his heart hopelessly trying not to and failing to skip a beat at the sight of your weary face. “Mornin’, [Y/N],” he greeted.

You didn’t bother to say a greeting back before you flopped into your usual seat, letting out one long groan. “Uuuggghhhh.”

A flicker of fondness filled his heart. “Rough week?” he prompted, his hand slowing down as he wiped away a small stain.

You groaned again in reply, rubbing at your temples. “Oh, you have no idea. My profs have just been unbelievably infuriating, and I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of a mental breakdown.”

He reached over to pat your shoulder, nodding sympathetically. “I get that—sometimes it’s like they forget you have other classes.”

Your head shot up, your face twisted into a pout. “I know right? Like, give me a break!” You slumped forward, your cheek pressed against the table. “I just want to take a nap.”

He smiled fondly at you. God, you are so cute. “Did you want a latte?” he offered. “The usual?”

You paused for a moment, thinking, then shook your head. “Caffeine is only going to make me even more stressed, and I don’t think I can handle anymore.”

He hummed in understanding, then turned. He quickly grabbed something off the shelf behind him before sliding it over the counter to you. “I know it won’t make your week any easier,” he said, “but here. It might make you feel a little better.”

You perked up at that, raising your head to eye the napkin-wrapped item in front of you. Pulling back the soft tissue, your eyes lit up. “A chocolate croissant!”

He turned away with a soft smile. “Your favourite, right?”

You sunk forward, your gaze dazzling in the midday sun. “Because of you.”

He nearly choked on his spit as he whirled, only to see you pulling back the napkin to take a bite. Sometimes, you really spoke without thinking, and it sent his head absolutely spinning.

You sighed as you sunk your teeth into the flaky dough, your eyes fluttering shut. Chewing away as you leisurely swung your legs, you glanced up at him. “Hey,” you murmured, “what time is it, right now?”

“It’s, uh—” His gaze darted to the clock on the other side of the wall. “—ten to eleven.”

Your eyes shot wide open, swallowing the bite you took as your jaw dropped. “Oh, shoot. I’m gonna be late. I have a class at eleven and it’s on the other side of campus.”

Sapnap’s expression mirrored yours. “Oh, shoot,” he parroted.

You nodded as you slid off the seat, scrambling to slid your bag onto your shoulders as you spoke in a hurried frenzy. “Okay I have to get going but thanks so much for the snack Sapnap you’re the best and um I really appreciate it but I, um, I have t—”

“[Y/N],” he said abruptly, and you fell silent, your voice dying in your mouth. His gaze was soft as he gestured to the front of the café. “You’re gonna be late.”

You didn’t waste another second to turn on your heel and scramble to the front. “Thank you!” you called out behind you one last time as you pushed past the entrance and rushed down the busy street.

The moment the door fell shut once more, Sapnap nearly collapsed against the counter, gripping onto the granite for dear life. “Clay,” he said, turning his head to send his best friend a shaky smile full of nothing but anxiety, “I’m gonna die.”

“You are not going to die,” Clay said immediately, walking over to pull Sapnap up from the counter. He clapped him on the shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes. “Like I said, you are going to be just fine. Don’t lose your head over it.”

Sapnap whipped his head up, grabbing his shoulders. “This is probably the worst confession I have ever tried to make in my life,” he said bluntly, his tone clipped with anxiety. “No, wait—this is the worst confession I have ever tried to make in my life.”

Just then, the back room door swung open to reveal a very tired-looking George who sighed with a bag of coffee beans tucked securely in his arms. “Okay, pack it up, lover boy,” he muttered, tilting his head at Sapnap. “You’re on break, now.”

Sapnap didn’t even bother to come up with a witty retort, simply letting go of Clay’s shoulders with a quiet whine before sliding into the back room, his shoulders slumped over. As he walked past, Clay leaned back against the countertop, a curious grin dancing on his lips. “You think [Y/N] will even see it?”

George grimaced, setting the bag down on the table. “I hope so. Otherwise Sapnap here is going to die of embarrassment, and I am never going hear the end of it.”

From the back, a muffled groan rang out. Clay and George’s eyes met once more as they let out another sigh.

They really, really hoped so.

How you made it to class on time with two whole minutes to spare, you’d never know.

You collapsed into the nearest available seat with a massive sigh, the air rushing out of your lungs all at once. Maybe you should try out for the track team like your roommate keeps telling you to.

With a tired smile, you sat up, pulling out your laptop from your bag and setting your half eaten croissant on the table in front of you. You were just about to open your laptop when a smudge of black on the pristine white of your napkin caught your attention. You narrowed your eyes, lifting up the croissant to see even more of it.

There’s something written on it...?

Curiously, you found yourself unfolding the napkin, gasping at what you saw. A sprawling string of text littered the thin paper, all written in a familiar sharpie ink.

hey, [y/n]—if you’re reading this then thank god that means you actually kept the napkin and didn’t throw it out or something. super long story short, i like hanging out with you and would love to get to know you better, so here’s my number XXX-XXX-XXXX and also i like you a latte and also i like you a lot :)

You snorted, your cheeks burning up with bashful glee. Even though he crossed it out, you could still read the pick-up line he had jotted down. It was so very like him to get embarrassed and scrap it last minute. There was something endearing about it, really.

Cute, you thought to yourself, something warm and hazy wrapping around your heart. You dug your hand into your pocket, slipping out your phone. Very, very cute.

A few minutes later, a notification lit up Sapnap’s phone. Swiping his finger across the screen, he found himself stating at a message from an unknown number. His eyes darted over the words on his screen, widening. A yell suddenly flew from his lips, and George yelped as he nearly poured some espresso on his hand.

“Sapnap,” he hissed, whipping around with a glare, slamming the cup down on the counter, “what the he—”

He fell silent as he saw the wide grin stretched across Sapnap’s face, his eyes practically glowing with joy. Before he could even ask, Sapnap shoved the phone in his face, six words printed across the screen in black text.

i like you a latte, too :)

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slytherinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Seasons Change [3]

iii. the summer will warm the coldest parts of your heart

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: smut, language.

summary: a mission throws you and steve together, bringing a new sort of revelation to your relationship.

a/n: okay, yes, I know this is late, but listen, I couldn’t find my laptop amongst all the moving boxes! good news is that I did find it though, so here is seasons change part 3 (my favorite part!), one day late!!! the taglist for this series is open!

previous chapter // series masterlist // full masterlist

June 20, Rome, Italy.

You walk out of the bathroom of your hotel room, your final belongings gathered in your arms. You dump them into your open suitcase, not bothering to organize them since you’re finally flying home again, before zipping the suitcase closed and plopping down beside it on the bed. You stare out the window of your room, admiring the Sydney skyline outside, though you’re glad to trade it for a familiar skyline in just a few short hours.

As you stand to grab your suitcase, your phone rings, and your stomach drops with dread, already aware that this phone call is not going to be one that you like. You grab your phone from your pocket, eyes scanning the familiar number on the screen before you answer with a sigh, “Hill, this better not one of those calls.”

“It’s just recon!” You sigh again, and you can practically hear her cringe though the phone, “I know you haven't been home in months, but you’re our best agent. And you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”

“Who gave the orders?”

“Fury.”

Not optional then. You nod once, even though she can’t see it. “Where?”

“Rome.”

Your brows lift slightly, “Italy?”

“You know any other Romes?”

You deadpan, “Yeah. Georgia, Alabama, Illinois.”

Hill lets out a short laugh, “Okay, okay, I get it, smartass. Yes, Rome, Italy.”

“Just recon, huh?”

“Just recon.”

You sigh, knowing you can’t say no if it’s from Fury. “Alright, send over the file.”

“Already done.” You can hear the smile in her voice when she adds, “Oh, and you’ll have a partner on this one.”

You groan, “You know I do better solo.”

“You’ll like this one!”

“You said that about the last one.”

“Who, Franklin?”

You hum in acknowledgement, “He talked too much. And he ate way too much garlic for someone sharing a tiny room above a church.”

Hill laughs again before she mutters, “Well, I mean it this time.”

“Who is it?”

“Can’t say. Classified.” You let out a sound of frustration, and you can hear the amusement in her voice when she reassures you. “You’ll meet him in the safe house.”

“Fine.”

“Don’t forget that you’re my favorite agent!”

“Yeah, yeah. Talk to you soon.”

Shield sends a Quinjet to fly you to Rome, which you suppose is the closest thing you’ll get to an apology for not getting to go home. Still, it’s better than flying commercial, so you accept the gesture, and your flight passes uneventfully, which you’re grateful for.

The safe house is close to your landing spot, so you decide to walk, thinking the fresh air will be good for you. Unfortunately, you underestimated just how hot it would be beneath the Italian sun, and by the time you arrive at the safe house, you’re sticky with sweat. You walk inside, the apartment pretty small as far as safehouses go, but you’re used to sharing close quarters with other agents, so you aren’t worried about it. You drop your bag on the floor in the living room, heading towards the kitchen and calling out as you move. “Hello? Anyone here?”

As you step into the kitchen, you find it empty, save for a note on the table, along with a small brown paper bag. There’s a delicious smell wafting towards you from the bag, buttery and warm and full of cinnamon, and when you pull it open, you see a fat cinnamon roll staring back at you. You get an idea of who your partner is before you even read the note left beside the bag.

Went to grab a few things, be back in a bit.

-S

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, “God damn it, Hill.”

You knew you’d regret telling her about your arrangement with Steve, but she was suspicious after he called her in Japan, and she pretty much pieced it together on her own. All you did was confirm the details for her. Still, it felt nice to talk about it with someone. Not as agents, but as friends. You work so often that you don't have a lot of opportunities to get close to anyone, and besides Steve, Hill is the closest thing you have to a friend.

You shake your head, sure that she’s laughing her ass off at HQ, before you settle into one of the chairs at the table, pulling the bag with the cinnamon roll towards you. You pull a copy of the file out of your bag, given to you by the pilot in the Quinjet, reading through it again as you eat the cinnamon roll left to you by Steve. And that’s where he finds you later, sitting at the table and popping the last bite into your mouth, and he says from the doorway, “Where does it rank on your list?”

You look up in surprise, so engrossed in the file that you didn't hear him come in, and he smiles as he walks into the room and sets two bags of groceries on the table. “So?”

You shake your head at him, not understanding. “So, what?”

“The cinnamon roll, where does it rank?”

You smile and wipe your hands clean, looking down at the crumbs scattered on the table. “Oh. Definitely not as good as my mom’s, but it’s one of the better ones I’ve had, so maybe a 7?”

Steve’s brows lift and a playful smirk settles itself on his face. “A 7? It’s at least a 9.”

“There’s isn't enough icing for it to be a 9.”

He smiles and nods, taking note of the criticism. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He starts to put the groceries away, and you stand to help him. “So you’ve read the file?”

“Simple surveillance, in and out in a few days. Intel says Alexandrei Ivanov has been scoping out tourist traps to test Hydra weapons at.”

You nod, both of you on the same page, before you ask, “So how are we gonna play this?”

Steve grabs a different file, turning to hand it to you as he grabs the last few groceries. “Newlyweds Victoria and Logan Jones. Honeymooners happily in love, hitting up all the best tourist spots and snapping plenty of pictures for their family back home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up a little as you scan the file, realizing that you’re gonna have to pretend to be married to Steve for the next few days. And everyone knows that you have to stay in your cover at all times, because you never know who’s watching. This should be fun. You take a deep breath and look up at him with a smile, feigning a confidence you don’t quite feel. “So, when do we start?”

It turns out that you’re starting right away.

You freshen up from your flight and change clothes into the ones Steve brought for you, a bright yellow sundress; both of you looking incredibly average when you reveal your outfits to each other. Preparing to be tourists, you both don sunhats and grab a camera, and with your cover in place, you head to the Coliseum hand in hand, playing the part of a couple in love.

It doesn't take long for you and Steve to spot Ivanov, as most of the Hydra operatives tend to stand out in a crowd. Steve squeezes your hand when he spots him first, and he turns to you and sweeps you in for a kiss, whispering softly against your lips, “Ivanov at your 3 o’clock.”

You feel your skin heat up with his touch, and you tell yourself that it’s the Italian sun, because you’re an operative and this is just work. But Steve seems to notice the effect he’s already having on you, because he smirks, and you repress an eye roll as you turn away and look around for Ivanov. When you spot him, you turn to your fake husband and exclaim, “Let me get your picture, love!”

You see his cheeks tinge pink, and now it’s your turn to smile, the nickname clearly something he enjoys. He passes you the camera and stands in line with Ivanov, and you point the camera at Steve, pretending to snap pictures of him, when in reality you’re capturing Ivanov in the background. Once you get the shot, you smile at Steve, waving him back over. “Oh my god babe, you look great! Come see!”

Steve walks over and checks the pictures, smiling his approval at you. “Wow, you really captured my good side!”

You lean into your cheesy role, beaming up at him. “Every side is your good side!”

“Baby, c’mere.” He pulls you in for another kiss, this one more passionate than the last, his tongue instantly slipping into your mouth. You have to work hard to remind yourself that you’re in public and this is a job, so you need to keep your composure. Every move the two of you make needs to be calculated, it needs to serve a purpose.

Steve’s mouth moves over your jaw and down to your neck, his mouth pressing kisses and love bites into the skin there. You automatically tip your head to the side, giving him better access, and you hear him whisper against your throat, “Think you can get his phone?”

He lightly nips the side of your neck, and despite yourself you let out a soft moan, unable to hold it back. You feel Steve smile against your neck, and you clench your fists hard, pressing your nails into your palms, trying to calm yourself down again. You nudge Steve back up to your mouth and pull him close, running your tongue over his bottom lip, sinfully slow. You hear Steve’s breath hitch in his throat and you smile before whispering, “Phones are my specialty.”

You pull away from him, stepping back and smiling at his expression, Steve clearly getting into this just as much as you are. You’re slightly relieved that you aren’t the only one affected by his presence or his mouth on yours. You’ve seen each other a few times since Japan, quick flings on your way to other cities and missions, but each tryst never feels like enough. You feel yourself wanting to spend more and more time with Steve. Not just for the sex though. The sex is great, but you’re starting to enjoy just being with Steve.

You try not to think about it too much, focusing instead on your arrangement. No strings attached, just hook ups. No feelings, no relationship. That’s it.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, returning to the present and your need to lift the phone off Ivanov. You carefully evaluate him; where’s he’s standing, where his phone is most likely to be on his body, what’s the best way to get it off him. And as you watch him standing near the railing, a thick crowd of tourists moving past him, you decide that the best method is to slip it from his back pocket as you move past him with the crowd.

You blend in with the families and couples moving through the attraction, and when you get close enough to him, you deftly slide the phone from his back pocket, quickly switching it to your other hand, held out of sight. You wander over to an area with brochures and pamphlets, grabbing a few and using them to further hide the phone, before making your way back to Steve, the phone hidden in your hand. When you reach him, you give him a smile, passing the brochures and the phone to him. “Look at all these places we need to visit here! So many exciting things to see!”

Steve beams at you when he feels the weight of the phone, and he quickly slides an SD card into the phone, transferring whatever he can as he chatters away about what cafes look best and what attractions you absolutely need to see before your honeymoon is over. When the transfer process finishes, he pulls you close and whispers, “Now how do you get it back?”

“Bumping into him is best, he’s less likely to feel it sliding into his pocket that way.”

Steve smiles at you, “I have the perfect idea then.”

Your brows furrow together, wondering what he has in mind as he pulls you towards Ivanov, talking excitedly the whole way. When the two of you get close, he holds up the camera. “This looks like a good spot, babe! Let’s take a few selfies here.”

“Good idea, love.”

His eyes cut to yours, and you confirm the nickname is one he really likes as he lifts the camera and pulls you close. He snaps a few of the two of you smiling before he leans in and kisses your cheek, snapping a few more. Finally, his lips find yours, and you hear the camera snap a few more times before his arm lowers and his kiss grows more passionate. His tongue slips into your mouth again, and you feel one of his hands slide down to your ass, the phone hidden beneath his hand, pressed against your butt.

You feel a spark of arousal as he shifts you backwards, his mouth moving to kiss your neck as he bumps into Ivanov, quickly sliding the phone back into his back pocket. Steve’s hand quickly returns to your ass, squeezing lightly as Ivanov turns to look at the two of you with disgust. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry man, it’s just hard to keep my hands off her.”

Another squeeze to prove his point, and you close your eyes, steadying yourself as Ivanov retorts, “Maybe you should take her home and fuck her then.”

“Maybe I should.”

You look up and find Steve’s eyes, and the look in them is enough for you to know that he means it. You both mumble another apology to your target before Steve takes your hand and leads you through the crowd, the two of you heading back to the apartment you’re sharing. But it’s like the walk cools Steve off or something, because when you arrive back at the building, he drops your hand and steps inside, awkwardly rubbing his neck as you lock the door behind you. “Good grab back there.”

“Yeah, you too.” You shake your head, your mind too focused on his hands on you, before you amend, “I mean, thanks.”

He holds up the SD card and the camera, “I should get these sent over to Fury.”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.” You glance towards the bedroom door, thinking there’s only one thing that’s gonna cool you down at this point. “I’m gonna shower, try to wash off this sweat.”

“Enjoy it.”

You swear you can see Steve physically cringe at his response to you, and you nod once, grabbing your bag as you head into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You move straight to the bathroom, switching the water to cool, hoping you can shock your arousal out of your system. You strip quickly and step under the cool stream, the water shocking the heat that seems to linger on your skin. Goosebumps lift on your skin, chasing away all thoughts of Steve, and when you feel calmed down enough, you switch the water warmer, intending to wash up before you get out.

You wash your hair and body quickly, wondering if you can claim jetlag and pretend to go to sleep early to avoid any more awkward interactions with Steve. But as you stand beneath the warm water, letting it wash over you and relax you, you hear the bathroom door swing open. Confused, you turn to see who it is, surprised to see Steve striding towards you and pulling the shower door open. “Steve, what are you-”

The rest of the questions dies on your lips as he pulls you towards him, crashing his lips onto yours. His tongue slips into your mouth and you moan into his touch, hoping he won’t pull away from you this time. You tug him closer and he steps into the shower fully clothed, moving beneath the stream of warm water with you. His hands start to roam over your body, and your lips move together frantically.

You reach up and unbutton his wet shirt, pushing it off his body and onto the shower floor with a wet sound before your hands find his pants and belt, undoing them too and pushing the fabric down to join his shirt. His boxers are the last to go, and as you nudge them down his legs and grab him, his hand slips between your legs, expertly moving against you. The two of you stand pushed together, water running over you as you bring each other to the edge, ridding yourself of the tension that’s been building all day between you.

Steve is the first to pull away, muttering “bedroom” against your lips. You nod and reach behind you blindly to switch the water off before allowing him to lead you into the bedroom, both of you dripping water across the floor. He leads you to the bed, still wet, and you lean back into the sheets, too aroused to care. Steve follows, and he’s inside of you in seconds, both of you moaning as you climb towards your highs together. It doesn't take either of you long to reach the top, and stars explode across your vision as you tip over the edge, Steve’s name coming out of your mouth as you finish.

You fall asleep almost as soon as Steve rolls off of you, exhausted from traveling and spying and being with Steve. You wake a few hours later, when the moon is high in the sky, and you roll over to face Steve, only to find that he isn’t there. Curious, you slide out from beneath the sheets that Steve tucked you into, and you pull on your discarded sundress from earlier before wandering out into the living room.

There you find Steve, sprawled out on the couch, fast asleep. You smile when you see him, wondering why he’s out here, until you see the sketchbook in his hand. You move closer to him, grabbing the book to close it and set it aside, and as you do, you spot the drawing half finished on the page.

It’s of you, fast asleep, sprawled out on the sheets, a soft smile on your face. You flip to the page before it and find another picture; you in Japan, eating across from Steve, and the one before that is you at the holiday party a few months ago. You look at Steve in surprise, still sleeping, unaware of what you’ve seen, and you smile as you close the book and set it on the table beside him.

You hear your phone ring in the other room, and you head back to the bedroom, scooping it from your suitcase and answering without looking at the screen. “Hello?”

“Good job in Rome. We’re running the data from the phone and already getting hits on other locations, which means we need you somewhere else.”

You wander to the doorway between the bedroom and the living room, looking out at Steve as he sleeps on the couch, and when you do, you suddenly become aware of the intimacy of all of this. The playing pretend, the cinnamon roll, the notes, the sketches, it’s a breach of your arrangement. No strings attached, no feelings. You shake your head at yourself, wondering if you’ve managed to ruin a good thing, and at the same time, Hill’s voice comes through the phone, soft and concerned. “Agent, are you there?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You look at Steve one last time before turning and heading to your suitcase, already starting to pack up. “Where do you need me?”

This time when Steve wakes up and looks beside him, there is no note.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers fanfiction

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

Text

Trouble

Hi yeah its me, and look I’m already back with a new fic for the new year :D cherish this moment I don’t think i will have have this turn around so quick again. For the TSS Fanworks Secret Santa Exchange because I was a pinch hitter :DD @nerdywriterhaven I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Patton has a thing about boardgames and Virgil has a thing about Logan. Together they figure it out.

Word Count: 7900

Quick Taglist: @alias290 @chelsvans @coyboi300 @dante-reblogs @dwbh888 @glitchybina @faithfulcat111 @felicianoromano @harrypotternerdprincess @holliberries @jemthebookworm @killerfangirl3 @mrbubbajones @musical-nerd18 @nonasficcollection @stricken-with-clairvoyancy @the-sunshine-dims @themagicheartmailman @themultishipperchild @thenaiads @treasureofpriam @vianadraws @welovelogansanders

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

Patton shows up at Virgil’s dorm room just slightly after six pm on a Tuesday with two thermoses of soup that are still warm to the touch, a halloween tupperware of chocolate chip cookies that had been passed between him and Virgil so many times that Patton really doesn’t remember whose it was originally, his laptop, phone, the chargers for both, and the board game Trouble.

Virgil, predictably, shuts the door in his face the second he sees the game box hidden under all the other things in his arms. Patton also thinks that Virgil tells him to go away, but it’s muddled by the door.

Instead he shuffles all the supplies to his left arm and knee, and knocks again on his door just below the leftover tape from the nametag that his RA keeps putting up and Virgil keeps ripping down because he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he sleeps. His knuckles hum with the rap, datatata dat dat! And he smiles even when there’s the sound of something being thrown at the door from that side.

Patton chooses not to hear it because he’s a good friend and an even more stubborn houseguest.

The door a little bit down the hall opens up with the usual fanfare of someone who is running late to a night class-- which of course is the charm of Roman Prince. He looks nice, as usual, and Patton even thinks that if he hadn’t been wearing two different colored shoes, no one would even know that he had probably just woken up from a nap. The music of his room blares out into the hall with a rap song Patton thinks is Hip With the Kids these days, but Patton himself can’t make out any of the actual words.

All the much better because he’s pretty sure it’s Remus’s music and Remus likes his songs like he likes just about everything else: dirty, scandalous, and offensive. Not that Patton is good friends with either of the Prince siblings, but he’s heard the rumors floating around about both. Roman smiles at him, with glittering white teeth and dimples and soft warm brown eyes that could have been made of melted chocolate.

“Oh! What a spectre!” Roman says, seeming to forget that he’s on the way to a class at the sight of Patton standing at Virgil’s door. “Tell me, angel, what brings a glorious sight such as you to our dorm buildings on this amazing day?”

Virgil’s door swings back open before Patton can answer and Virgil hisses from the darkness, the way he’s usually prone to do whenever Roman or Remus or their blatant disregard for the rules about music volume at two AM is brought up.

He looks not much better from the glimpse Patton got before the door was closed in his face earlier: he’s still pale to the point of looking sickly and dressed in the same clothes as yesterday, with his eye shadow smeared and his hair not brushed at all. There’s a red imprint on the side of his face that Patton thinks matches a crease in his blankets or pillows from where he probably tried to suffocate himself on and off all day between anxiously texting Patton all about “the absolute worst day of my entire life and no I’m not even exaggerating this time Pat”.

“Hi Virgil!” Patton says, as Virgil reaches forward and to take a thermos and the tupperware from his arms and glare unbidenedly at Roman. “I brought dinner!”

“I hate you,” Virgil says, and does not mean because he loves Patton’s Broccoli Cheddar Cheer Up Soup and he’s been in need of cheering up since Patton had seen his messages at noon on his way to his second class of the day.

Roman gasps like he’s offended on behalf of Patton who is not offended as much as endeared to his best friend of several years. “Virgil! How could you act so callus towards a beautiful muse such as this?”

“Get lost, Princey,” Virgil tells him firmly, grumpily, Virgil-ly. “He came here specifically to make a pun about my pain.”

“I do it with love,” Patton adds. “And I brought cookies to make up for it.”

Roman looks like he doesn’t know what to do with that information and Virgil doesn’t give him time to find out because he kinda hates Roman-- although Patton always tells him that “hate” is a strong word and Virgil always says he means it anyway. Patton supposes that if he, too, had hallmates that played music louder than life up to the early hours of the mornings during Finals Week, and then cranked it higher when he knocked on the door to ask them to stop, he might also strongly dislike them.

Virgil ushers Patton into the dark room and then kicks the door closed while Patton is waving goodbye at Roman.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light level: Virgil was certainly making use of those thick blackout curtains! It made the whole room look like it was three AM, rather than six PM! There are blobs of stuff all around the room, piles of clothes and blankets that Virgil prefers to have on the floor rather than put somewhere where he’s not going to trip over it in the middle of the night, but Patton supposes that’s just how Virgil’s always been.

“If someone breaks in, they’re gonna trip over this shit and I will be out of here long before they can get back up,” Virgil had said the first time Patton had suggested maybe, possibly cleaning something until they found the floor.

The desk where Virgil did his school work is empty and the textbooks and computer that normally covered it are all on the ground like a massacre from what Patton can make out. Virgil shuffles through the room and ends up turning on the purple lava lamp that Patton got him three years ago so that they could at least see each other and the faux-floor, and even then he doesn’t look happy at needing that much. The elevated bed had the blankets ripped up from it and turned into a nest with Virgil’s phone light peeking out from the depths like some underwater cave with a sea monster in it waiting for an unsuspecting diver.

“Remind me, how you got into this building?” Virgil says, tiredly as he pries open the cookie container. “It requires a key and last time I checked, you don’t have one of those, Pat.”

“As if a key would stop me from checking on you!” Patton replies. He plops himself on a pile of clothes and clears away another spot for Virgil to collapse next to him, so that Virgil can’t exactly escape. “Now, what is this about Logan again? You were being kinda vague and world-ending-y again. ”

Virgil lets out a moan around the cookie he shoved in his mouth and drops to the floor next to Patton, to munch angrily or just upsetly without actually offering an answer, because he’s Virgil and he’s allergic to talking about things that upset him. Patton sets down his other thermos, his laptop, and his own phone to make room for the game between them.

“Must we?” Virgil asks as Patton sets up the board with a practiced hand. Even in the near darkness of the room he knows exactly what he’s doing, and could probably figure it out with no light at all.

“Of course!” Patton says. “You sounded like you were in Trouble.”

“ Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s rather Risk -y of you to be self deprecating while within hugging distance.”

Virgil doesn’t say anything for a moment, just swallows the bite of his cookie and stares at the colored pieces in front of him. The board game is well worn and well loved-- one of the first ones Patton had ever gotten and one of the first ones he ever convinced Virgil to play with him. Although “convinced” is a strong word for how Patton had just been staring at the board numbly with red rimmed eyes when his father had asked Virgil to come over and try to coax him into eating something, anything, please .

They’d lost three pieces of the red team and one of the yellow and two of the green, but that’s okay because Patton generally played blue and Virgil had custom ordered four purple pieces for just the two of them a few years ago.

Carefully, placatingly, Virgil reaches a hand forward and pops the dice bubble for his number. He gets a four.

Patton gets a five.

“How many times have we played this one, Pat?” Virgil asks, in a voice much softer than before. In the faded purple light and the shadows, it’s hard to see the number on the die, and harder to see exactly what Virgil is thinking about with his eyes hidden like that. His nails are bitten down to the quick, ruining the black nail polish he spent an hour applying last weekend over their shared Biology notes.

Patton shrugs as he reaches forward to take his turn and pops the bubble. Honestly he didn’t think he could calculate the answer if Virgil pressed: this was their go-to game, this was his go-to pun, this is what they did even when the world was falling apart at the seams. It was easier to focus on moving playing pieces a couple pegs than it was to focus on the sound of a heart monitor or raspy breathing or bony pale fingers that shook when they tried to hold anything.

It was easier to find a way to win when the instructions were so clear, and the rules were so fair, and the consequences of losing were just having to put the game back in the box.

Virgil doesn’t say anything more and Patton doesn’t force him to, although he desperately wants to. He wants to reach out and catch Virgil’s hands in his own, he wants to give him a squeeze, he wants to wipe away the tear tracks in his makeup and he wants to tell Virgil that whatever it is, Patton will be there for him.

He wants Virgil to look at a game for once and have fun.

But the only sound in the room is the popper when they roll the die back and forth.

Patton gets the six first. He moves his second leftmost piece to the start and hits it again for a three.

Virgil stares his blue piece on the board for a long moment, without blinking. His hands lie limply in his lap and the tub of cookies sits at his knee. The purple light makes his eyes glisten sweetly, wetly, sadly, with a resignation that Patton knows and wishes he doesn’t. The lump in his throat swells up.

“Virgil?”

Virgil blinks. And then blinks again.

“Why should I even bother at this point?” he asks. He runs a hand up to his hair and tugs at the locks.

“Virgil, this is the opening of the game,” Patton says. “You can’t give up alrea--”

“But it’s not like I’m going to win,” Virgil says and Patton sucks in a breath sharply.

Oh. It was one of those days.

Patton thinks that he should have been expecting this; it had been a decent amount of time since Virgil last had refused to finish a game, and Patton had almost thought that maybe they had kicked those thoughts for good! That through sheer willpower and perseverance and proof to the contrary, they might have managed to rework how Virgil approached a challenge. That at one point Virgil might laugh and smile even when he wasn’t in the lead--

And yet, Patton’s sitting with one piece three spaces ahead of Virgil and Virgil is ready to call it quits. The game had just started. Patton had only been sitting in the room for a total of five minutes. Virgil hadn’t talked for more than a couple sentences.

It’s one of those days, except that Patton doesn’t think that it’s ever been this bad before, because usually they at least made it to the one piece around the board in Trouble , through to one check in Chess , through to one hotel being built in Monopoly , or one train ticket completed in Ticket to Ride .

“This is a sign, isn’t it?” Virgil continues. “I’m just being stupid even considering it. Of course I am. I always am. Nevermind, I don’t want to do this today Pat. Thanks for the soup and the cookies and I’m sorry that I made you walk all the way--”

Patton reaches out and snags Virgil’s arm before he can get all the way off the ground. The board nudges to the side dislodging several pieces into the surrounding void, but Patton thinks that he can replace a hundred playing pieces.

He cannot replace his best friend.

Virgil’s skin is cold, even though the room was comfortably warm, and he’s soft to the touch-- which is never what Patton expects when he gets those lightning quick hugs, when Virgil rests his head on his shoulder during movie nights, when they go shopping and there are crowds that make Virgil want to run for the hills and only Patton’s hand in his keeps him grounded there. Virgil is soft despite the jagged persona he puts on to drive away other people, and he hasn’t gotten any sort of touch in a while because he shuts up the moment that Patton’s own warmth floods over him.

The room holds the silence for an eternity: Virgil frozen halfway up from the ground, and Patton latching on to him like he can pluck all the reasons Virgil is upset out of his mind through osmosis. The lava lamp makes him look unreal, makes the silence ring louder, makes the lump in Patton’s throat grow larger.

“Virgil,” Patton says, “please.”

Please tell me what I can do. Please allow me to help. Please let me in.

“It’s stupid,” Virgil says.

Patton wants to laugh, because nothing that ever hurts Virgil has ever been stupid. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”

Virgil bites his lip and inhales with all of his chest.

“You didn’t go to any classes today. You’ve been crying. You’re still wearing yesterday’s clothes.” Patton says. “Something happened. And it can’t possibly be stupid because nothing that affects you like this is can be anything less than something huge.”

Patton feels Virgil’s hand curl into a fist like he can hide his shaking when Patton is right there .

“Do you remember Logan Ackroyd,” Virgil says. “The senior a year older than us who I had Sociology with last year?”

The same Logan who took extra notes for when Virgil missed class and emailed them to him. The same Logan who offered Virgil a granola bar when he overheard that Virgil had missed lunch. The same Logan who helped Virgil break into the auditorium after school hours to search for his missing earbuds.

The same Logan who has eyes more knowledgeable than the entire galaxy, who wears a tie to class, who smells like coffee beans and pen ink and looks like he’d give really good, safe hugs.

The same Logan who Patton has never once met, but feels like he knows intimately thanks to Virgil’s starstruck rambles.

Logan must be something great and amazing. Patton has known that for a year now, from watching the months slip away and suddenly the ghost of Logan joins them on every outing, summoned by the blush over Virgil’s ears and the soft smile on his lips and the way that Virgil steadfastly won’t meet Patton’s eyes like it will prevent Patton from noticing the way that the senior is always on Virgil’s mind. Logan is kind. Logan is smart. Logan has a new book every day. Logan has a voice like the ocean waves.

Logan, Patton thinks, should have been more careful if he caused Virgil this much distress. Because there are things that Patton would do for Virgil that not even a cold blooded killer would consider doing.

“Yeah,” Patton says, with a smile soft and dumb and innocent. “You guys have Analytical Science together this year, right?”

Virgil lets go of his lip, and breathes out a breath that sounds like more relief than Patton is supposed to hear. “Yeah. Yeah. He, uh… yeah.” Virgil shifts back down, shifts so that he’s on his knees and Patton is right next to him, and they’re still touching and that warmth is stronger than the shadows made by the blobs in the lava lamp.

“Janus… Janus asked him out yesterday,” Virgil says, using his other hand to pluck at a thread in his jeans.

Oh. Patton doesn’t think cookies and soup were enough.

And golly, Patton doesn’t think Logan is as smart as Virgil is always saying he is either, because if he said yes in front of Virgil, he must have been the stupidest person on the planet.

Virgil is quiet, dismissible, a shadow in his own skin even on his best days. But he is not un-noticeable.

He carries an aura around himself that storms and thunders and promises danger to those that get too close. His laughter is a threat first and a comfort second. His smile is a knife blade that even Patton sometimes wonders if he might find in his back one day. Virgil was someone that you noticed and you stayed the fudge away from.

Unless you were Patton, who hadn’t been afraid of Death from the moment he watched his mother cough up blood over the cards to CandyLand, watched his mother turn into a real-life game of Operation, watched her breathing get ragged and her fingers struggle to hold playing cards between them.

Logan hadn’t been scared away by Virgil’s thunder, and somehow he had weathered the storm that Virgil put up to protect himself and lived securely in the eye of the hurricane. And somehow he hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, had taken advantage of Virgil’s softening heart just to shatter it.

“He didn’t…” Virgil says. “Janus… he didn’t really mean it. I don’t think. It might have been a joke because they’re friends but Logan told everyone that he would only consider dating someone who could… could…”

“Could what?”

Virgil’s eyes flick down to the Trouble game board, to the pieces lost in chaos of the floor, to the box they hadn’t needed except for transport. Patton feels his heart thud in his chest before he crawls up his throat and he tastes it in his mouth along with the remains of the raw cookie dough he licked off the spoon while cleaning up.

Virgil’s words come back to him in whispers. But it’s not like I’m going to win. This is a sign, isn’t it? I’m just being stupid even considering it.

“Someone who could….” Patton says, “beat him in a boardgame?”

Virgil yanks the thread on his jeans sharply and nods without meeting Patton’s eyes. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Virgil,” Patton says. “This is great! We’ve been playing games together for years! You can beat--”

“That’s the thing!” Virgil says with his shoulders curling up to his ears and burying him in layers of excess fabric. “Pat, I can’t even beat you in a board game and I know all your strategies!”

“I don’t think that Trouble actually has any strategies. It’s really luck of the roll--”

Virgil peeks out of his hood enough to give Patton a miserable glare. “When was the last time I won against you, Pat? Be honest.”

Patton purses his lips. “I don’t think that’s fair, kiddo. I’ve been playing games since I was able to understand the rules--”

“You don’t even remember, do you.”

“It was Dominos and you won by twenty points.”

“Nice try, but you purposely miscounted and you actually won by two.” Virgil reaches out for another cookie and offers it to Patton without making any move to pull his other hand from Patton’s hold.

“You would have a lot more wins if you didn’t insist on not finishing games sometimes!” Patton says. “You never know the ending of a game until you play it out!”

“I could tell you that Logan was going to beat Janus in Chess the moment the opening moves were made,” Virgil counters. “He won in twelve moves and then the next game in six.”

Patton opens his mouth, but Virgil shoves the cookie in before he can actually say anything.

“And God Rest Remy’s soul because Logan obliterated him in Trivia Pursuit.” Virgil continues, “He turned Roman to mincemeat over Scrabble, and not only beat Remus in Poker, but won one hundred dollars off him too. I also watched him win in Othello against some kid he tutored in Calc, a game of Mancala with an art kid who was doing it for clout, and Stratego which he won before I finished reading the fuuuuuudging rules and made his opponent cry over it.”

Patton swallows down a bite of cookie that he didn’t not chew well enough because he feels it tear up his esophagus as it goes. Virgil politely ignores him dying for a second and offers him his own thermos of soup to help it down, before remembering that he’s supposed to be brooding and staring at Patton for too long makes him soft.

“Not to make a pun here, but no dice; I legitimately cannot beat Logan,” Virgil says. “He’s just… so good. At everything. What is the point in humiliating myself with this? Even if I find a game so obscure that he’s never heard of it and doesn’t have a strategy built for it, just going up to him and putting the board between us is like-- that’s telling him that I’ve had this massive stupid crush on him for ages and what if he doesn’t even like me? What if I win and then he has to date me because he said so but he actually hates me? What if--”

Patton coughs so hard he thinks he might have dislodged his own lung, which is fine!! Because at least it got Virgil to snap back to him and table his panicky spiral for later.

“Weren’t you,” Patton croaks, “Weren’t you already going to confess to him? You bought the chocolate kisses and you sent me pictures of them in your bag right before class last week.”

Patton can’t see Virgil’s ears because of his hood but he knows that they’re glowing red from the way that Virgil can’t meet his eyes again.

“I just….I did but then he….” Virgil nudges a pile of questionably clean band t-shirts with his socked foot. “He said he wasn’t interested because class was starting and I still don’t know if he meant an actual kiss or a Hershey kiss because he had to leave class early to pick up his kid brother from his middle school because he was sick with a fever and then I was too mortified to bring it back up-- See Pat, I can’t even come up with a creative way to tell Logan that I wanna listen to him ramble about jellyfish immortality and play with his hair or tell him that I wanna know what the flavor of his chapstick is-- which, by the way, I did say to him and he told me was cake batter and that I could find it at the corner drugstore because he thought I was looking for recommendations-- There is no way to subtly tell him that I want to date him.”

“Then maybe… don’t be subtle?” Patton suggests, and then points at the game between them. “Boardgame?”

Virgil scowls at the game like it had personally offended him. “But I can’t beat him. And if I lose and by some miracle he still wants to be seen with me, then he’d be breaking the very rules he set up and everyone else who lost is going to be pissed at both of us and I can’t do that to Logan.”

Patton bites back the then don’t lose that he wants to say. It seems so obvious to him. He doesn’t really see why Virgil doesn’t think he can win one single game. There isn’t even a rule that says Virgil can’t come back and play again-- which isn’t that the point of games? That you can play them for a little while, pack them up, and then come back to them later? That you sit down with friends-maybe-more and you play and have fun ?

Not for the first time, and not for the last time, Patton wonders why Virgil ever played games with him at all. He knows the first time was pity because he found Patton sitting on the floor of his bedroom with Trouble on the ground in front of him and staring at it numbly because he had cried all the tears out of himself already at the hospital, at the funeral, at the everything that had come after that he couldn’t remember. The first time it had been to get Patton to react because he had been so lost, but every time after that Virgil had made the conscious decision to pick up the pieces.

Even if sometimes he had put them back down halfway through and Patton hadn’t figured out how to convince him that the point isn’t to win as much as it is to have fun.

Virgil twists his wrist loosely in Patton’s grip so that he’s holding Patton back, his cold fingers somehow feeling comforting rather than startling. Patton has always loved that about him, although he’s never sure how that works. The coolness of his touch is familiar, but the vulnerability of Virgil reaching out is something newer, something special, something fragile and Virgil holds onto him like he’s expecting Patton to let go at any moment and Patton steadfastly refuses to let him drift off. Patton squeezes his wrist gently, lightly, softly.

I’m here. I’m not leaving. We’re in this together.

“I think that Logan can make decisions for himself,” Patton says with words so featherlight they barely move the air. “Remember the dominos? Any player can choose to lose, whether it be miscounting or it be refusing to finish the game in the end. But if you never even offer to play with him… Logan can’t make that choice, Virgil.”

Virgil holds his gaze for a moment, two, three, and there’s something in his eyes that shies away from the glow of the light, something slippery and weak and scared. Something that Patton is afraid to put a name to, lest it disappear from him forever.

Something that causes Virgil to squeeze his wrist back.

Together. Us. We’ve got this.

“So what game do you want to play with Logan?” Patton asks. “We can go look at my collection if you want? I loaned out Backgammon to a girl in my Shakespearean class, but other than that I have the usuals with me.”

Virgil takes a deep breath. “Can we…” He says. “Do it tomorrow? I don’t want…” He squeezes Patton’s wrist again and Patton can fill in the rest of the blanks with his own interpretations. He is, after all, fluent in Virgilese, as much as Virgil is fluent in Pattonish.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patton says and shifts through the piles of clothes that act as cushions so he’s right next to Virgil, pressing their shoulders together, leaning his head on Virgil’s collarbone, and reaching around him for another cookie. Virgil moves the tub between them and then pulls the Trouble game board in front of that.

He hesitates for another moment-- they’re missing two of Patton’s blue pieces to the floor, and one of Virgil’s purples to a pile of sweatshirts-- but the fact that Virgil drops forward and presses the bubble to roll the die makes Patton’s chest warm.

He gets a six, and then a four and that thing in his eyes seems to grow just a bit stronger.

That is, of course, when the rap music from next door starts up loud enough to shake the entire room and Patton wonders if Logan would still be up for playing a game with Virgil when he’s incarcerated for second degree murder.

Patton, at least, gets a hug out of it, when he tackles Virgil to the ground before he can get to the door, and he manages to coax Virgil back to their area, back to the floor, back to the game, and then later into the blanket-fort-and-movie-night that they watch with one earbud each and their foreheads pressed together late into the night.

***

Patton’s mother developed lung cancer when he was seven. He remembers it in vague flashes: the blood, the shakiness, her fall to the floor because they had never had any sign of it happening until it was too late to do much about it. He was told it was because his maternal grandparents both smoked a lot when she was growing up and she spent the weekends helping them around the house still.

The doctors said she had a year. She got eighteen months.

He barely remembers her face from his own memories anymore, all of them blurred and twisted by the passage of time that he almost got swept away in entirely. Her picture still hangs around the house, though, and he guesses he’s lucky in that regard. He liked how he could see her every time he passed by the stairs, even after his dad remarried and he had grown up and the telemarketers stopped calling the house to tell her that there was an interesting charge on the credit card she didn’t have anymore.

He still wakes up sometimes with his heart beating in his ears and his eyes blinded with tears and his lungs refusing to cooperate because of nightmares about forgetting her entirely, of seeing her stand up to call out to his dad, of seeing her cough out blood and then fall to the floor right in front of him as his dad is running down the stairs. He still wakes up and feels his heart aching where she might have once been if everything had gone just a little bit different. He still wakes up and wishes that he could go back to sleep because at least in his dreams she’s still there waiting with a deck of cards and a smile that says, “Alright, Buster, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you this time!”

Usually those types of days he labels as “Bad Ones”, and he finds it harder to crawl from under his blankets to do pretty much anything.

Virgil knows immediately when he sees Patton staring at his black laptop screen that it’s a Bad One.

Patton loves that he knows not to ask, hates that Virgil can read him so easily, wants to cry because it’s been so long and shouldn’t the edges of that pain have gone away by now? He wants to pull Virgil’s purple comforter back over them and drift back off into the blissful warmth while pretending that the idea of a game right now didn’t make his hands shake.

She hadn’t left Patton specifically a lot of things, but the things that she had left him had been boardgames. Things that she had collected over the years and kept on a shelf in the study for them to play after work and school: Candyland, Trouble, Snakes and Ladders. She had a whole shelf for him when he got to an age where he could understand more complex concepts: Ticket to Ride, Pandemic, Mysterium, Star Realms, Settlers of Catan.

After she was gone… Patton had stared at that shelf and wondered if she had ever thought that maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to play some of them with him.

He wonders how many of them he could have beat her at, how many of them she might let him win in, how many of them they would love to play together and how many of them they would both play through once and then wrinkle their noses at because it wasn’t what they thought it was going to be.

He wonders and maybe it’s a bit too much because he’s stomach is rolling nauseously and he thinks that if he has to look at a game he’ll actually throw up this time.

Virgil doesn’t say anything, even as he gets up and Patton remains buried under too many blankets and the alarm on his phone goes off again for his morning class. The darkness is safe and warm and Patton thinks he understands why Virgil likes it so much as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of a woman who is long gone and in the ground.

“Breakfast?” Virgil whispers at some point.

“Cookies,” Patton mumbles back.

Virgil had carted a hand through his curls and then the door to the room had opened closed and locked behind him. Patton thinks that was nice of him-- to lock the door like he was protecting anyone from coming in and stealing his valuables even though Patton was there. Or maybe since Patton was there? Patton presses his head into a pillow that smells vaguely like chocolate cherries and black licorice and other things that screamed Virgil, and thinks that Virgil might consider Patton a valuable that needs to be protected and kept safe.

Sometime later Patton wakes up with Virgil lying beside him, headphones on and typing on his computer with one hand while dragging fingers through Patton’s curls with the other. It’s impressive of him by itself, but not nearly as impressive as the fact that Virgil’s hood is down and the blackout curtains are parted enough to bring in a decent amount of light.

Virgil blinks at him and removes one earmuff. “I read that flowers need sunlight to grow,” he says in lieu of explaining the rays of light cascading into the room over the two of them.

Patton wants to laugh, and thinks he might if it were any other day and not this one. He settles for a somewhat bent smile and Virgil reaches to somewhere he can’t see and brings back a muffin from the Campus Cafe.

“Chocolate Chip,” he says. “Which is like a cookie, but better because it’s a muffin and I said so.”

Patton can’t really tell if the tears that prick in his eyes are from the lingering sadness or the softness of just a simple gesture from his best friend. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither.

It’s a muffin, not something he should be crying over, and he repeats it even as he takes a bite from the top and Virgil pretends like he doesn’t see Patton scrubbing his cheeks as he chews. It’s a muffin, but Virgil got it just for him and Virgil came right back here and sat with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone and sad and and and--

And if Patton liked anyone romantically like that(™) he thinks he would have fallen straight into love with Virgil.

“Did you miss class?” Patton whispers.

Virgil shrugs. “Nothing important. I sent an email to my teachers saying that I wasn’t feeling too good and didn’t want to risk accidentally spreading anything to anyone, which already helps because I didn’t go to class yesterday and I’ve already turned in all my work for the week for most of my classes. Besides, you were here and I didn’t want to just leave you all alone-- what if Roman started playing his Disney compilations at 160 decibels again?”

“You like Disney, though.”

“I also like my hearing and my best friend,” Virgil says like it’s nothing, like it’s obvious, like it shouldn’t be making Patton tear up again because Virgil is just so nice.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispers.

Virgil moves his computer and jostles around on the bed until they’re lying side-by-side even though the bed was definitely not made for two persons. He presses his head to Patton’s, and he’s cool and soft and safe.

Together. We got this.

“Your mom?” He asks.

Patton nods, with a lump in his throat that makes all the words he wants to say crumble to ashes on his tongue. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Pat,” Virgil says.

“But… Logan…”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Virgil says. “And, full offense, but no boy is going to be more important to me than you regardless of how fuuuuuuunkily hot he is. Funkily, yeah, sure, that’s a word that I definitely was going to say right there.”

Patton feels the laugh build up in his chest, against all the odds in the world, and it tastes like chocolate when it rolls out of his mouth.

Virgil bumps his shoulder, and grins. “Look, I’m trying here. Cursing is in my nature!”

“Thank you,” Patton says. For everything.

“No prob, Bob,” Virgil says. I would do it all all over again and never change a thing.

“I’m not Bob! I’m Pat!”

Virgil’s laugh is like the sun breaking through the clouds after a rainstorm, like a rainbow cascading through the sky, like being caught after a fall. Patton gets the energy to smile back when he hears it and that alone nearly makes him want to cry again.

Patton twists the blanket under him between his fingers and takes a deep breath. “Did you…” He says before pausing to swallow back the taste of his own stomach acids he’s not sure is entirely imaginary. “Did you pick a game? For Logan?”

Virgil’s nose twitches, which means the answer is a sound no. “It’s not that important right now. You’re not feeling up to--”

“ Vir -gil,” Patton says and Virgil’s nose twitches again.

They share a look for another minute, two, three, before Virgil exhales and looks away.

“Fine, fine,” he says. “I didn’t pick out a game yet. I actually saw him in the Cafe earlier with Janus and he waved, though, which was awesome until I waved back and forgot to look where I was going and walked straight into a glass door. At this point it’s going to be a miracle if Logan doesn’t laugh in my face when I ask him to play anything with me.”

“He won’t laugh at you,” Patton says and Virgil slides his arms up and crosses them so he can bury his chin in them like he doesn’t believe Patton at all. “From what you’ve told me, Logan is really nice isn’t he? And the other day didn’t you say that he went on a rant about Pluto being a planet? I think that’s just as silly as you walking into a door.”

Virgil hums to show he’s listening, even if he isn’t taking the words to heart as much as letting them filter through his ears. Patton licks the last of the chocolate muffin from his fingertips and blinks away the urge to hide away from the rest of the world when he spies the box for Trouble on the ground next to Virgil’s desk trash can.

Virgil follows his gaze to the box and he purses his lips, although Patton isn’t sure if its from the fact that he’s remembering that neither of them won last night, or if he’s thinking about odds of beating Logan again or if he, too, is thinking about ghostly fingers trying so hard to move playing pieces that they can no longer touch.

Patton rolls over and stares at Virgil’s ceiling instead, counting his breaths until he feels like the static between his ears isn’t going to overwhelm him.

“What game do you want to play?” Patton asks.

“I won’t win.”

“I didn’t ask what game you wanted to win,” Patton points out. “What game do you want to play against Logan?”

Virgil is quiet, but he sighs so heavily that Patton can see his bangs flutter out of the corner of his eyes.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Virgil says, and again Patton remembers that nothing Virgil ever says has ever once been stupid. “But I don’t want to play against him at all.”

Patton frowns, rolling his head to the side to take in Virgil’s gaze that is already looking at him. His dark eyes are there and the something in them that Patton doesn’t want to put a name to is there again, shining just like the rays of light between Virgil’s blinds.

“I mean I want to play a game with Logan, just not against Logan. It’s stupid, okay? I was just thinking about the cooperative games back at your house that we used to play with your dad and step mom-- you know like the Unlock , Escape-room-in-a-box games? Or maybe Flashpoint? Or Forbidden Island? I was just thinking how shit I am at making my own decisions in Pandemic and Logan is really good at strategy so I bet that working together we’d be able to beat any game.”

Patton breathes deeply, sharply, and tries to ignore the piercing pain in his chest at the mention of the games. Virgil winces like he wants to take the words right back out of the air and hide them somewhere where neither of them have to face them at all.

“I don’t…” Virgil says, “I don’t want to play against him and lose. I’d rather play with him and win. Again: it’s stupid.”

Patton closes his eyes, and sees the shelf his mom left him full of boardgames she picked out long before he was past chewing on building blocks, of him at eleven years old finally getting the courage to drag a kitchen chair to the case and pick out a game while Virgil stood by to make sure he didn’t fall and to remind him that it was okay if he didn’t didn’t feel strong enough to try, of the two of them sitting at the kitchen table with the game directions between them that don’t really make any sense because it there’s no directions on how to attack each other when his dad comes home early and freezes at the sight

He might not remember his mother’s face outside of photographs he doesn’t remember being taken, but he remembers clearly the softness of his father’s expression when he dropped into the seat next to them and asked if they knew how to play this one yet.

“It’s a cooperative game,” his dad said, with a voice shaking and eyes wet. “That means we all work together to get to the goal at the end. Each player is going to have a different superpower-ability-thing that they can do that will make it easier for us to win as a team.”

So no, Patton doesn’t think that it’s stupid at all. It’s hard to do things by themselves, it’s scary, it’s difficult, it’s frustrating. That’s why when Virgil is texting him that the world is ending because of a boy, Patton will always show up at his dorm with soup and cookies and a game for them to play together instead of telling him that he’s being dramatic and silly. That’s why when Patton is missing a woman who hasn’t been in his life for twelve years now, Virgil will always stay with him to remind him that he’s going to get through it, instead of telling him to suck it up.

It’s much easier to win when they’re on the same side.

And Virgil has only ever had fun when playing games that he wins, hasn’t he?

“Why don’t you?” Patton asks suddenly.

Virgil must have nodded off because he jerks suddenly when Patton speaks up, “huh?”

“Why don’t you play a cooperative game?” Patton asks. “What did Logan say specifically about the whole dating thing?”

Virgil rubs an eye and squints at him tiredly. “I told you, he said he would only date someone who beats him at a game. I don’t--”

“Did he say beats him, or beats the game with him?”

“Neither?” Virgil says. “He literally said to Janus very loudly, “I will only consider someone a viable romantic partner if they can win in a game with me.””

“In a game with me,” Patton repeats. “ In a game with me. Not in a game against me!”

It takes Virgil a long, breathless moment to comprehend it, but it’s clear the moment it hits him. Virgil jerks so hard that he tumbles off the bed entirely and to the ground in a fumbling of long limbs, blankets, dubiously cleaned clothes, and his computer-headphones combo. Patton yelps and leans over to check on him but Virgil doesn’t even look like he noticed.

“Holy Shit,” He says, “holy shit, Pat.”

“Language.”

“ HOLY SHIT!” Virgil yells, and then he laughs and covers his mouth like he’s trying to bottle up the sound. “Patton! Patton! He didn’t say against!”

Virgil’s eyes sparkle, the light through the window makes his dark hair shine and just looking at him Patton thinks he’s never once seen him so happy before, so delighted, so excited.

So full of hope.

The next thing he knows is that he’s sitting up and Virgil is wrapped around him in a hug so tight, so soft, so cool and wonderful that those pesky tears come right back to his eyes. Virgil hugs like he’s unafraid of anything for just this endless moment, like he’s never been unsure of physical touch before, like he’s done it a million times before and Patton shouldn’t feel his breath catch in his lungs lest he shatter this dream with an exhale.

He’s standing at the eye of the storm that is Virgil, and he’s never felt so safe before in his life.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispers, “I, uh, I’m sorry for the sudden hug--”

And then, of course, Remus’s music comes back with a vengeance that rattles the ceiling tiles overhead and makes Virgil hiss and break the hug. Patton thinks that he could forgive it, if it weren’t for the unmistakable sound Disney’s Mulan soundtrack also ringing in the air, like it was trying to be heard over the rap music. Dust sprinkles from the tiles overhead.

“I’m going to kill them both,” Virgil vows, but Patton is quicker. He lunges forward before he even knows what he’s doing and coils around Virgil as tightly as he can, and just hugs him, his best friend, the guy who’s always been there for him, and who deserved all the happiness that he could get.

“Pat?” Virgil says.

“If Logan doesn’t treat you right I’m going to make sure no one finds his body,” Patton says.

And Virgil’s laughter makes it sound like he doesn’t quite believe Patton, but that’s okay. Virgil is still looking for reasons to play a game if not to win, and Patton is still trying to find a game that makes him smile, and together they’re going to figure out how to get Virgil to win with Logan.

But for now the hug is good, and the company is nice, and they have the game Trouble packed away ready for the next time they want to play.

#sanders sides #board gaming #platonic moxiety #Analogical #Logan is the hottest side confirmed #Because everyone wants to date him #(Except Pat)#Me the author: what the fuck is hurt comfort #tw: cancer #I just like board games okay #maybe a little too much #I kNew YoU WeRe TrOuBlE WhEn YoU wAlKeD IN #virgil is a disaster gay #Patton really awesome #Hugs? Hugs.

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shibarirobot · 3 years

Text

Aizawa fic - CH 5 - Entrapment

18+ ONLY! SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villian!OC/Reader(?)

CH1

CH4

Okay this chapter kinda fucked me up. I got very emo while writing this lmfaoooo, but again sooooooo sorry that I’m so inconsistent, I care about this story and I want it to actually be good before I post ((also I have the shittiest laptop on the face of the planet so I can barely use it)) more like I just dont have the patience to deal with it XD, mais oui! le chapter is done! Please enjoy! x

The chair I’m strapped to is stiff and uncomfortable at my back. I haven't been able to move for awhile and it’s driving me fucking insane. My back aches, my thighs are sore, I can literally feel my pelvic bone, not to even mention the cracked rib still throbbing and I’ve started to remember the broken nose I gave myself. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight, I can’t really seem to focus on the questions I’m being asked, let alone my answers. I’ve been here for hours, maybe days. I have no clue. I have absolutely no fucking clue. This dumbass, Detective Aiko just comes and goes, sometimes followed by a short man with a clipboard and glasses. He just asks a few questions and leaves, I’ve lost track of how many times he’s entered and left as quickly as he comes. This time he comes in dragging another metal chair and flips it around on the other side of the table, sitting on it backwards, like he thinks he’s fucking cool or something. He’s large, I’ll give him that. His thighs swallow up the chair easily and I’m surprised he can actually sit on the thing.

I look at him with my tired eyes. We’ve been at this too long, I’m so fucking tired and I can hardly hold his eye contact. My lips are so unbearably chapped they feel like they might split open at any moment, they might have actually, I can taste iron. I’m parched. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m about to crack, I can feel it. “Water.” My voice is tiny at this point, crackly from the dehydration. “I need water.” My eyes start to sag and I press forward slightly, straining against the straps on my torso, skin raw beneath them after so much of my writhing.

Detective Aiko blinks at me from across the table and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He easily taps one forward and plucks it from the box between his lips. I can tell it’s a practiced movement, he does it without thinking. His habit has become muscle memory. He shoves the pack into his pocket again and retrieves a zippo lighter. If I was more conscious I probably would have rolled my eyes, if it didn’t feel like they might fall out of my head if I did. Of course he has a zippo, ugh. It’s like he learned how to be a cop from watching cheesy cop movies. He flicks it open and closed in a split second and the cigarette is lit. He takes a deep breath, sucking down the entire thing, inhaling so deeply that his chest puffs and swells almost double. He holds that breath for a long moment, releasing it slowly. I expect the smell of burnt tobacco, but there is none. The smoke pours from his nostrils in thick swirls, but it dissipates quickly, without a single trace that it had once been there.

I can see his eyes go glassy from the nicotine high, his shrouded eyes have barely left me. He stares at me like I’m a caged panther; cunning, dangerous, volatile. All things I might have been if I could possibly think straight. “You’ll get your water after you cooperate.” He shifts in the chair slightly, flicking the used cigarette butt to the side. It falls to the ground unceremoniously and I can only imagine how often he flings those things haphazardly and how many thousands he has personally littered into our environment. I’m instantly seething again. A moment ago, I had no capacity for anything really, and now I’m filled head to toe with rage towards this stupid fucking cop. This man withholding my fucking water, my fucking life source.

The thought that he’s actually killing me passes and I pull at the cuffs around my wrists. “Fucking water.” The chains scrape across the table and I can feel the blood on my mouth, my lips have definitely cracked in multiple spots, blood pooling between my teeth. “I fucking need water!” Now I’m just shaking the chains, trying to make enough noise to get him to give in, annoy him into submission. “Water!” His eyebrow twitches, he seemingly has a very short tolerance for my behavior now, no longer amused by my sass and antics.

He quickly rises from the chair and kicks it to the side, it goes clattering against the wall and loudly falls to the ground, tipped on its side. The sudden jolt silences me and the room is tense with the lack of sound. “Who do you work for?!” He yells at me, full chested. The same question Eraser Head asked me in the alley. Where my allegiances lie. There’s another moment of silence before I bust into intense, manic laughter. They still really think I work for someone?

My throat threatens to give out on me, but I can’t control the laughter. “Me, motherfucker!” I shout back, only not as full, my voice is dying quickly, my laughter soon falling with it, replaced by a hacking cough that I’m pretty sure just shredded the dry skin inside my very dry throat. That doesn’t really seem to satisfy him though. He just grunts and picks the chair back up, setting it upright, but not sitting down in it like before. He just stands there, so tall and trying to be intimidating.

He crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs at me just once. “So we’re gonna keep playing this game, huh?” He pulls out another cigarette and huffs it down just as quickly as the first, barely even savoring the drag. His eyes close and he shrugs. “I guess you don’t want that water.” He quickly strides out of the room, leaving me alone and tortured. I can’t move, my body is giving out, I can’t speak because of my hoarse, abused throat, I can’t do anything at all, but sit here. My mind flashes back to when I felt this way before, tied to a dining chair in front of my drunk birther. My eyes start to water and I am amazed that I even have the moisture left in my body to cry. The parallels are too similar and I can feel myself reverting back, the whimpering that’s beginning in the back of my throat. A couple tears start to fall and I’m slowly slipping into that mindset when I hear the door open again.

I try my best to harden my face, trying to mask the depravity that I had just been wallowing in, refusing to make eye contact with Detective Aiko as he rounds the table again and sits in that chair. He sets something on the table and I’m surprised when I look up, to see Eraser Head sitting in that chair across from me instead. There’s a water bottle on the table and I honestly have nothing to say. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events and the tears come faster now, silently streaming down my face. I feel so vulnerable and this man that I have only prodded and teased is the one here to help me. It’s like the universe is laughing at me, it feels like a trick, but one I’m knowingly and willingly letting myself fall into. I suck in a deep breath, hoping he won’t say anything about my tears. “They haven’t cleaned you up at all, have they?” His voice is low, but he honestly sounds concerned. I lamely shake my head, unable to tell him that I’ve been sitting strapped to this chair since the moment he left. He grunts shortly then stands, slowly grabbing the water bottle and cracking the lid open.

My tears lessen as I watch him, he’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal and deep down I can’t blame him. All I’ve done since meeting him is lash out and hurt him. In spite of all that he reaches out to me slowly, the cold water bottle in one hand, the other gingerly gripping the side of my neck and tilting my head back. I look at him hesitantly. I’m just supposed to let him pour water into my mouth? That feels too weird, and intimate, and needy, but I can’t really pour the water into my own mouth, so I part my lips for him. He gently presses the rim of the water bottle onto my bottom lip, easing the cold, fresh water onto my sandpaper tongue. His fingertips graze the skin on my neck as the pad of his thumb softly wipes away my tears. It’s so gentle and intimate that I can’t help but cry harder. I’ve never felt such a sincere caress and it’s like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, astounded by the tenderness that I haven’t allowed myself to even realize I was missing. The silent resentment falling away for a moment and letting something new replace it. Adoration? Sympathy? Genuine gratitude?

I take in this new feeling hesitantly as I try to gulp down the water as quickly as he’s pouring it into my mouth. I relish in the feeling of the cool liquid on my tongue and into the back of my throat, soothing the burning I had endured for so long. The tears continue to fall even after the water bottle is empty and I realize his hand is still gently stroking my cheek in an attempt to calm my tears. He tosses the empty water bottle aside and peers down at me. I stare back up at him, my eyes starting to puff up from the tears I had just shed, cloudy with the residual moisture on my lashes. He’s even more beautiful now than ever before, caring for me so tenderly, and I think I understand now. I love him. I must love him. The way I was drawn to him before, it all makes sense. I’ve never felt anything like this before, no one has ever given me even a sliver of a second thought, but here he is. This man I don’t even know caring for a tortured criminal that’s done nothing, but awful things. It must be love. It must be... something at least.

I realize the moment’s been too long and I turn my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Here he is helping me, giving me the water I so desperately needed and I can’t even choke out a ‘thank you’. Should I? Would he want me to? His hand falls away and I hear him start to shuffle to the door. Dammit. I’m breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath from the way I gulped down water like a dying horse. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.” I almost don’t hear him, but my eyes snap open. He’s coming back? To help me even more? Eraser Head is… going to tend my wounds… that I got fighting… HIM. This is all so bizarre and my head spins a little, but I can’t help the trace of a grin that tugs on my lips and the slight twinge of heat in my cheek.

I hear that knock on the door again, but before it opens I mumble out a small, drained. “Thank you.” My throat is still destroyed, but it’s enough that I hope he heard me. I guess I’ll never know if he did or even cared because the door opens and closes with no acknowledgment that I had said anything. Once again, I am left by myself, in this too bright room, strapped to a metal chair. As I sit here, it’s hard not to fall back into my miserable thoughts. Self loathing and what if’s come easily. What if that really was a trick? What if he’s never coming back? What if I just imagined the whole thing? What if he’s disgusted by me and just taking pity? I internally cringe at myself. That one is probably closest to the truth. He thinks of me like a charity case, someone who can’t help themselves. He’s a hero after all, that good ole savior complex will always rear it’s big, nasty head at some point. He’s helping me to make himself feel better, not to make me feel better. I sneer at myself. I almost fell into his trap, but no. I’m better than that. I was almost that dumb cunt I used to be, trusting people, needing others help. Fuck no. I promised myself I would never be that person again. I’m better now.

But then the indignation fades and all I’m left with is the reality of the situation. I do need his help. I’m broken and bleeding, strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. I start to cry again. It’s not a heavy cry, just one that makes you realize so much in such a short period of time. I cry as I realize I do need help. I need more help now than I’ve ever needed before. I’ve probably needed help this entire time and refused to see it, refused to ask for it. Asking for help never seemed like an option, it seemed like a burden. Yet, Eraser Head isn’t even offering me help, he’s giving it. Willingly. Of his own accord.

I continue to struggle with my thoughts on the situation far longer than I would deem necessary before I admit to myself it doesn’t matter because he’s simply not coming back. It’s been too long for him to have actually been going to get a first aid kit. He’s gone forever now. Poof. Might as well stop thinking about him. I can’t though. Can’t stop thinking about his perfect face, the way he touched my neck, the tenor of his voice, the scruff on his chin, the scar under his eye, the heat of his body behind mine. It all sends a thrill through me, but more than that, just a deep sense of longing. I yearn for him. I just want him to come back to me, I don’t care if he has the first aid kit he left for or not. I just want him to be present with me because everything just hurts less when he’s here. The open wounds mean nothing when he’s here. He’s the only reason any of my pain has ever been eased. I need him. I love him.

I start to allow fresh tears to fall, but my eyes are already welded shut from the fat tears I had shed earlier, too heavy to open and crusted over with dried tears because I still can’t wipe my eyes. The new ones gently come and allow me to crack open my eyes just slightly. I’m honestly on the brink of exhaustion, but my body has miraculously found a way to push forward. I’m taking a deep breath, trying to re-center myself. Get a grip on reality. Stretch my fingers and toes, get some feeling back in my aching body, crack my neck as best as I can. It’s not much, but it helps. I’m the only one that can do anything for me now. I start trying to survey the room to a closer extent than I had before, but honestly it’s still the same, too bright, all white room. I guess I can see a vent in the top right corner, but it’s too small for me to even think about escaping from. Not to mention, I can’t see a camera, so it must be in the corner behind me, watching, recording my every move. I grumble. There’s also the two way mirror, that I assume has had at least three people on the other side of it at all times. I’m completely under thumb.

I sigh, there’s not much I can do in this situation, and this dumb collar is still canceling my quirk. I’m chained up and defenseless. Fucking great. The door scrapes open again and I startled to see Eraser Head quickly invade the room, that wild look in his eyes again. The tips of his hair are flicking back and forth angrily, but not like it was before when he was erasing my quirk, more like… he’s just worked up. He’s breathing deeply, standing up straight and crossing his arms, a full 180 from his calm, gentle demeanor he had earlier. He’s actually quite intimidating like this and I start to shrink into myself, not knowing why his mood has changed. I didn’t do anything. He looks to the door and reaches out to flick his wrist in a ‘get the fuck over here’ motion. Detective Aiko comes into the room and unlocks my cuffs, releasing my arms from the table. He seems reluctant and I’m insanely confused by this sudden turn of events. My eyes are wide and I look to Eraser Head again, confusion evident on my twisted up face. “I’m taking you to the hospital. The collar will stay on and I will cuff you down when we get there.” He says it all so blankly and I’m even more confused that I was before he answered.

Detective Aiko doesn’t look up, he just grumbles out a gruff, ‘bad fucking idea’ before moving onto the straps at my torso, allowing me to pull away from the chair just a little bit. I struggle to force my muscles to keep myself upright, wanting to slump over and crumple to the floor. He undoes the one at my lap and I barely feel it because my entire bottom half has gone numb at this point. He lowers down further and unlocks the cuffs at my ankles, fully freeing me from the chair. I’m immediately elated to be liberated once again, getting overzealous and springing from the chair. Blood rushes to my head and my numb legs remind me how bad of an idea that is because I tip forward, falling into the metal table, the wind knocked from my lungs. I let out a wheeze and feel strong hands pull me back up onto my feet from my shoulders.

Eraser Head wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his hip to support my weight. I can feel his hero muscles swell as he pulls me off the table, shifting so we can shuffle towards the door. I’m still dazed and weak, trying to work with his movements instead of against them, but my legs can barely hold myself up and he ends up dragging me along with him more than anything else. My head is right next to his shoulder, tucked tight to his body and I press myself closer, nuzzling my cheek onto his collarbone. He feels so good against me. I’m so woozy, I feel like I’m dreaming. This all could be a mirage, I am dehydrated as hell. But it feels so real and so good that I just submit to it immediately. I press even further, trying to get up to his neck. Trying to be closer. The moment crashes around me in an instant as cuffs fall around my wrists. Damn. It’s Detective Aiko standing behind me, cuffing my wrists together and ruining the moment I was just having with Eraser. I glare up at him and he just ignores me, squeezing the cuffs tighter, too tight. I yelp, but he just looks over to Eraser Head like, ‘Really?’. Eraser grunts and holds his hand out for the key, he still has that wild look in his eye and I realize now that it’s pointed at Detective Aiko. HE’s in the doghouse, not me. Well, I am still arrested, but it doesn’t really feel like it when Eraser Head is personally escorting me to the ER, cuffs or no cuffs. Detective Aiko drops the key into his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

Eraser Head spins me around, so I’m facing forward. My head is still dizzy, but my legs are starting to get some feeling back and I’m able to stand on my own now, even if I am a bit wobbly. He pulls me close to him again, gripping my bicep with one hand and supporting my weight with a hand on my hip. He’s taller than I remember him being. Glancing over my shoulder, I have to look up at him. His jaw is set, clenched with the anger he’s trying to hold back, silently seething. He’s still eyeing Detective Aiko with a menacing nature, I know his quirk is eye related, but it seems he also has a natural affinity for staring anyways. I watch him tuck the key into his front pocket, then grip my arm again, his hands are so large. I gulp, now realizing my ass is basically pressed up to his hip. He’s still taller than me, it's more like his thigh, but that doesn’t change the fact that my ass is on this man. My mind goes crazy as he holds me there, having some kind of stare down with Aiko. Neither of them has moved, but after a moment the detective shifts back with a grumble. Eraser Head grunts and guides me forward, supporting me as we exit the interrogation room.

Eyes follow us as Eraser Head leads me out of the room and down the hall. The receptionist at the front desk gasps when she sees me walking (semi) free. I can tell they all know who I am. I can tell they’re all scared of me. I don't need my quirk for that. I take advantage of the tense scene before me and grin, lurching forward at the woman sitting at the desk. Eraser Head is still gripping me firmly, so I don’t make it very far before he yanks me back to his body, but I do make it far enough to scare that bitch gawking at me. She screams and drops the phone receiver in her hand, stumbling backwards. I didn’t really expect such a dramatic reaction, did she really think I was gonna rip her head off or something? I’m fucking handcuffed… and doesn’t she fucking work at the police station? She should be used to this by now, why is she so fucking scared? Dramatic bitch.

Eraser Head pushes me forward, obviously still riled up from previous events. I stumble forward a bit, but his grip on me is so firm I couldn’t fall if I wanted to. We continue walking through the waiting lobby, until we reach two large glass doors. Outside the doors, it’s day time, probably late afternoon by the look of the sunlight. I take a deep breath, ready to take a step out those doors, ready to leave this awful fucking place, full of these awful fucking people. Eraser presses the handicap button and the door swinging open, the air is warm as we step out and it’s a little joy in this shitty situation that I bask in for a moment. When we step onto the sidewalk, I look up at Eraser Head. This protective stance, the hand on my hip, if I just ignore the handcuffs it’s like we’re a couple on a stroll. I smile up at him, thinking about how sweet he looks with his hair catching the late afternoon light. It’s golden hour and it settles on him nicely, highlighting his stark features. His eyes flick down to me and an expression of genuine surprise passes his face for a split second. He looks away quickly, a blush coating his cheeks, but his face returns to its stoic default.

We continue like this for a moment until we come up on his vehicle. I’m not sure what I expected, but a small wave of sadness washes over me as he opens the rear door, shoving me into the backseat. I didn’t really think he would put me in the front with him, but this feels so… impersonal. I guess that’s what we are. Impersonal. I mean, I don’t even know his last name. I slouch into the black leather of the car and pout to myself, feeling defeated. Eraser Head buckles me into the seat, leaning over me with his whole, big body. Heat floods my stomach and suddenly I’m feeling something… else. I huff, breathing in his scent, I can still smell the bergamot on him, but the other scent on him still eludes me. It’s sweet and musky, almost earthy. He pulls away before I can breathe in again, shutting the door on me, boxing me into this car alone again. He’s in the driver’s seat about 4 seconds later, but the silence of being alone again still stands out to me. I shake my head, and try to focus on the sounds of the car as he roars the engine to life and pulls out of the parking lot.

Thank you for reading! :)

I love reading yall’s comments so please leave a note for me! (see that double entendre hehe im so smart)

but seriously, thanks for the love and the followers especially for only one fic

(also I hope u all can tell how much I fucking despise the cops for this chapter)

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cheeriecherry · 4 years

Text

Space Between [Aizawa Shouta x F!Reader x Yamada Hizashi] [3/9]

EraserMic x Reader

Part 2/9 (Planning has added another part)

Warnings: panic attacks, reader being a little awkward

A week passes in the blink of an eye. You’ve tried to keep busy while your friends are away at work, but you can only clean the house so many times before it becomes monotonous.

You’ve also checked out a few apartments that are renting, but every single one you’ve visited so far has left you disappointed: too small, in the wrong neighborhood, no yard, wrong vibe. A little piece of you knows you’re making excuses to stay with Shouta and Hizashi longer, but you can’t help that you want your new place to fit your needs perfectly.

In the same breath, you’ve also done what you promised you would, and looked into a few of the resources Shouta provided you with, for counseling and therapy services. You thought it would be easy enough, check out the websites, set up an appointment, etcetera etcetera, but the moment you open one of the tabs your throat closes up.

You’ve been trying for three days to look through everything, trying to push through your discomfort and underlying panic, but so far the only thing it’s done is make you tired and cranky and stressed.

You close the laptop for the fourth day in a row, having spent the last half hour reading through yet another counseling site. Maybe it’s your anxiety, maybe it’s your fear of admitting you’re struggling, maybe it’s because you know you’ll have to talk about things you really don’t want to talk about...but none of these places feel like the right fit. Just like the apartments.

You glance at the clock on the wall, sighing deeply when you find that it’s barely past noon.

Maybe you should get out, go for a walk or something? You don’t have very many clothes, so maybe you could go to the mall. Shop around a bit, get something to eat. Treat yourself.

It’s a good idea, you decide, and you need the fresh air.

----

When you walk into the mall, you instantly wish you’d stayed home.

It’s busy, and uncomfortably so. Elderly folks meeting up, parents pushing strollers with small children, a couple of highschool kids ditching class.

Surely no one would pay you any mind if you just turned around and walked right back out?

No, you think, taking a deep breath, I can do this. It’s just people.

You try to walk normally, and look like you’re not wincing at every step you take further into the crowd. It’s just people.

...People I can’t protect.

The thought pops into your mind faster than you can catch it, and your gait stutters. You push it away and keep walking, but it’s as if the psychological floodgates have been opened.

A villain could attack right now, and I wouldn’t do anything.

Your chest tightens.

I’m a useless excuse for a hero.

Your hands start shaking.

I would just stand there and watch them die. Just like-

You squeeze your eyes shut, and beeline to the nearest bench, sitting down to try and take a few calming breaths.

It starts to work, and you can feel your body relaxing slightly, until an elderly woman decides to take up the seat next to you. Your skin buzzes with electricity, hyper-aware of her presence beside you. When you glance over at her, you find that she’s smiling kindly at you.

“Are you alright, dear?” she asks, reaching out to rest a dainty hand on your knee.

You resist the guttural urge to snap away from her. She’s just checking on you, you tell yourself, don’t be rude.

“I’m- yes. I’m okay,” you say with a shaky voice, “Thank you.” You can tell she doesn’t quite believe it, and you don’t blame her. You probably look a mess, a trembling, blanched, wide-eyed mess.

You track her movement as she reaches into the purse tucked under her arm, expecting something, anything, any kind of threat to appear, but she only pulls out a small red lollipop. She offers it to you with a wrinkled hand, gently pressing it into your palm.

“A distraction, perhaps?” she suggests, “Sweets always make me feel better.”

You thank her quietly and unwrap the treat, sticking it in your cheek. You try to focus on the overwhelming flavour, the sickly sweet synthetic cherry, the way it burns against your tongue.

Another woman calls out to the lady beside you, who squeezes your knee softly. “I hope you feel better soon, dear,” she says, standing. “Have a lovely afternoon.”

You smile and nod at her, and the moment she’s out of sight you spit the candy out and bolt towards the exit.

----

You finally stop running about a block away from the mall, heart beating erratically and chest so tight you can barely breathe. You find a nearby empty bench and fall onto it, and let your head hang low. Your eyes sting with unshed tears, and your vision is blurry, and it doesn’t help the threat of oncoming nausea.

Thankfully now that you’re out in the open, you begin to calm down again. You wipe at your eyes to rid yourself of your tears, and try to focus on the feeling of the bench pressing into your legs. Warm from the sun against your skin, sturdy and unwavering metal slats holding you steady, slight tremor when someone sits down next to you…

Not again, you think, shrinking away from the person.

“Rough day?” they ask. You eye them cautiously, taking note of every detail.

You can’t tell if they’re a boy or a girl, not that it really matters to you. They’re young, maybe sixteen, clad in dark baggy clothes. Their posture is casual, comfortable, hands shoved in pockets, and they don’t look old enough to have graduated school. You wonder if they’re skipping class, but you don’t really care.

“Yeah,” you mumble, “Something like that.”

The kid turns towards you, slinging an arm over the back of the bench.

“That’s too bad,” they say, genuinity unsettling you, “Nice lady like you shouldn’t be lookin’ so sad.”

Your stomach roils with anxiety, and you’re sure your blood pressure has skyrocketed again. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, standing, “I’m not really in the mood to talk. I’m...I’m gonna go-”

A slender hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, holding you in place.

“Wait, please! I’ve been looking for you for days-”

Pain shoots up your arm, and you glare down at the teen, fury overtaking your mind. “Let go of me before I rip your fucking arm off.”

“Please, let me explain-”

You rip your arm out of their grip, and take a few weak steps backwards. “If you’ve been looking for me, then you know who I am, and you know what I’ve done. Don’t think I’ll hesitate to break you into pieces if you come near me again.”

The kid stares at you with wide honey-brown eyes, an inkling of fear flashing behind them.

Good.

You waste no time turning around to run back home, leaving your assailant behind.

----

Ten o’clock finds Shouta and Hizashi walking through the front door, the latter talking animatedly about something you couldn’t quite hear.

You stir the ladle around the pot a few times, judging the thickness of the stew you’re preparing, while you listen to them chatter back and forth. A sad smile graces your features, and you wonder if this is the way they usually come home; tired, but always happy to have each other.

“Something smells really good in here!”

You crane your head to the doorway right as Hizashi traipses in. He zeroes in on you in an instant, coming over to wrap you in a tight hug. It surprises you, even though it shouldn’t. In years past, he was always the most open with physical affection, often greeting you and Shouta with touches and hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“You guys are right on time,” you say, reaching across the stove to flip the burner off, “Dinner’s ready.”

Hizashi makes haste in preparing a bowl for himself, dashing out to the dining room to find a seat. You shake your head and fix some stew for yourself and Shouta, following in suit shortly after. The two of them are already set up around the table, making smalltalk with each other while they wait for you.

Shouta thanks you when you set his bowl down in front of him, but waits until you sit to start eating.

“So how were your days?” you ask, stirring your meal absently, “Did anything interesting happen?”

Hizashi shrugs, and doesn’t even bother to swallow before answering. “Not really. Between teaching and hosting a radio show, it actually gets pretty repetitive.”

You have a hard time believing that. Before you’d left, his stories about his students and his shows were endless and hilarious, and he’d talk about them for hours on end if you let him.

“What about patrol?”

“Eh, same same. Stopped a couple small timers, you know, convenience store robbery, purse theft, that kind of thing. Nothing big.”

You nod. “I’d consider that a win. Smaller villains means smaller paperwork…”

The three of you break into an uneasy silence, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. You eat your meal slowly, and avoid looking at either of them. Something was on their minds, and you had a feeling you knew what it was, but if you didn’t look at either of them then maybe they wouldn’t ask you…

Finally, Shouta sighs. “This is idiotic.”

“Sho,” Hizashi hisses, but doesn’t get much else out.

“There was something we needed to talk to you about, but you seem like you’ve had some kind of day. It might be easier to talk about it later.”

You think back to your eventful afternoon filled with panic attacks, and mask the worry with a smile. “It wasn’t too bad,” you assure them, “Besides, you’ve got me curious, now. Spit it out!”

Shouta sets his spoon down. “I was wondering if you’d consider being a guest speaker for the first year hero classes at Yuuei. They need to learn about all the possibilities of hero work, including undercover missions.”

“And I figured that since you’re here now,” Hizashi interrupts, “you’d be a perfect candidate!”

You’re surprised, to say the least, and it’s obvious.

“Take some time to think about it. You’ve got a couple weeks, still, so you don’t need to decide right away.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You’re grateful for the buffering period, because as much as you’d love to say yes to them, you’re not sure if you could handle speaking in front of a bunch of teens. Especially if your afternoon was any indication of your coping abilities.

What would you even talk about? Would you have to prepare a presentation? A speech? Or would they simply ask you questions? And god, how would you answer said questions? How could you tell a bunch of young hopefuls that undercover missions are almost always riddled with violence and PTSD?

You take another bite of stew. “I’ll...consider it.”

----

The rest of the dinner is more comfortable, filled with idle conversation and a couple of old jokes. It’s nothing compared to how the three of you used to be, and a little piece of you wonders if you’ve done something to upset the balance the two of them had created together.

Of course I have, you think, I showed up after disappearing for years and now I’m taking up their couch.

Still, there seems to be something more, some kind of tension beyond the stresses of recent events. Maybe it just felt different because you were different, more closed off to the world, to people, but it’s not like you could help it.

You couldn’t bear to lose either of them, if they were to find out what really happened on your mission. The things you saw, the things you did.

You could foot a little bit of awkwardness if it meant you would get to keep them in your life.

The three of you bid goodnight after you eat, each of you tired after a long day. You know for a fact that you won’t be able to sleep yet, not without nightmares, but you dim the lights anyways to keep your friends from questioning you.

You get comfortable on the couch and pull Shouta’s laptop over, flipping the screen open to continue your search about counseling services. You’ve gone through every suggestion on his list, save for one.

And so far, as you scroll through their website, it seems to be okay. The staff members and doctors seem to be knowledgeable, and the numerous patient reviews praise them for their compassion, kindness, reasonable prices, and short wait list.

You scroll around a little more, picking out whatever contact information is available. Most of it is done through email, it seems, which you’re fine with.

You open a new email document and start typing, asking what kind of information you need to provide and how the process works, and what steps you need to take in order to get a consultation appointment.

You don’t expect an answer until tomorrow, so you’re pleasantly surprised when a reply pops into your inbox not five minutes later.

‘Hello, Miss Y/N,’ it reads, ‘Thank you for contacting us. I’m Nurse Yumi, a member of the practising night staff. It’s a big step to seek help when you’re struggling, so we appreciate you reaching out to us. If you’d like, we can set up a consultation appointment for tomorrow afternoon. I’ve attached the preliminary forms to fill out before your visit, if you could please have them completed before then. If this is agreeable for you, let me know and I'll give you the time and date.

Well wishes,

Nurse Practitioner Yumi.’

You quickly type up another email, thanking them for their quick notification as well as confirming your availability.

You set a reminder in your phone before you lay down so you don’t forget about it, and shut down the laptop, placing it back on the coffee table. You’re not quite ready to sleep yet, but you know if you stay up any later then it’ll be harder to wake up on time.

Begrudgingly, you curl up on your side and try to think about nothing as you doze off.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #eraserhead x reader #yamada hizashi x reader #present mic x reader #erasermic x reader #reader insert #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Space Between #theres actually nine parts now #dont worry the fluffy shit happens next chapter

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staywritten · 4 years

Text

Coffee Time│Yang Jeongin

Synopsis: Jeongin has been trying to work the nerve to ask you out for about a month, maybe today’s the day

Genre: fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Barista!Reader

Count: 1k

It was like clockwork.

Every single day your cute mystery boy would come in at 2pm. You’d get to watch him come up to the counter and shyly order, then sit at the corner table with his laptop as he drank his large ice americano. The coffee shop you worked at was on the outskirts of town, surrounded by a dozen other popular cafe’s, which made for a pretty empty afternoon. But he was the warm ray of sunshine that always brightened up your day.

Jeongin, was his name.

On the weekdays he was usually out within thirty minutes, but during the weekends he’d spend an hour or two there. On the days he did stay he would be watching a movie on his laptop, always making sure to turn it toward you see you can see and read the subtitles from the counter. it was simple, but you cherished it.

Other times he’d bring his school work, and it was so cute when he’d get stuck because he’d just chew on his pencil nervously. He’d never ask for help but he had a tendency of just looking around vacantly when he was confused and since you were never busy you’d always offer to help.

And on occasion he’d just bring a book, he’d flip through the first few pages but always ended up singing to himself. And when he did that you’d turn down the speaker just to hear his sweet voice.

He was undeniably charming. Those gorgeous dimples, his handsome cheekbones, his sexy Busan accent that’d slip out when he got excited and your favorite feature, how his eyes would disappear like a Fennec fox when he smiled or laughed.

You didn’t spend a lot of time together, but it was just enough.

Enough to miss him when he wasn’t there. You leaned against the counter, resting your head on your hand wondering if the bad weather was keeping him away. It was almost thirty minutes past the hour and he still hadn’t shown. It’d been a solid month and he was always on time. Your frown deepened as you gazed at the door.

“Maybe he’s not coming today” your coworker, Minho laughed while wiping the counter.

“Don’t say that” you whined.

He scoffed. “Ah yes, I’d hate for you to miss a day of flirting where he comes in and he’s like ‘Oh I’ll have an ice’, and then you interrupt him by saying ‘ice americano’ like it’s a surprise because the dude only orders one thing and you both laugh awkwardly and get all red and shit” his tone mocking as he rolled his eyes. “You guys flirt like awkward middle schoolers. Like there’s no one here, make a move, ask him out, do something.”

“Hey!” you groaned. “We’re not that awkward”

“The most exciting thing that’s happened was when you both reached for a napkin. That was practically foreplay for you wasn’t it?”

“You’re disgusting” you crossed your arms over your chest defensively. “And besides Minho, I don’t even know if he’s interested in me”

“Ok first off, our coffee fucking sucks. Have you ever wondered why there’s literally no one here?” he gestured to the empty cafe. “And secondly, remember that one time I worked register because you were organizing coffee in the back? Well he just stood there, looking around until you came to the front” he groaned. “Like he doesn’t even have to order, we know what he wants”

“Large iced americano” you chimed

“No idiot, he wants you”

“Apparently not because he’s not here” you frowned.

The whole day came and went and your cute stranger never came. You and Minho were cleaning, preparing to close when the door swung open. Minho pushed the mop around the floor, not bothering to look back. “We’re closed, I already cleaned the coffee machine but there’s a cafe across the street that closes in twenty minu-” he looked over his shoulder and smirked. “Oh well well well. Lover boy”

“Hey…” Jeongin waived awkwardly. “Is…” he stopped himself losing his nerves. Honestly, the whole day was him losing his nerves. He told himself that he if didn’t ask you out today then he should stop coming here since it had been an entire month and he hadn’t made much progress.

His nerves got the best of him this afternoon and he flaked, especially since he didn’t want to ask you out while you were on the clock. That was borderline on harassment. But off the clock, you could at least feel free to reject him properly.

“Here to ask out the coffee house princess?” Minho teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “Here take some advice from your neighborhood Hyung’ he touched his chest proudly. “You can’t beat around the bush, you gotta just go for it. Be sure of yourself” he winked “And use protection”

“I was just gonna ask her out for dinner” Jeongin’s eyes widened, flustered at the sudden teasing. “But she’s just so pretty and every time I look at her I just…” he sighed covering the growing redness on his face.

“Come on, you came all the way here, trust me she wants to go out with you.”

“Minho can you help me with-” you stopped when you walked out from the back and looked back and forth between the two of them. “Jeongin hi” you smiled waiving “Wait-He didn’t say anything weird did he?”

“No…Kinda...but not really” Jeongin fiddled with his sleeves, shyly avoiding eye contact with you because he knew he couldn’t do it without blushing.

“Of course I didn’t” Minho scoffed, feigning offense “Have some faith in me” he clapped “I’m gonna finish closing you can go”

“Really?” you eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you being nice.”

“I’m always nice” he grinned “Besides Jeongin, wanted to talk to you” he gently gave him a pat on the back “Didn’t you, Kid?”

“You did?” slipped off your apron, the grin growing on your face. “What’s up?” you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“Would you like to grab dinner?”

“I’d love that…”

As the two of you had a delicious dinner and were winding down for the night. You were almost surprised by how comfortable you were with him. It didn’t feel like a first date, and maybe it’s because you’d known him for a month.

Maybe it’s because you were so comfortable with him you didn’t feel pressure when you caught yourself giving him flirty little looks. He made it know that the attraction was mutual, and you weren’t just pining for him.

Jeongin took another bite of the brownie cake, and a bit of the frosting grazed his cheek. He licked some off of his lip, but there was just the tiniest amount that lingered.

You leaned across the table wiping the whipped cream off his cheek. “You made a mess” you smirked, licking the excess off your thumb.

He smirked taking your hand and bringing it back to his lips “And you missed a spot” his tongue darted out to lick the pad of your thumb making you blush. How dare he? How could he flip your flirty move into his? And now you were flustered, turned on, and excited all in one go.

You pulled your hand back pouting, refusing to lose to him and trying to think of your next move when he shyly looked at you from behind his beer bottle. Was this seriously the same kid from a second ago? Because suddenly he looked so shy. “Can I confess something?”

“Should I be scared?” you quirked a brow.

“No…” his eyes wandered “I like you a lot, and I wanna see you again...like regularly, but not like a customer/employee thing but more like a dating thing...if you’re interested”

“I like you too” you grinned. “That was a really cute confession”

He laughed nervously. “I kinda have one more confession…” you looked up at him expectantly. “I actually hate coffee...like a lot.” he sighed “Ice americano taste like dirt and water”

“Oh my god” you laughed, holding your stomach and throwing your head back “I’m gonna cry” you giggled, wiping the tiny tears that pricked your eyes. “You ordered the same thing every day, why didn’t you just order something else?”

“Alright well since I’m confessing, I was passing the cafe by chance because I had a group project and the kid lived over here and well...I saw you from the window and honestly, I don’t know who I thought I was when I walked in there trying to get your number” he fiddled with the beer bottle. “I got nervous and just ordered the americano because it was the only coffee drink I knew...I don’t even drink it, I tried and like I sip it and stuff but it’s just so bitter" he stuck his tongue out in disgust just thinking about it. “And..the cafe’s actually pretty far from my house so I had to commute”

“Jeongin you come everyday!” your eyes widened as you laughed.

“I figured if I asked out suddenly that would be really weird so I thought if I became a regular then maybe I stood a chance...and even though I failed and didn’t ask you out I liked hanging out there” he groaned covering his face. “I’m a loser aren’t I?”

“You’re so cute, what am I gonna do?” you laughed. “You’re seriously so cute”

He peaked at you through his fingers. “I haven’t blown it?”

“Not at all” You gently grabbed his hand “Don’t hide your handsome face, I wanna see you~” you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Any other confessions?”

“I really want to kiss you right now”

“Then please do” you smiled as he leaned in across the table, pressing his lips into yours for a sweet chaste kiss. You could feel his smile against your mouth as he pecked you a few more times. “Jeongin..?”

“Hm?” he pulled back, gazing at your dreamily.

“You got whipped cream on your shirt” you giggled, pointing out the stain on his button-up, before handing a few napkins to him. He may not have been the smoothest guy, but he didn’t need to be to make your heart flutter.

End.

Fluffy Jeongin because I love this sweet boy >///<

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rosesvioletshardy · 4 years

Text

life as we know it - b.h. chapter 11

here it is chapter 11, sorry it wasn’t posted yesterday i was busy and hadn’t finished writing the chapter until almost maybe 2 am pst

i really hope y’all like this chapter because i have no clue what i wrote if i’m being honest and i didn’t know how to end it

masterlist

summary: when their two best friends die, it’s up to ben and y/n to take care of their goddaughter and face the challenges with it

# of words: 3,922

warnings: fluff, angst, language

taglist: @myfatbottomedgirls , @evemarie05 , @suckerfor-fanfics

inbox me or message me if you want to be added to the taglist for the series

---

gif credit: @benhardyispretty

while waking up, y/n felt more refreshed than she has ever felt before. it was most likely for the fact that she felt more free now that she was single. although she did love ben, she still couldn’t confide in where her feelings stood for ben. half of her loved her, but the other half knew she couldn’t. she walked down the stairs to find the house empty besides her, charlie, and frankie. when she reached the kitchen, she saw a note that was taped on the coffee pot from him

went to filming, had to leave early, you can come if you’re not busy. extra breakfast is in the fridge as well as coffee in the pot :)

she smiled at his note and his messy handwriting. when she opened the fridge, she saw

for her, it was the little things that for her that mattered like remembering a favorite song of the persons or how they like their breakfast in the morning. today was odd though, y/n didn’t know what they were filming today and ben would’ve usually told her what scene they were filming and what it was about without giving too much away that they weren’t exactly supposed to talk about it to others that much.

---

while y/n was loading up her car, she got a text from ben asking where she was.

“hey are you on your way?”

“yeah we’re just about to leave”

“alright, you’re really gonna like what we’re filming today ;)”

“what are you guys filming?”

“Ben?”

“hello???”

“asshole”

she gave up on trying to get an answer from him seeing that he probably had to go film. She got into her car and started it and played some soft music for charlie so she wouldn’t be cranky when they got there.

ben on the other hand was in his trailer chilling until he had to get called into costume and makeup. he was excited to film today but the only problem he had with this costume were his thighs. he tried to get roger’s physique but he played too much rugby growing up. y/n didn’t do sports much growing up, her parents wanted her to try ballet, she tried soccer for a year, swim for a year, then volleyball for another year, until she realized sports weren’t for her. during that time she also did piano for several years and that was pretty much it for her. she snapped out of her thoughts when out of nowhere she started to pull up to the lot at the studio. not understanding how she managed to get there without getting into an accident, she told the security guard her name and told him she was a guest of ben’s and went inside.

putting charlie in her stroller, and grabbing her diaper bag, she began to walk around until she found someone she recognized or at least found ben’s trailer. she spent what felt like hours but was only minutes, she just decided to ask someone. walking toward someone who had black, maybe shoulder length hair and a pink shirt and black skirt, she tapped on their shoulder. as the person turned around after feeling their shoulder get tapped, y/n immediately lost it. it was rami, dressed as freddie for the i want to break free music video. she covered her mouth as rami turned around giving her the full view.

“oh my god, you look amazing.”

“thank you, darling” rami said in his freddie voice causing her to laugh

“wait does that mean ben?”

“yes it does mean that. i can take you to him right now if you’d like? he’s getting into his outfit and hair in makeup right now.”

“oh please take me. i think we need to see this.” she tells him as rami began showing her the way after putting his robe back on

“so how’s everything?”

“stressful. as much as i love filming and playing freddie, it’s a lot you know? what about you? how are you and ben doing?”

“we’re doing great. charlie’s doing great. her birthday is coming up soon, you and the guys can come if you’re not busy filming that day”

“we’d love too, she’s already a part of the family.” he said smiling at her

when they reached the hair and makeup trailer, rami went in first to tell ben something

“hey ben, there’s something outside for you?” “what is it?”

“i’m not sure, i think it’s some sort of package for you.”

“alright, i think you’re done. you can go, i’ll still be on set knowing that all of you will mess it up.” his makeup artist told them

“thanks, now what was it?”

ben followed rami outside where y/n and charlie were waiting for him with her phone ready to document what she thought was a legendary moment. as ben stepped out, it took him a moment to realize that it was her.

“Oh wow, this is great. you look like rogerina. holy shit.” she laughed after taking a few pictures

“i look beautiful, don't i?” ben said fluttering his eyes and dramatically flipping the hair from him wig

“oh yes you do.” she said giggling and covering her mouth

ben reached down and picked up charlie who started whining, not recognizing him that well with the full face of makeup. at this point everyone had started to stare at all of them wondering why a baby was on set and why it was crying. he tried to console her and calm her down and making sure that people stopped staring at them before letting out a deep sigh and doing what he knew would be the only thing that would calm her down: singing. he didn’t sing often and would only do it if he were pissed drunk or if he were putting charlie to sleep or calm her down. y/n loved ben’s singing even if he wasn’t the best.

“you had your time, you had the power

you’ve yet to have, your finest hour, radio

all we hear is radio gaga, radio goo goo

all we hear is radio gaga, radio blah blah

radio what’s new? radio, someone still loves you”

as ben finished, all eyes were on him and were clapping but all he could focus on charlie and how her head was now laying on his shoulder as she played with the tie on his schoolgirl costume. he kissed her head and handed her back to y/n when the guys were all called on set and she followed them to watch. she loved every second of them trying to act like the band from the music video. she started to laugh at them, especially when ben landed on joe and he started to hit ben’s butt. everyone was thinking the exact same thing and it was that the boys were having too much fun whenever they filmed scenes like this. y/n loved the way they were all so in character and wanted to make sure they live up to the expectations of the band without fully imitating them.

ben continued to film till the nighttime and y/n had left home early with charlie seeing that they could sense the director was getting annoyed despite her being in ben’s trailer for most of the time so they could film without any distractions bothering all of them. When they got home, the first thing she needed to do was put charlie down and get them both some food. knowing that ben was going to come home late, she ordered take out for them and got out a jar of sweet potatoes and peas with small bits of meat for charlie. while trying to feed her, started to become fussy and began to spit out everything she was given to eat.

“Come one girl, there isn’t anything you like tonight?” she asked already getting frustrated

“okay, let’s take a walk around the house, you really seem to like that”

after wiping her face from the spilled food, she took charlie out of her chair and put her down so she could walk around, frankie followed close behind them. while charlie walked around there was a knock on the door signaling that her food was here. paying and tipping she quickly put the food in the kitchen and her wallet back before walking around the house to find charlie. almost losing her by finding her halfway up the stairs, she followed her up the stairs and walking to the family room that was upstairs. y/n hasn’t really stepped in the room that much besides only to clean and dust it. ben has been in it a few times but only to look around. while charlie began to climb the couch to get on it, she found something that was in the tv stand; it was a laptop. specifically lennon’s laptop. she recognized the case cover with flowers all over.

taking it out, she walked over to the couch and sat down with charlie on her left. she took a moment and stared at it for a few moments before taking it out and turning it on. there were lots of memories that were hard for her to look through before sucking it up and typing in the password. the screensaver started to make her tear up. it was a picture of her, lennon, christian, and ben from one of the days they hung out together. she saw all the files that were for her classes and some that were for memories.

ben walked into the house and it was all quiet. Not even frankie was coming down to greet him and she always did. throwing his jacket on the couch he walked into the kitchen to find bags of takeout but unopened as well as a plate of food for charlie. still confused, he walked up the stairs to find y/n and charlie cuddled up watching what he thought was a movie on the couch. he walked over to them and set next to her and looked over to find them watching videos from the last couple of years.

“hey”

“hi”

“why you up here?’

“charlie wanted to walk around and she came here and i saw the laptop and here we are” she told him as she wiped away a tear that escaped from her eye

“you miss her a lot don’t you?’ he asked her already knowing the answer. she couldn’t talk so she nodded

“i miss chris too. i honestly miss the way he would dramatically sing the national anthem already pissed drunk. he never could hold his drinks and was always a lightweight dickhead”

this caused the both of them to giggle as a video of lennon was playing the day she gave birth. they remember the day vividly. one minute they were arguing on how they were going to paint the room while christian was trying to finish building the crib.

“remember how much we used to hate each other?”

“i felt like our constant fighting was driving them insane.”

“lennon felt like she’s seen more fighting from us than she’s seen while teaching.” ben laughed as he picked up charlie and put her on his lap

the video continued to play before it cut to lennon and christian in the hospital as she was trying to control her breathing

“and here we have your mother, looking beautiful as always. we can’t wait to meet you babygirl.” “hopefully you’re not as stubborn as your father.”

“well that’s something she got wrong” ben said as he blew a raspberry onto charlie’s cheek causing her giggle

“that’s your mama and dada sweetie. you would’ve loved them so much. your mama was the craziest person we knew but still grounded and your dada could talk and argue his way out of everything for days. they kept each other grounded and sane.” y/n whispered

“da”

this caused ben and y/n to stop what they were watching and look at her and to each other

“did she just?”

“i think she did. can you say that again baby? dada?’

“da..da”

“oh my god she did it! she said her first word!”

“she really did! christian would be over the moon and bragging that her first words were about him” ben said picking her up and spinning her around

the rest of the night was spent eating their dinner and watching a movie before charlie was nearly passed out. ben took her to bed while y/n cleaned the area up. she knew she was hurting herself by watching more of the videos before she landed on a one that involved lennon, christian, and charlie. it was a few days after charlie was born and they were back home and in her room. lennon and christian had started to argue because she could still smell the paint on the walls and was concerned that charlie would breathe them in. christian had told her that the windows had been opened so it could get the smell out and that he wouldn’t have had charlie in the room if it still have paint fumes. Ben walked in to find her with the laptop again and watched with her.

“you know, we loved playing rugby all the time and i kept getting injured and became bored with it and christian told me about the local drama club and spent almost all the time practicing with me until i went off to drama school. even then he would still practice with me during our exam seasons. he never got a full chance to study because of me and knew that i would make it as an actor and he still managed to be one of the best lawyers in london while still in his 20’s. he didn’t care how cheesy the scene was and always came to support me at my shows whenever he could. i can’t leave him alone when he needs me. and he never left me alone when i needed him. even if he’s gone.”

“i started watching these because i just wanted to hear their voices, see them for a minute you know? when you were putting her down, i found this one” she said pressing play

“ta-da! pretty great, huh? We went with the lavender and the blue sky. When y/n and ben were at the hospital with you, i finished some few touches”

“when did you paint this room?”

“like i said, i finished it the second day at the hospital.i wanted to surprise you.”

“i can still smell the fumes chris” lennon said trying to cover charlie’s nose so she didn’t breathe it all in

“it’s been dry for days now l-” christian tried arguing

“it hasn’t been drying long enough”

“we’re really getting so critical right now. it’s not even wet paint.”

“she’s not sleeping in the bedroom tonight”

“i wouldn’t bring a baby, let alone ours, into wet paint room”

“of course it’s not wet but does it smell for days afterwards?”

“no, it doesn’t. it’s totally aired out. do you know how much work y/n, ben, and i put into this?”

“you didn't do any of this, when have you painted a flower or a cloud this detailed?”

“okay, i oversaw what y/n was doing-”

“she can’t sleep in here, move her crib”

“Of course she can, this is her room!” christian said following lennon out

she then paused the video and ben began to speak again

“so what you’re saying is, that it’s okay that we’re horrible parents and that we want to kill each other half the time but also tend to make out every now and then?”

“Two-thirds, actually. i feel like we should keep doing what you said before. that we stop trying and stop trying to fit ourselves into their lives.” she said

“i actually hate this place. it’s like a mausoleum. there’s pictures of them everywhere. and i really hate that painting up there.” ben told her as he pointed to the cowboy on the wall.

“yeah, he’s really creepy right?” she stated pulling a face of disgust

“if we’re going to live here, we have to stop tiptoeing around like they’re coming back soon.

“well then, let’s get to work.” ben said as he got up and offered his hand for her to take

the first thing they did when they got up was take down the cowboy painting and ben went and put it the garage, specifically where they can’t see it whenever they go down there. y/n looked for pictures of her and ben that they could hang up in replace of the ones of chris and lennon. ben was with her until he found one of them together at the wedding. that was one of the few times they complied and took pictures together. one of them in particular, ben was staring at her like she was the only girl in the world. they both hung up a picture of them at the hospital with charlie when she was first born.

“wait, a little to the left--no no no, a little back to the right--wait right there. perfect”

ben went back to y/n and put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned in while he kissed her head. they stood there for a few minutes admiring it before deciding to head off to bed. they had a lot to do before a party on the weekend which meant planning and making sure that they knew what they were going to do and it was all scheduled and ready to go.

---

it was the weekend. which meant a birthday party for a now 1 year old. y/n had make a small cake for charlie in the morning so she could have some fun with it before the actual party. everyone in the neighborhood and joe, gwilym, rami, allen, and lucy were coming according to ben. she felt close with the cast after being introduced to them. she hadn’t met allen until a few days before when they had made a visit to the set.

“here comes the birthday girl” ben said while he walked into the kitchen as she finished icing the small cupcake for her

“who’s the pretty birthday girl right in front of my own eyes?” y/n asked putting the pipping bag down

ben grabbed a small candle from the cabinet and his lighter and put it on the cupcake and set it on the tray. he took out his phone and began videoing as him and y/n began to sing her happy birthday. he sent the video to her when they finished and posted it on instagram. once he posted it, comments began flooding in wishing her a happy birthday.

“so what is on the agenda today?” ben asked drinking his coffee

“well, we need to definitely give her a shower because she has frosting all over her. then, we have a couple hours to set up before everyone comes over at 2, tyler is bringing the cake over around the same time, the face painter is coming over around 1:30 to set everything up, jack and melissa’s flight landed last night and they are going to be here to help soon.” she told him

“wow we are going to properly pass out tonight. this is going to be a lot. is there at least going to be some booze?”

“yeah, it’ll be somewhere where the other kids don’t mistake it for their drinks-” she began talking before getting cut off by the door opening and closing

“hello? is anyone awake?” a voice yelled

the two adults recognized the man’s voice as jack before melissa scolded him

“be quiet, they could still be sleeping” melissa told them taking off their coats

“no, we’re not asleep. we’re wide awake. Hi jack, hi melissa”

“hi sweetheart. how ya doing” melissa asked rubbing the sides of y/n’s arms

“i’m good, how are you guys? how was the flight?”

“it was good, the both of you really didn’t need to put us in a really fancy hotel, others would’ve been fine.”

“we don’t want to hear it, you both deserve the best after all you’ve done for us and charlie. how are you jack?” ben asked shaking his hand

“good, still retired, still down at the golf course. here’s the birthday girl. my is she getting big.” jack said as ben handed her to him

“she is. she actually started walking and said her first words this month.” she told them as they all moved to the living room and brought out some coffee for them

the fours adults continued to talk as they recounted memories over time of lennon’s and y/n’s birthdays including the time where she ended up roller skating into the cake. in her defense, she didn’t know how to stop at the time. jack and ben went to set up the grill while melissa started to decorate so charlie could get cleaned up. the weather was fortunate enough for it to be nice and sunny that day instead of cloudiness and rain.

“y/n sweetie, i need to ask you something.”

“what is it?”

“how are things between you and ben?”

she knew that this question was going to come up sooner than later before everyone came. y/n knew in her heart that it was always ben that she was supposed to be with but her brain was telling her otherwise

“things...are going great. We’ve managed to work some things out. he was with me when i broke up with sean.”

“listen to your heart. your brain will tell you otherwise but it’s truly what your heart wants. if he doesn’t see what a great person you are, it’s on him and i know he’ll regret it later.”

“thanks mel. i wish i had what you and jack have.”

“please, married 30 years and he always forgets when our anniversary is” melissa mentioned as she chopped up the lettuce for the salad

“men, what would we do without them?” she remarked causing the both of them to laugh

the party went better than they thought it would go. the only problem was ben not liking the idea of getting matching face paints but only doing it for y/n and charlie. joe had managed to get a picture of them and posted it. they had convinced jack and melissa to go back to their hotel and told them they could deal with the cleaning. it was quiet in the house now and they felt like they could just pass out and never wake up. she found ben outside smoking and nursing a beer before she went and wrapped her arms around him. he got rid of the cigarette and turned around and kissed her forehead.

“i thought you were going to quit.”

“i am, as soon as filming is over.” he announced before continuing

“’s nice out. wish it would be like this all the time”

“it is. today was good, i’m glad people enjoyed themselves even after she went to sleep” “yeah the guys seemed to enjoy themselves. same with you tiger.” y/n laughed seeing the paint smudging off of his face

“hey take a look at yourself too. The things we do for her.”

“i know i make a pretty sexy tiger”

this caused ben to turn red and start stuttering over his words. all she could was just laugh it off and walk off

“c’mon, let’s go to bed. you have filming tomorrow”

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thepartyresponsible · 5 years

Text

here’s a short, relatively fluffy fic about what happens when jason todd and clint barton, a pair of career criminals and expert thieves, steal the winter soldier.

and to the anon who asked for a fluffy fic featuring hot chocolate, blankets, and warm feels shared by clint, jason, and tony....um. i’m really sorry. i’ve had a lot of cold medication. my reading comprehension is compromised.

Popular opinion would no doubt suggest that stealing the Winter Soldier is the ballsiest heist Jason and Clint have ever pulled. Jason’s not sure he’d rank it that high. After all, their Batcave stunt was pretty egregiously ill-advised, and then there was the time they stole fifty grand worth of Kryptonite with the use of a clipboard and some fake EPA inspector badges they printed out at a public library.

But keeping the Winter Soldier. Yeah. Sure. That’s pretty ballsy.

No real other options, though. At least none that either of them could live with.

Jason knows they’re doomed the moment he hears the quiet horror in Clint’s voice, the way his words catch, just a little, when he says, “Um. Jay? I think it’s a person.”

Because stealing a serial killer robot from HYDRA and then handing it off to the League of Assassins for “decommissioning” is one thing, but turning over a living, breathing human being is another. He and Clint walk all kinds of fuzzy ethical lines. God knows even Selina gets shrill about their activities sometimes. But they don’t deal in people. Not ever.

“Okay,” Jason says, nudging Clint gently out of the way. “Go steal us something fast. I’ll handle this.”

Because, between the two of them, Clint’s got the softer heart. He doesn’t get fussy about what happens in an honest fight, but he can get downright melancholy about the necessities of after-battle cleanup, and Jason’s happy to spare him from it, when he can.

So Clint goes to get them a car that’ll get them out of the country before Ra’s realizes he’s been screwed around, and Jason goes to hover over the Winter Soldier, freshly defrosted, still barely twitching his way back to consciousness.

And Jason’s not an asshole. Whatever this guy’s done, he hasn’t done it to Jason or anyone who belongs to him, so none of this is personal. It’s gonna be fast and easy, just a bullet between the eyebrows, but the Winter Soldier blinks his pretty eyes open, looks up the barrel of the gun, and stares right into Jason’s face.

“я готов отвечать,” he says.

Ready to comply, Jason thinks.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jason says.

And so, after that, Jason doesn’t have the heart to kill him, either.

There’s a lot of yelling in the days that follow. From all conceivable sides. Ra’s al Ghul threatens every kind of unpleasant thing, and HYDRA hounds after them like they’re supposed to be scared of a group of megalomaniacal old cult assholes too creepy to get invited to the local Free Masons, and Selina calls Jason every day for a week to shriek at him about how she didn’t save him from the streets of Gotham so he could get murdered for stealing the world’s most brutal assassin.

“Selina, c’mon,” Jason says, muttering into the phone. Winter’s asleep in the backseat, shackled up like Houdini before a trick, and they’ve had a couple exciting moments, but he’s mostly just been quiet and kinda eerily empty-eyed. He keeps asking Jason about the mission. “He’s fine. I mean, he’s a little rough around the edges, sure. But I found Clint in a dumpster.”

“Hey,” Clint says, whisper-hissing at him from the passenger seat.

“And he looked great,” Jason tacks on quickly, with a wink he hopes will smooth things over. “Amazing. That dumpster didn’t know how lucky it had it.”

“You need to be careful,” Selina says. She put down two HYDRA goons this morning. They barged in on her in her pajamas, and she’s probably more pissed about getting caught with bed hair than having to dump two bodies before noon.

Although, she never was much of a morning person.

“We’re being careful,” Clint promises, leaning over to talk into the phone. “We couldn’t leave him, Selina. You didn’t see him. It was--- it was really bad.”

Selina’s quiet for a moment. “He’s an international criminal,” she says. And then, probably after she remembers that every single person in this conversation has their own personal INTERPOL file, she adds: “He’s an assassin.”

“I think he’s nice,” Clint says, stubborn and loyal. As always.

He only thinks that because Winter keeps trying to palm him extra food. Jason has to make a big show out of giving Clint food at the same time as he unlocks Winter for meals, or Winter will only eat half his food and then stash the rest so he can sneak it to Clint later.

Jason does not consider this behavior an endorsement of HYDRA’s caretaking expertise.

“He’d better be worth all the trouble,” Selina says. But she doesn’t mean it. Selina’s a thief and a liar and sometimes a killer, but she’s just like Clint, really. Softhearted for lost causes, both of them.

Jason can’t complain. It’s that shared weakness that brought both of them to him.

“Well,” Jason says, “if he’s not, we’ll just drop him with whatever country’s offering the biggest bounty.”

“That’s my boy,” Selina says. “But remember to start a bidding war first.”

The thing about Winter is that he’s actually James Buchannan Barnes, Captain America’s best friend. He’s a Goddamn war hero, and HYDRA took him, tortured him, blended his brain, and made him kill people.

Jason grew up in Gotham, spent his formative years playing sidekick to Catwoman, so he’s seen some fucked-up situations. But it makes him sick, watching Winter work it out. Catching those sporadic flashes of Bucky Barnes, the miserable, devastated way he closes his eyes when the memories come, like it was better, somehow, when all he knew how to say was Yes, No, and Ready to comply.

And Clint was right. He is nice. He’s painfully sweet, really, in the way he frets over Clint until he figures out that Jason doesn’t actually run things, doesn’t own Clint, and sure as hell would never hurt him. And then he frets over both of them. Stoic and steely-eyed and stone-jawed, fretting like a Goddamn mother hen.

HYDRA wants him back, and Ra’s wants him dead, and Jason and Clint, as insistently and dramatically as they can, invite both of them to fuck right off.

They don’t really mean to keep him. Not forever. Just until people stop trying to murder him. Just until they can stash him in some nice town, where no one knows who he is, where he can go back to being Bucky Barnes full time and forget all about everything HYDRA made him into.

But people don’t stop. The whole world keeps coming after them. And Bucky, for his part, doesn’t want to leave them.

Six months in, Clint catches a bullet, and Bucky gets stolen, and Jason has to choose to leave Clint so he can go grab Bucky before they wipe him clean out of his own head. And Clint’s going to be fine, knows how to look after himself, didn’t get shot anywhere vital. But Jason crashes into that transport van with Clint’s blood on his hands, and it makes him crazy, a little. It makes him a nightmare.

So, afterwards, Selina brokers a meeting with Batman, and Jason goes, because Batman’s owed him a favor ever since that years-long game of tag he used to play with Nightwing resulted in him accidentally stumbling into a situation where he saved Nightwing’s life.

He doesn’t bring Clint, and he doesn’t bring Bucky, because he figures Batman’s not going to kill him, but he might throw him in prison. If he does, Selina will bust him out on principle, and she’d almost certainly do the same for Clint, but Bucky’s so new and so much trouble that she might just leave him where he’s less likely to get Jason killed.

“Look, Bats,” Jason says, when they’re finally standing uncomfortably on the same rooftop. “We don’t like each other. You’re the delusional iron fist of the bourgeoisie acting out your punishment kink on the unsuspecting poor, and I’m just a guy trying to make a living. But we gotta work together on this, okay? Or I’m gonna leak the porn I found on the Batcave computers.”

Batman takes a long breath in through his nose. He seems to visibly weigh out which issue to raise first. “You planted those files on the Batcave computers.”

And he hadn’t, actually. Clint did that. He’d spent the whole night before the job downloading Superman-themed porn, and he’d filled Jason’s laptop with so much malware that Jason eventually just burned the thing in a purifying pyre. But Jason had to admit that running those videos on every screen in the Batcave had resulted in a truly awe-inspiring, immersive experience.

“We were just trying to be supportive,” Jason says. “Anyway. Look. You owe me a favor.”

There’s a lot of back-and-forth after that, consisting mainly of Batman holding forth about how saving a life is its own reward and he doesn’t owe Jason a favor and Jason really needs to reconsider his life choices while he still has the opportunity to do so. But he seems to listen when Jason tells him what he knows about HYDRA, about how deep its infiltration of SHIELD and various world governments goes. He’s quiet when Jason talks about Bucky. And, when Jason hands over all their intel, he takes the flash drive readily enough.

“If this is more porn,” he says, holding up the flash drive, “I’m throwing all of you in Blackgate.”

“Jesus, Bats,” Jason says, not even trying to bite back a laugh. “If it had that much of an impact on you, you should do some solitary self-reflection about it. Maybe some of those documentaries we left for you could help.”

Jason leaves Gotham and drives through the morning and afternoon and early evening, doubling and then tripling back on his route, making sure he’s not being followed. When he finally makes it to the safehouse, he’s shivery cold and dead tired. Bucky goes over his bike, checking for any trackers Jason might have missed, and Clint bullies him right into the shower.

Afterwards, Jason faceplants on the couch, and Clint hauls him up a few minutes later so he can press a mug of hot chocolate into his hands. “Drink this,” he says.

“Coffee,” Jason groans.

“No,” Clint says, as he settles next to him. “You’ve gotta sleep, you asshole. You’ve been up for three days straight.”

“Whiskey,” Jason tries, a little less plaintive and a little more mutinous.

Clint sighs. “I already put bourbon in there.”

Jason hums, appeased, and leans over to press a smacking kiss to Clint’s cheek. “You’re a fucking saint,” he says.

“Oh, a fucking saint,” Clint mutters, rolling his eyes. There’s a pleased blush settling along the lines of his cheekbones. “Didn’t know they made those.”

“The patron saint of fucking,” Jason declares, sipping at his hot chocolate. “Endowed with the power of---”

“This should be good,” Bucky mumbles, from across the room.

“Oh shit,” Jason says, and nearly sloshes the hot chocolate on himself. He tries not to talk about sex too much in front of Bucky. He tries not to think about sex too much in front of Bucky. He’s helplessly in love with Clint, and has been since he hauled him out of that dumpster in Gotham, but, as Winter fades and Bucky manifests more confidently in this new century, there’s been a growing tension between the three of them that Jason, frankly, has no idea what to do with.

“No, go on,” Bucky says, like this is the conversation he wants to have. Like he’s not the slightest bit curious about the mission Jason just ran, the one that’s supposed to clear his name, open a path that allows them to work with SHIELD to burn HYDRA to the ground. “He’s the patron saint of what, again?”

“Yeah,” Clint says, blinking at him with his innocent face in place. “What were you saying?”

Jason rolls his eyes and takes a pointed drink of his hot chocolate. It’s nice, he decides. That everyone’s comfortable enough to shit-talk him these days. Real refreshing. A Goddamn triumph of the resiliency of the human spirit.

“It went alright?” Bucky says, because he’s almost always the merciful one. Maybe he enjoys the novelty of it.

When he wanders over, he snags a blanket off the nearby chair, and he curls up on the end of the couch beside Clint, tossing the blanket over the three of them. He holds his hands out toward Jason, and Jason, without even thinking, passes his hot chocolate over. Bucky’s fingers brush Jason’s, and linger.

Jason isn’t making this shit up. He knows he isn’t.

First of all, he spends half his life watching people hit on Clint. He knows the signs.

Second of all, people get hot chocolate on their lips every day, but nobody licks it off like that unless they’re trying to plant ideas in people’s heads about what else those lips and tongue could do.

“Um,” Jason says, when he realizes they’re both staring at him. “Yeah. I mean. He didn’t throw me off a roof or put me in prison, so. I think he’s gonna help.”

Clint and Bucky exchange a look and then shrug. By their standards, that’s the start of a highly promising business relationship.

“Well,” Clint says, as he sprawls out, tucked in tight against Jason’s side, with a casual ankle hooked around one of Bucky’s. “You guys wanna watch Dog Cops?”

Jason figures, between the bourbon, and the blanket, and the warm weight of Clint’s body, he’s gonna be asleep in fifteen minutes. But he’d give Clint anything he asked for. “Sure,” he says, eyes already drifting closed. “Sounds great.”

Two days later, they meet with a reserved, competent, endlessly unamused man named Phil Coulson. He doesn’t smile or laugh or seem to like them even a little bit. But he doesn’t try to kill them, either.

Four years later, they’re Strike Team Delta, and they’ve acquired Natasha Romanoff and a hell of a reputation. Coulson smiles more and yells more, and still hasn’t tried to kill them. Not once. Not even after Budapest.

HYDRA is ashes, and Bucky is theirs.

So what the hell. Maybe stealing the Winter Soldier wasn’t their ballsiest heist. But it was definitely their best.

#writing #fic

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ohtheseboysilove · 5 years

Text

Sexy panties to dirty nappies II/? [ Ben Hardy x F!Reader ]

Words : 3,300 K +

Warnings : language, pregnancy, fluff, nervous futur parents, cute dog

Summary : Reader is eight months pregnant. The only problem ? She just find out. Yep, pregancy denial. Now they only got a month to be ready for the baby. Ready…steady…go !

Note : here is part 2 ! I’m really having fun with this cute fic, reader and ben start to realise that the baby is coming really soon, a bit of panick and fluff moments

Masterlist & Requests

@/ none of these gifs are mine xx

The first next three days you and Ben stayed at home. You didn’t do a lot, couldn’t sleep or thought about something else than the elephant in the room. You were on maternity leave, yeah your boss was for the least surprised. Ben had few weeks of break but he called his agent and announced the...unexpected new. At first he thought he was doing that to earn few more weeks for sunny holidays but when the blond almost had an panick attack during the phone call he believed him. His planning was lighter than before, he will not have new castings but he still did have obligations, pregnancy surprise or not. But it could be worse.

You spent these days eating and watching t.v, kicking Ben’s ass at video games, pretending nothing was going on in your belly. But on the fourth day you couldn’t ignore it, you were, to say at least, plump.

“Are you sure you not excepting twins (Y/N) ?” Ben was sitting next to you in bed, looking terrified by your swollen tummy. You did change a bit during these past days but this night...you reached your fully eight-months look. It was fucking strange. You went to sleep with a cute little belly to waking up with a round and imposing belly.

“I am not, Benjamin” You scoffed. “The doctor said it was only one baby and that more than enough” He pinched his lips and you both jumped when the baby started moving. Their movements clearly visible on your bare skin, both of your gazes following every of their gestures, eyes wide opened.

The baby did move these last day but never that much. It was pretty scary.

“It look like an alien about to rip off your stomach to get out of here” Commented the blond, his Adam’s apple bobbing roughly in his throat.

“I know” You whined. “I want this baby out of me” You complained with a groan as they kicked harshly than before.

“I’m sorry babe” Ben grabbed your hand and pressed it gently, his face was very pale. “What we are gonna do ? We have a billion things to buy before this kid is coming and I need to call my mom, holy shit, that wasn’t the plan at all” He scratched his unshaven chin, it did happen when he was home for few weeks, he was lazier about his appearance and you didn’t mind it but these days was just because he was incapable of doing anything else than staring at your growing belly.

“We should do a list” You looked around the room, it was messy and really need a good cleaning. You thought about the pile of dirty laundry waiting in the bathroom. And the other one of greasy dishes in the sink. The small bag of weed and rolling paper on the coffee table. The household products under the sink, easy to grab. So many changes were required. In a such short amount of time.

Ben came back in bed with a little notebook and a pen, sighing deeply.

“Okay baby, what do we need to buy in first ?” He wrote To buy urgently!!! on the top of the page and underlined it multiple times.

“We need nappies, wipes, baby clothes” You enumerated the first things that crossed your mind when you thought about a baby. Ben nodded and quickly wrote all your ideas. “Fuck, we need a bed for this baby and...a fucking stroller ?” You grimaced and gently massaging your temples. “Can you grab my laptop, we gonna order everything we can online. I’m not in state to wondering around for hours in all these baby shops”

The blond picked your laptop from the end of the bed and switched it on. He tapped few words on the keyboard and the screen quickly filled with a sparkling big tittle Baby Paradise, rainbows and teddy bears all around. You both swallowed sickly at this view.

“Alright, nappies...jesus these so many different sorts of” Ben scrolled through the page, biting nervously his lips. Few days ago you were scrolling to find a nice travel destination for your week of holiday in two months, well it seemed rather compromised now. “This one ? No. 1 Newborn nappy with features specially designed for the comfort and protection of newborns, up to 12 hours protection, perfect for day and night usage...Sound good ?”

“I guess...” You shrugged and rested your head on his bare shoulder, he added five box of these nappies to the basket. “Good, one thing done. Only a billion more to do” You joked...but not really.

Your boyfriend chuckled, putting a kiss on your hairs as a big ad invaded the screen. Nappy Rash Cream.

“The fuck is that now ?” He clicked on it and apparently you couldn’t not buying some of it. For soft and non-irritating baby bottom. “This shit is fucking expensive” He mumbled but put it in the basket anyway.

“It’s because you pick a bio label, Benny” You snorted and he rolled his eyes.

“Like I would let my kid have some shitty cream because it’s cheaper, no way” The way he said my kid warmed your heart a bit. The idea of Ben with a baby in his arm was less scarier. But only a tad. “Thanks god we have good salaries because this child gonna cost us an arm and a leg”

“I think your right” You sighed and checked the list. “We need wipes to clean the little bum of this baby”

After an hour of shopping about every essential baby stuffs like bottles feeding, newborn bath products, an easy-to-use thermometer, a little bath tub exclusively for baby and other things that you didn’t even know you needed like a freaking baby nails trimmer or a dozen of pack of water bottles because – you just learnt it but it did make sense – babies didn��t drink water from the tap as they were fragile tiny person, only clean and proper water. You checked on your phone and the baby wasn’t supposed to drink water before six months at least as he was going to drink your milk. But Ben insisted. It’s done, we can keep it in the empty closet in the kitchen.

It took you the entire morning, deciding between this label and this one, if you should pick the bottle feeding with bees on it or bunnies...yes that an argument you didn’t imagine having with Ben but life was full of surprise. You put your childish behaviour on your pregnancy hormones. At the end Ben added a pack of bees bottles and bunnies’.

“I really need to pee” You pouted and Ben closed the laptop with a dramatic grimace.

“It’s only the forty times this morning” He teased and made his way to you, getting up and walking was still a bit weird for you. In only few days you had to adapt to a massive weight, pulling you down, it was so strange. He helped you reach the bathroom, his arms supporting you protectively.

“M’ gonna cook I’m starving, fancy something special baby ?...and my other baby, of course” He winked playfully, glancing at your swollen belly.

You giggled a bit and carefully rubbed your bump, your breath hitched in your throat as you felt the baby immediately reacting to your tender gesture. You barely interact with this little human since you learnt about it, it wasn’t fair for this baby but it was so scary...You promised yourself to make more effort, to bound with this upcoming child.

“Can you make me your tomatoes and pesto sandwich ?” You asked as you slowly took your pyjama pants off and sat on the toilet seat. Ben always offered you his help but you wanted to do the most you could by yourself.

“Only a sandwich ? Baby, this little alien need more than that” The mother hen was back and you cheekily smiled.

“Well, I wasn’t finish Benny boy. I’m gonna eat this sandwich, meanwhile you, pretty boy, gonna cook your delicious pasta, the one with marinara sauce. Please ?”

“Gimme fifteen minutes” He winked at you and left for the kitchen.

You were laying on the sofa, stuffing food in your mouth like you didn’t eat for a week. You immediately felt better but you were still hungry, waiting patiently for the pasta.

“Alright, here the pasta for the two babies” He put a giant pasta plate in front of you, fuming and smelling incredibly good. You slowly sat up correctly and grabbed the dish, drooling at this perfect sight. “I also bring the doctor envelope, thought that it would be easier to buy baby clothes if we knew the sex, no ?”

You nodded as an answer, your mouth to busy munching your meal to reply vocally. Ben took a deep breath and opened the envelope, his face a little tense.

“Girl” He cleared his voice and repeated louder. “It’s a girl, you...we’re expecting a baby girl” He smiled nervously as you quickly swallowed your bite.

“That’s...great” It sounded more like a question but the whole situation was still feeling like a prank sometimes. “Are you happy ? Or you wanted a boy ?”

You stared at each other for few seconds before both of you bursted in laugh at your last words. Neither of you wanted a girl or a boy. The closest thing to a baby that you could have wanted was another puppy but even that you had decide to wait, a dog was already a lot of work to take care of. You were so relieved you didn’t take another dog.

“I...to be honest, I never think about that. Kids in the future yes, but the sex...it doesn’t really matter ya know ?” He shrugged as his cheeks were a bit flushed. “I guess, a girl, it’s good. Easier than a boy, right ? Calmer”

You snorted, very amused by his naivety.

“Ben, baby. Maybe in films, the cute little girl with pretty blue eyes and braided blond hairs love playing with her doll, eat all her vegetables and said I love you to her parents every night but in real life, it doesn’t last longer than ten minutes” You pinched your lips, repressing a laugh at his wide and scared eyes. “When I was little, I was a monster, terrorising all the boys in my school”

“What are you telling me that ? Do you really want me to cry or what ? Because I will if you keep going doing this” He whined, shoving a fork full of pasta in his mouth. “But at least I’m not going to have this horrible conversation about these awkward hard-on you can get anywhere and anytime. I’m still traumatising by my dad’s conversation.”

“More traumatising than the day you get hard when you saw your older cousin in bikini ?” You teased with a cocky smile, you knew it was one of the most embarrassing moment of his life. Comprehensible. “Because you know your granny still remembered”

“I was thirteen years old, jesus ! Stacy can’t still not look me in the eyes”

“You’re such a drama queen Benny” You pressed a light kiss on his cheek before digging back in your plate.

“We will see who’s gonna be the drama queen when the kid gonna start bleeding” He chatted back with a smirk.

You dropped your fork and felt a wave of panic crashed through your body.

“Oh my god, you’re right !” You put the plate away and hid your face in your hands, tears sliding freely on your cheeks. “No, I want to change ! I want a boy Ben !”

The blond frowned and reached for your face, surprised and worried of your sudden change of mood.

“Babe, I was just kidding, a girl is awesome !” He tried to cheer you up, a bit guilty for you state.

“But you were right ! I was so scared when I get my first period and fuck, this is so painful ! I’m not ready to explain her that...and what about her first time ? I’m gonna need to talk to her about sex with boys...or girls ! Shit I don’t know–”

Ben stopped your rambling, grabbing softly your face and wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“(Y/N), my love, breath okay ? You’re not alone in all of this, I’m here. I will do whatever I can to help you raising our little girl” You sniffled a bit and slowly calmed down. “Plus, I think we have few more years before worrying about all that, right ?” A noise between a laugh and a sob escaped your throat as you shook your head, he was right. “Can you stop crying now, baby ? You know I hate seeing you like that”

“I can’t, I swear Ben I’m trying to stop but look...” You rubbed your eyes and immediately tears came back, rolling down your face. “I don’t have anymore control on my own body” You complained but still smiled through the tears. “Fucking pregnancy hormones”

“Sound rather annoying” Ben said softly, his lips lingering during few seconds on your forehead.

“It is” You hiccuped loudly and your boyfriend laughed a bit.

“Would you want more pasta baby ? Would it make you stop crying ?”

“Maybe” You sniffled and gave him your empty plate and he winked at you.

You were so glad that your emotional support was back on the track. You couldn’t do it without this marvellous man. You saw Frankie stood up from her little bed to follow Ben and you called her, always craving for a cuddle with his dog. She looked at you hesitantly but entered the kitchen anyway. You sighed, since the last two days Frankie wouldn’t come closer to you, probably feeling your weird surprise pregnancy vibes that suddenly started emanating from your body.

“There, baby” You smiled softly at the blond and took the plate from his hand. He put two bottle of beer on the table and opened them, taking a big sip right after. “Want a beer babe ?” He pushed the drink toward you, his eyes glued on his phone as he scrolled furiously on the screen.

“Ben” You giggled quietly and pushed back the beer to him. “I can’t”

He glanced toward you with a frown then immediately cursed loudly.

“Shit, I’m sorry baby, I didn’t even think...we always drink beers on saturday lunch” He pressed a sloppy kiss on your cheekbone. “M’ sorry (Y/N), only four weeks and you could drink again, yeah !” He grinned at you and raised his beer playfully before drinking another sip.

“Ben, you’re being rude right now” You complained with a grimace. “I’m not allowed to drink as long as breast-feed the baby”

He almost chocked on his beer and coughed roughly. “Fucking hell, that’s make sense. That’s really unfair, though.” He bit the inside of his cheek to not laugh and you rolled your eyes, he was such a dork.

Frankie jumped on Ben’s lap and cuddled against him, but still keeping an eye on you.

“Frankie still doesn’t let me pet her” You whined and sadly watched the cute beagle nuzzling under her owner’s hand. “She act like she is the only one scared by the little alien. I’m as surprise as you Frank’ !” She raised her head when she heard her name but didn’t make a move toward you.

“I guess she just need time babe” Ben shrugged and scratched her furry head. “Your belly is rather...impressive, still a whole thing to process, ya know ?”

“That why you never touched it ?” You snapped rougher than attended and his smile fell as soon as he heard your words. “Sorry, didn’t mean to sound rude, I know you need time, it’s okay” You gave him a shy smile and looked at your half-empty plate, you weren’t hungry anymore.

The truth was that you were hurt by the fact that Ben never touched your bump during the past four days. Not even once. You get it, this belly was terrifying but still, the baby was here and well alive, he couldn’t just keep ignored it.

Ben grabbed the plate from your hands and put on the coffee table before sliding his fingers under you chin, turning it toward his gaze.

“I’m sorry (Y/N), I’m truly am, I never mean to hurt you. It’s just...if I touch it...her...she gonna be so fucking real” He mumbled ashamed, his lower lip pinched between his teeth, eyes travelling between your bump and your eyes.

“But she is already real Ben. And she is coming to be out in less than a month, you...we need to create bond with her. We have eight months to catch up and I don’t want our kid to hate us because we were scared” You raised your pyjama top and exposed your swollen belly, placing a gentle hand on it. “She’s awake Ben, please come and meet your daughter”

The blond sniffled quietly and you tenderly kissed away the only tear which escaped his beautiful green eyes. He nodded timidly and put a shaky hand on your bare stomach, licking his suddenly dry lips nervously. You moved your own hand on his and slowly slid them to where the tiny foot of your daughter were pushing your belly. Ben gasped surprisingly when he felt her kicking against his palm, an amazed smile on his features.

“Hi baby” You moved your hand away and softly caressed Ben’s hairs, watching the first interaction between your daughter and her dad, eyes inevitably watering at this sight. “I’m sorry I didn’t say hi sooner...I was so scared but not of you my sweet girl. More about my questioning abilities to be a father...but I will do my best, me and your mom, we will do everything for you to be happy” Now you were sobbing quietly and not only because of the pregnancy hormones. He pressed a soft kiss on your parted mouth then on the top of your round tummy, murmuring sweet nothings to the baby.

You hissed when she kicked harder and Ben immediately backed up.

“Did I hurt you ?”

“No, n– ouch, no, Benny, you didn’t do anything” You smiled through your grimace. “I think she just a bit excited to finally meet you, she’s kicking me everywhere, evil little creature” You joked and rubbed your belly, trying to calm her. It felt pretty natural to do it, probably your maternal instinct finally waking up. It was about damn time.

“Oh.” He gave another kiss to your belly then focused on your lips. Sweet but deep one, showing his infinite love and affection for you. You smiled widely through the kiss, Ben and you could do everything as long as you were together.

Your eyes opened surprisingly when you felt something wet brushing against your stomach. You broke the kiss and lower your gaze to see Frankie, her cute little nose pressed against your belly, sniffing and rubbing it carefully.

“Oh good girl Frankie. Can you feel the baby Frank’ ? Can you feel your little sister ?” Ben – and you even if you won’t admit it – always took this stupid baby voice when he spoke to his dog and you were pretty sure it gonna be the same with your daughter. His excited voice combined with a rubbing on your stomach were enough to drive the beagle wild, not afraid anymore of the little alien. Her tail was wiggling strongly and happy barks were echoing into the flat, she was licking your tummy but stayed incredibly careful, she knew without a doubt another tiny life was inside here and she didn’t want to hurt it. Probably one of the cutest thing you ever witnessed.

“I guess she’s ready to be a big sister” You sighed happily, scratching her lower back exactly the way you knew she loved.

#ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x you #ben hardy #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap

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insomniac-dot-ink · 5 years

Text

The Breakdown Ch2

genre: supernatural gay ghost story

rated: M

words: 4.2K

summary: What do you get when you combine an urban legend turned real, a psychic hick, and bunch of ghost hunting Yankees? A bad time.

All Kevin Lampton wants to do with his summer is stop The Lady in White from killing anymore road trippers in the middle of nowhere Kentucky. Unfortunately, a group of ghost hunters looking for answers makes his job a lot more complicated.

Chapters: One, Two

Website⭐Ko-Fi ⭐Patreon ⭐ WordPress⭐Twitter

89 More Days

The sun was slowly leaking in through plastic blinds and striping the thin motel carpet with light and half the single bed in the center of the room. It was bare and rustic and cleaned with something quietly made of bleach and something more than bleach. Kevin flopped down on the bed without looking and reminded himself he had homework, milk to throw out, nails to cut, and a haircut to get.

It was sometime in the morning, a summer morning that didn’t need any definition or permission to exist. A time undomesticated by human concepts of time, it was just early and would be early for a while.

Kevin had homework to do.

He fell dreamlessly into deep musty sleep and didn’t wake again for 8 hours.

It was evening again when he blinked into consciousness, groaning and reaching for a half-filled water bottle and his laptop. He rolled onto his back and traced the ‘K’ on the ceiling with his eyes, written in cracks and imagination. He did the math in his head: he’d have approximately five hours of “Kevin-Time” now.

He indulged in several more moments of moping before stacking himself upright like a new game of jenga and unfolding. He forced himself to the shower, letting the lukewarm water work its way into his clenched muscles.

He closed his eyes, but not for long. There were hands in there, hands and eyes and a pale bruised gaze.

He sighed from deep inside himself and staggered to wipe the sleep out of his eyes and stand in front of the mirror. Kevin Lampton was lean, not tall, but the leanness gave the impression of at least a couple more inches of height.

He was springy in the way of wound-up corkscrews, sunburnt in an offhand way and long in a compact sort of way. He had a long face, almond-shaped, and a sloping jawline that was the opposite of the Hollywood box; those were his father’s features: soft and bordering on strange.

His nose was his own but only by way of being small and aligned with his ears.

His eyes were not his own, suspicious things with long dusty eyelashes and shifty movements, always breaking and starting and breaking again.

His teeth belonged to no one and he was lucky they weren’t more crooked, but they still overlapped here and there enough to dispel any wide smiles on his part in school pictures. His hair was the color of damp sand, not yellow, but a grainy brown that was lost to him in the way sand was. It was too long right now. It crept down his neck and hung over his eyes in wavy stiff tufts.

He’d have to get that taken care of, especially before class started again at the end of August. He sighed, August.

He was ready for August.

He gave himself another push and dug out his busted Lenovo computer and a Snickers bar from the back pocket of his other pair of pants. Four and a half hours.

He got to work and munched quietly.

89 more days on Sumpter Road, six more semesters of school, five if he got his shit together, one year at an internship, two years as any sort of underling and then… time spread out before him in a red jagged roadmap and he traced it with his eyes unblinkingly.

He looked back down at his online econ homework and typed as quickly as he could without his laptop limply falling backward in it’s continual over dramatic death throes. Bastard.

Four more hours.

A family pulled into the motel parking lot and he heard a shower turn on from somewhere beside him and rancorous yelling from somewhere above him. He imagined himself in a woody green forest, throwing up thick bark and leafy branches so the tiny waves didn’t hit from either location.

Someone was angry. Someone was having a very successful journey of self-exploration in a grungy motel shower. Kevin wasn’t really interested in either and frowned until the forest grew roots and blocked everything out.

The sun sank down in a bloody red bath outside and Kevin stuffed his pockets with more purified rock salt and packets of lamb's blood. He slipped his expression into something more than “tired and constantly terrified” for his cars sake and went out the door.

89 more monotonous days of trying to not let strangers die on a haunted road.

------------------

Kevin expected three things: that the elastic of his lucky boxers was probably going to snap soon. He was going to graduate college with full marks or die trying. He was going to meet a lot of strangers on Sumpter Road and then never see them again.

Some of the strangers may or may not piss themselves and it was his job to both stop them from being murdered and graciously look away from the aforementioned soiled pants.

He drove fifteen minutes from the highway motel back toward his night watch. His phone buzzed five times before he flipped it open.

“Hello?” He answered flatly, he was good at flat, he had a lot of practice.

“Kevin, me boy,” A smiling voice addressed him, Kevin glanced at the car visor and back down. “What do you want me to do with your shit?” Kevin twisted his mouth to the side, “Can I get someone to pick it up? I can get someone.” He lied easily and panicked quietly.

“Sure, sure,” Stevie said carelessly, “but you sure you don’t want us to keep it here? It’s only 3 months dude, don’t make us get a new roommate for next semester, I can already tell the Freshman are gonna fucking suck.” Kevin breathed out easily, “I’ll figure something out.” He said, which wasn’t really an answer. “Can’t do the summer though, I’ll get someone to get my things soon.” The ‘someone’ was whoever he could bribe to drive his few personal items from Lexington to his dad’s place in Frankfort.

“God, dude, please tell me you’re at least on some sort of vacation. Like, with a mimosa, a beach, and a girlfriend that isn’t your damn right hand.” Stevie tossed something across the room with a tin sound and gentle crash. Kevin rolled his eyes, “Yeah, she’s a real livewire, way more hands than me.” He said dryly. In fact, she had three more hands than him, five, six, seven sometimes.

“Whatever man, I’m telling you one of these days you’re gonna pop with that stick shoved so far up your stress hole that not eve-” Kevin paused, his eyes went wide, he approached the part of Sumpter road just outside of Reginald. “I have to call you back Stevie.” He cut off whatever new romantic metaphor his roommate was going to plunge into. “Somethings come up.”

“Fine, fine, avoid my damn point. But yeah, come get your shit.” “See you.” Stevie Johnson was a “friend,” but Kevin did not have friends that he couldn’t immediately hang up on. He hung up.

Kevin’s knuckles bleached on the steering wheel; the crickets chorused mockingly around him as he slowed down. The last bits of sun reflected, shiny and angry against the side of something very big and very black. A sore thumb in the dust, the type that wasn’t so much a bruise itself in this place but something about to bruise everything else.

Kevin’s nostrils flared; he wasn’t the type of psychic that could predict the future. He couldn’t pick out numbers from thin air or tell you the description of your true love. He couldn’t sell you your destiny or the identity of your true love for $4.99 a minute.

He considered himself a pretty shitty psychic, but even he could tell this didn’t mean anything good. There was a big black van.

A big black van sat in the middle of the road, not off to the side, not in the grass, but on the very center ridge. Kevin narrowed his eyes so hard at it that he expected they might just become slitted peak holes. Officially, Sumpter didn’t have two lanes, but that didn’t mean sitting in the very center of it was not an absolute asshole move.

Kevin slowed to a stop in front of it to point out just how much of an asshole move it was. The windows were tinted completely black, the sides faceless, body high off the ground, and something was blinking green on the dashboard.

No, he swallowed thickly and wished he go back to dealing with that hippy couple who were convinced the ghost was an angel trying to contact them. They were babbling about that right up until the Lady on the Road started strangling them.

He would take the car of flower children smelling of skunk and rosemary over this any day.

He had a stare-off with the big black van and didn’t seem to be winning.

He glanced back at the blinking green light on the dashboard and Kevin parked close enough to recognize it as a black box and he had a feeling a little red arrow was on the other side.

Both the driver and passenger seats were empty, but he could see the occasional movements behind the seats in the back. He knew what this was.

No, Kevin had a sudden sneaking suspicion this was retribution for his last job. He had watched, just watched, in his little visor and bright red shirt as a teenage girl had put ketchup in her milkshake. She put it directly in her milkshake without an ounce of shame. He just stood there and did nothing.

This was what happened to people who didn’t stop crimes, even after saving a considerable number of other drivers from a supernatural death.

He put his forehead on the center of his wheel and sighed, big and gusty and quite frankly one of his more impressive ones.

Maybe he should have expected this. People talked, online forums talked. The devil lived on the “Supernatural and Alien Experiences” reddit boards. Kevin watched the van until the sun succumb to a soft and hematic death on the horizon, and the black box blinked green.

He had found a new least favorite part his self-assigned job.

Kevin finished a burger he bought from a corner shop near his motel and his big gulp filled with shitty coffee he made himself. It tasted like dirt and grit, and he probably deserved that too.

The van looked new.

Kevin took his time checking his pockets, thinking about his homework, his hair, and then getting out of the car. The moon was a low half-coin in the sky, and he couldn’t put this off for any longer.

The night cast long shadows over everything like a paint brush that only knew two colors: silver and grey. Silver light licked up across the grass to the point you forgot they were ever yellow, and Kevin swore he saw more imaginary lightning bugs again.

A rusted white shack sat in the difference with small bent trees dotting the area around them; Kevin put his hands in his back-pockets and approached the big black van. His stomach sank as he saw his own reflection in the shiny surface.

His tank top was now upgraded to grey one instead of white, but his skin was still ruddy with summer heat and expression less than authoritative, mouth pinched and jawline obstinately soft. Throwing lambs blood was easier than this.

He trained his expression into something unflinching and private. He knocked on the side of the slide door with his knuckles and roved his brain for appropriate accompanying sentences. A stillness followed and he knocked again.

“Jesus,” a breathy voice said from within, “is that her?” The van shifted slightly, the sound of footsteps on metal, “Ghosts don’t knock.” Answered a much less breathy voice.

Kevin inhaled deeply, “Can I have a talk with you folks?” His voice sounded small and flat against the flat landscape.

Another thoughtful pause followed.

“Do ghosts usually ask to be let in?” “Smart ones do.” Kevin blew air out of his nose, “I’m not a ghost.” “That’s exactly what a ghost wo-” “Shut up Collie.” The door slid open and a blast of cool air rolled out and Kevin blinked into it for a moment. He looked up from two brown men’s oxford’s and confirmed his own worst fears.

There was a whole slew of wires and blinking lights and screens on the inside of the van. Electronics were stacked and piled and obviously not part of an FBI headquarters- or if it was FBI then the government was in far more trouble than anyone suspected.

Three people were inside. A girl was cross legged, another was stooped over a monitor, and one young man hung over Kevin like a loose bent tree. The whole group was dressed in black t-shirts and black pants, leather belts and heavy boots, a match set. Some sort of massive green goggles held one of the girl’s curly hair back and the young man had thick sunglasses with a similar green sheen to them. At night.

Kevin ran a hand through his hair and tried not to yank it, “Don’t mean to intrude.” He began, just as his grandma would have liked. “But I thought I should pay you a visit.” The three ghost-hunters exchanged a long look between them. The two young women had strikingly similar features, tan skin and darker brown hair tied up in wavy buns. They were both on the short side and had mouse-like noses in Kevin’s opinion.

Their eyes were similarly bright and curious, sisters? He didn’t have time to place it.

Kevin was trying not to look directly at the young man in his terrible oxfords above him.

“Well,” the man, boy? spoke first, breaking the silence, “We were just debating on the same thing when we saw you.” Kevin raised his eyebrows, “Oh?”

“That’s you, right man?” The guy pointed to his tiny hatchback and it somehow felt like a slight.

Kevin forced himself to look up, “Yeah.” The young man was broad-shouldered and annoyingly upright, the type of upright money could buy. He had a stretching expanse of neck, square jaw, and his face was easy in all regards. Roman straight nose, mouth that was far too satisfied with itself, and diamond shaped features.

His hair was carefully curled at the top, a whip cream swirl on a professionally made cafe drink, brown and thick and very obviously never exposed to shampoo that stripped the roots.

Kevin employed a very small and very squiggly frown. The young man smiled, his teeth were straight, boxy, and streak-less, also the type money could buy. “Yeah, you should be careful,” he spoke with a flattened accentless-accent, not from here but from anywhere at all. “This road is haunted.” Kevin refused the temptation to roll his eyes. He cleared his throat instead and began carefully, briefly debating if he should shave off his local accent or soak his vowels in it like making backwoods rum pudding.

“Reckon everyone should stay away from it then,” he said pointedly, “must be dangerous.” He decided on rum pudding. The young man regarded Kevin through green-tinted glasses, unpolite and clearly not playing this game. He smiled with wicked delight, “Who are you?” It was asked in the way someone confirms a surprise purchase or family secret from a gossipy aunt. Unsurprised and yet ever so pleased about it.

Kevin took a deep breath and refused to duck down or look away, “Nobody. Just thought I should warn you as out-of-towners.”

The young man took the time to squat, a quick and accusatory movement. “And what are you doing here, Nobody Man?” He was poking at something and Kevin thought a bit of lamb’s blood on his cheeks might improve his very smug appearance.

“Woah, woah, have you seen anything?” One of the girls asked, but the young man was still leering over him in a way that made him much more of a priority.

“Trying to stop anyone from getting hurt,” he said truthfully, “You should get out of here before,” he coughed into his hand, “Anything.” He didn’t need to give them any hints. The young man’s smile widened like a length of rope a magician kept pulling out of his sleeve. There just seemed to be more and more. “My name is Nathan Calvin,” he put his hand out to shake, “Those are the Alvarez sisters.” One of the sisters gave in a slight salute and the other one turned to him with an unhappy eyebrow twitch.

“How would you like to come up here, Nobody Man?” Nathan Calvin’s hand was still dangling in front of him, “You’re letting the cold air out here man and you came over to talk, right?”

The snake was wiggling its way in front of him in a very slick dance that meant very little to him.

Kevin hunched slightly, “I think it would be better if you considered hurrying on,” he gestured up the road, “this isn’t really a populated area. The highway is that way. And the nearest hospital is even further.” He stated without inflection. Nathan Calvin retracted his hand, but he didn’t seem any less pleased. “Come on up, come chat with us.” He boomed, “I’ll make it worth your while.” Kevin shoved his hand through his hair again, tired of this. “This isn’t the type of ghost you want to hunt.” You’re making my job harder.

Nathan cheered, “Somebody knows things!” He sang with a laugh, “what about some beer for your troubles? Money? Heck, Diana might give you kiss.” “That would take more beer than even you can afford Nathan.” Diana, the sharp-looking sister, said without looking up.

“Alright,” he chuckled, “no kisses, but I don’t think that’s what you’re here for anyway.” Kevin elegantly rolled his eyes this time, “If I talk to you will you leave?” Nathan Calvin just kept smiling. Kevin closed his eyes for a moment and then slipped his phone out to look at the time, 10:10.

“You have thirty minutes.” He climbed into the stupid shiny black van, “And then I’m escorting you out of here.”

Idiots.

They move aside and close the door behind him.

-------------

Belly of the Beast

Kevin was regularly uncomfortable- it was more of the jacket he wore for the possibility of rain and forgot to take off. His discomfort spiked as the light of the summer moon cut off as they shut the door, a pulled plug plunging him into a cavern of beeps and blinking things.

The sisters were curious, the boy was anticipatory, none of them were afraid in the slightest. Idiots.

Nathan Calvin took a seat cross-legged next to one of the sisters and patted the floor of the van in invitation. “Tell me your thoughts!” He yelled far too loudly in the echoey dark van.

Kevin narrowed his eyes at him, “Ghosts. Danger. Dying.” The boy laughed in answer. “Somebody take notes ladies.” One of the sisters, the one with the goggles looked up. “Have you seen her kill anyone?” Kevin’s frown became a tightening black hole on his face. Nathan put a hand up, “Hey now Collie,” he stopped her, “Let’s start with the small stuff.” He tilted his chin up, “Has she ever tried to kill you?” Collie, the goggles sister, was taking notes now. “No.” Kevin said truthfully, “But she will go after you,” he looked up at the ceiling, “It’s harder the more people there are.” Idiots.

Kevin discerned the groups feelings, not the fresh ones, but the dangling roots that burrowed deep and colored their every movement. There was a shimmering veil of glittering silver and gold guarding them. It was thick and glorious, their mothers had no doubt swaddled them in it from birth and let them walk out into the world armored, invincible, and foolish. It was the type money could buy. Nathan Calvin threw his arms in the arm, “Elaborate!” He was enjoying himself like a polo-shirted boy at a private swimming pool that was already two margarita's in.

“You’re making my job harder.” Kevin only had so much room in himself for elusiveness, “I’m trying to help, what will it take to leave this road, money? Beer?” He turned Nathan’s words on him brashly, “I’m sure we could find someone to kiss you.” Nathan Calvin became somehow more delighted.

The other sister, goggle-less, tilted her chin up proudly, “We’re prepared,” she said simply, “Though this is a nice confirmation that she’s really here.” Alright, well maybe it’s time to leave them to their fate, he could use some more sleep and less animal blood on his hands. Haircut, milk, homework.

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the fantasy wash over him- the one where he left here and sank into a nice long nap. Then he opened his eyes again, “Tell you what,” he spread out his own smile, more brittle, less careless, but fireproof all the same. “I’ll tell you everything I know, we could do it over a burger, there’s a 24-hour diner at least fifteen minutes away.” It was more like thirty, but they didn’t need to know that.

Nathan Calvin drenched his smile in lighter fluid, “When does she usually show up?”

Kevin clenched his hands by his side and narrowed his eyes, “When your guard is down.” “Our guard won’t be down,” said the stony-faced sister.

“We could let it down,” Nathan Calvin contributed and for all of his easy smiles he was very difficult.

Kevin blew air out of his nose, “Fine.” He sat down heavily on the floor, “Damn yankees.” He muttered that last part to himself. Nathan leaned back, “you’re local then, right?” “Do you like, protect this road?” Collie asked quickly. “You’re not dead, right?” “We’d know if he was dead.” “Speak for yourself,” Collie waved a hand dismissively at her sister.

“How’d you find her?” Nathan asked next.

“And what should we expect?” The other Alvarez sister wasn’t looking directly at him, but she was looking all around the van anyway, alert. Alert was something at least.

Kevin waved a hand in front of his face; they were lucky Kevin didn’t only save people that he liked. Kevin growled, “I’m sure she’ll be here and answer your questions.” “Does she talk?” The goggles sister, Collie, buzzed. She had a heart-shaped face, soft round cheeks, and an exceptionally soft mouth; Kevin looked away. “That would be perfect.”

“No, no talking. And I’m Kevin,” he finally said. “Who are you?”

“She doesn’t talk?” The alert sister noted.

“What else does she do?” “Tries to murder you,” Kevin responded tartly.

Nathan shifted, putting his arms on his cross knees and leaning forward, “but not you.” Kevin looked up at the ceiling, “look, I don’t know what y’all are doing here but-” “Isn’t that obvious?” The alert sister said, who he was also now classifying as the ‘Mean Sister.’ “-but this isn’t a joyride,” he finished bitterly, “I don’t want anyone getting hurt on my watch.” He looked down at his phone clock, 10:31. It’s still early, he reminded himself with even breaths. “On your watch?” Nathan repeated his words with relish, “God, look at this Diana,” he looked back to Alert Mean sister, Diana. “And Misty said this would be a bust.” He laughed.

Collie crawled closer to Kevin, “What’s up then? Are you not a ghost hunter too? You’re just like, a grumpy guy on this road?” Kevin pinched his brow together, “No.” He said ruefully, “I’m not a ghost hunter.” Nathan stretched his long neck back, “This is going to be fucking amazing. Anything on the instruments, Di?” Diana checked the instruments, she rose one eyebrow and shook her head curtly.

“Do you want to die?” Kevin burst out, sitting up straight and trying to hold their leader’s gaze through his tinted sunglasses.

Nathan chuckled, “Tell me,” he clucked, “What do you do with this ghost then, Nobody Man?” Kevin groaned, he felt like he was having several conversations at once and no conversations at all. “Kevin.” Was all he said, a stony tone that hung in the air long enough to settle into burnt quiet.

“Well, I’m Colleen Alvarez. You can call me Collie,” Collie broke the silence, “That’s my sister Diana.” “Older,” Diana added as if to explain something. “Right, I’m Nathan and you can call me Nathan.”

“I know. You said,” Kevin glared at all of them, “and have you all ever met a ghost before, ghost hunters?” Nathan and the Alvarez sisters all exchanged a poignant look. And then something started beeping.

Diana turned on her heel, “The EMF is picking up on something.”

“Woah!” Collie chirped as well. “The digital thermometer is shitting itself.” The temperature in the van rapidly sank.

Kevin ignored them and checked his clock, 10:37, she was early, but ghosts were rarely reliable. “Shit.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and a growl rumbled through the small space like a rolling thunder storm.

Here she came.

<===== Previous Chapter Next Chapter =====>

————–

Hey! Being a writer is a tough business and I could use some help so if you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or subscribing to my website or patreon

#ghost story #supernatural story #mlm #urban fantasy #original story #my work #original novel #the breakdown #LBTQ fiction

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softyoongiionly · 5 years

Text

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Four

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: College Au, Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, some moderate angst (later), smut (later later), slow-ish? burn

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This chapter features a whole lot of our sweet lil Yoongi 😊

Warnings for this Chapter: mentions of fear, anxiety, Y/N gets a little bit insecure, swearing (of course), suggestive language aka the tension begins!

Warnings for the Fic: mentions characters confronting their fears, characters in uncomfortable situations, emotional moments between characters, mentions of bad parenting, explicit language throughout the fic, moderate angst, and very explicit smut later in the story.

Chapter 4: Italian Opera and Platinum Hair Dye

The eye roll that you have just performed could have stopped time and space. You were sat on your couch, cross legged, with your phone in one hand while, your other hand absentmindedly ruffled Marzipans fur. After your classes, you had rushed home to insure that your apartment was in mint condition. The take-out containers were disposed of, the litter box was changed and, you had your favorite coconut scented candle burning in living room. Yoongi hadn’t shown up to class that day but, he was courteous enough to text you and let you know that he was still planning on meeting at your apartment that night. Attempting to be a miraculous host, you decided to text him and ask him what he wanted to eat. Ever the chatterbox, he replies:

Yoongi: Meat

Brilliant. Your eye roll comes to a close as you reply:

You: Will the canned cat food in my pantry work?

The chat bubble appears, signifying that he’s typing while you smirk to yourself.

Yoongi: I’ll bring the food.

You snicker, biting your bottom lip, your fingers hoovering over the keys. The fluffy socks adorning your feet wiggle against the arm of the couch as you respond.

You: If you insist.

Marzipan grumbles slightly as you push yourself off of your sofa. Yoongi wasn’t due at your place for another hour so, you decided to hop in the shower and wash the dust and post-apartment cleaning grime from your skin. Grabbing the towel from behind your bedroom door, you headed into the bathroom and turned the water on. There was an unfortunate bubbling in your stomach that was easily identified as nerves. Why were you nervous? It wasn’t a date or anything. It was purely academic. Yoongi was coming over because, his grade depended on it. You were letting him into your apartment because your grade depended on it. There wasn’t any reason to be nervous and yet, here you were. Despite this being a completely academic endeavor, you still decided to utilize the homemade coffee scrub that Y/F/N made you for your birthday. You never need an excuse to have soft skin. As the water washes down the drain, you towel off and apply some of your thick body butter that smells like cinnamon-sugar. This part was normal for your post-shower routine because, again, you never need an excuse to have soft skin and, you sure as hell never need an excuse to smell like cinnamon. You don’t really fuss with a lot of makeup: just enough to cover the blemish on your chin. After, throwing on a pair of leggings and an oversized t shirt, the clock read 4:45 which means: Yoongi should be about 15 minutes away.

Sure enough, you feel your phone vibrate as Yoongi’s name appears on the screen.

Yoongi: What’s your apartment number? I think I’m close.

You: Floor 22 Apartment 17C

Yoongi: Ok thanks.

That annoying bubbling returns to your stomach and, you breathe out through your nose in an attempt to calm down. This is actually ridiculous, guys don’t normally make you nervous and, Yoongi isn’t the only man that you’ve ever had in your apartment: Jimin is literally there all the time. You decide that plugging in your laptop and straightening up the couch is a good idea as, it will distract you from your stupid unnecessary nerves. There was an idea floating around your head regarding how to approach confronting your first fear. Opera wasn’t completely terrifying but, it did make you incredibly uncomfortable. However, in the spirit of the assignment, you decided to stomach an entire opera video and, attempt to listen and appreciate the music instead of, frantically trying to drown out the sound as you usually did. You weren’t entirely sure how Yoongi was planning to approach his fear of dyeing his hair. Were the two of you just gonna watch hair-dyeing tutorials or was he planning on dyeing his hair green? You giggle at the image of Yoongi with green hair as; you fold one of your throw blankets and place it over the back of your couch. The giggle escaping your mouth is cut short when you hear a gentle knock on your front door. Marzipan scurries off the couch and into your bedroom to avoid any unexpected social interaction, as you make your way towards the noise.

Swinging the door open, you see Yoongi standing there, wearing a long black hoodie, a black snapback adorned with silver rings on the bill and, some ripped up black jeans. In his hands, he’s gripping what looks like a takeout bag, the scent of which is making your mouth water, and another bag that looks like it came from the drugstore.

“Canned cat food, really?” His doll lips are curved into an incredulous smile, his cat like eyes disapproving.

“Be more specific next time.” You reply simply, taking one of the bags from his grip as you usher him inside. Yoongi slips off his shoes, his eyes peering around your place, almost as if he’s studying his surroundings.

“Nice place.” He comments, his tongue poking against his cheek.

“Thank you,” You smile before gesturing to takeout, trying to contain your excitement. “What are we eating?”

Yoongi sets the food down on your toffee colored coffee table, stretching his arms momentarily before he replies.

“It’s Chinese from that place on 88th street, you know the one with the dragon on the door?” He explains, his murky eyes narrowing slightly at his question.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen that place before but, I’ve never actually been in. Are they good?” You start pulling the different dishes out of the bags. There’s orange chicken, teriyaki beef, spicy pork, and, absolutely no sides.

Yoongi is nodding vigorously, his mouth already full of his own side of beef. You giggle, shaking your head at the options before you.

“You weren’t lying when you said wanted meat hm?” Your fingers wrap around your chopsticks, as Yoongi finally swallows. He shrugs his shoulders, his chopsticks searching for another bite before settling on a sticky orange piece of chicken.

“I never lie.” He responds before biting into the chicken. “Unless my roommates and I are playing poker, in that case, I lie very well.”

“I can imagine you having a pretty severe poker face.” You concede, smirking slightly. “How much do I owe you by the way, for the food?”

Yoongi’s soft features wrinkle slightly as he shakes his head, waving you off.

“Don’t worry about it”

“No, really, how much? This is a lot of food, plus you had to drive through the city and shit to get here. At least let me pay my half.”

Yoongi rolls eyes, already chewing a new bite.

“Don’t worry about it.” He insists, his gaze pointed and certain as he continues. “You can get the next round if it makes you feel better.”

Sighing and swallowing, you surrender, too hungry and flustered to argue.

“Well, thank you.” The gratitude leaves your lips as, you start on another bite of tangy chicken.

You and Yoongi settle into a comfortable silence, the two of you picking off every last bit of the meal. Your gaze settles on the other mystery bag that Yoongi had brought with him before nodding to it.

“What’s in the other bag?” Your curiosity gets the better of you as you use a wet nap to wipe your hands.

Yoongi’s head turns to where your gaze was directed at before he turns back to you.

“It’s something for the project. I’ll show you in a sec.” You nod before moving to clear the trash from the table. After gathering it into the takeout bag, with Yoongi’s help, you take the empty containers to the kitchen and, throw them in the trash chute.

“Do you want anything to drink?” You call to Yoongi as you peer into your fridge. “I have water, juice, soda, and I think there’s some Soju that my friend left in here.” Jimin had come over the night before to try on his different showcase outfits and, he ended up having to crash on your couch because, he got a little too tipsy.

“Water’s good, thank you.” Yoongi’s soft voice echoes toward you, his gaze fixated on his laptop as he turns it on.

With a bottle of water in each hand, you make your way make to the living room and plop yourself down on the fluffy cushions.

“Ok so, we have Opera and dyeing your hair so, should we just play some Italian opera while we watch a hair dye tutorial or something? You offer, giggling lightly. Yoongi scoffs, his finger stalling on his mouse pad.

“Are you only afraid of Opera if it’s in Italian?” He teases, looking over at you, his expression clearly one of judgement.

“No,” you insist, rolling your eyes. “It’s all horrible. I’m just not totally sure how we should do this.”

“I think we should start by explaining our fears.” Yoongi begins, his chocolate eyes shifting focus. Leaning forward, he sets his laptop back on your coffee table before he looks your way, a smirk starting to form on his lips. “Like, you could start by telling me why you’re afraid of Opera.”

You grumble slightly, biting back a smile, your eyes finding his as you let out a sigh of defeat.

“Fine,” Your posture shifts on the couch so it’s slightly pointed towards Yoongi, your feet tucking up onto the cushion. There was a physical sense of discomfort taking over your body as you prepared to tell this story, regretting slightly that you even put Opera on your list in the first place. It wasn’t exactly a fear; it was an extremely severe aversion. “When I was little, my parents used to work insanely long hours; like 15-16 hour days. So, every day, my grandma would pick me up from preschool and I would stay at her house until my parents were off work.” Another sigh leaves your lips as you push a hand over your face. There’s also an audible groan as you look over at Yoongi for mercy. You conclude that he is, in fact, a cat in human form since he seems to delight in your upcoming misery.

“Mhm, go on.” His tone is encouraging but, his eyes hold all of the sarcasm that they normally do.

“Well, my grandma was sort of, wild. She was really cool and everything but, she didn’t exactly act like a typical grandma. She made me dinner and helped me with my schoolwork but, there were some nights, after I went to sleep, that she would have a friend over, sometimes, multiple friends.” You can feel yourself wincing, letting out a frustrated groan. Yoongi’s disposition remains the same as he stares at you, stifling a laugh as he waits for you to continue.

“Her and her friends were very loud so, in order to drown out the sound, she would play Opera throughout the whole house. Her bedroom was right next to mine so, the Opera did nothing but, provide background music to the sounds of my grandma getting her rocks off, on the other side of wall.” You sort of rush out the last part of your explanation, your cheeks flushed with disgust as you flop against the back of the couch. By this time, Yoongi’s rickety laugh has made an appearance, his hand clutching his stomach lightly as he shakes his head.

“So, you’re afraid of Opera because it reminds you of your grandma…” He begins and you find it odd that he’s unable to finish the sentence, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Having sex?” You finish giggling “Yes. Oh my god it was horrible and, my 3 year old self didn’t realize what was going on. It just sounded like my grandma was like…exercising? Ugh I don’t know.” You and Yoongi are both giggling at this point and, you feel warmth inside of you that you attempt to ignore. “It wasn’t until I was 8 or 9 that I finally realized what she was doing and, by then my parents had started me in daycare.”

“That’s…really gross.” Yoongi concludes, still chuckling lightly as he takes a sip of his water. You nod in agreement, your body shifting towards him slightly.

“It really is.” You nod to him, your gaze turning slightly mischievous. “Ok I think that’s enough childhood trauma for now, what about you?”

Yoongi simply shrugs, his expression returning to his normal unimpressed disposition.

“Baldness runs in my family.” He responds, deadpanning you.

You roll your eyes, an airy laugh escaping your lips.

“Fair enough. Well, I’m prepared to listen to like…I don’t know…a full opera song? Do you want to…watch hair dye fails or something?” You suggest whilst Yoongi leans over and grabs the bag on the floor. He casually pulls it open and empties the contents onto your couch. You can easily recognize the brushes used for hair dye and a few bottle of pigment tumbling out of the bag.

“Wait, do you actually want to dye your hair?” Disbelief flickers over your face as you stare at the contents on the couch, Yoongi shrugs again, pouting his lips in thought.

“I definitely don’t want to but, we’re supposed to confront out fears so, I figured I’d go all out.” He explains rather casually, picking up the box in front of him. It was then that you noticed Yoongi’s color choice: Platinum Blonde. “Also, my roommate said he’d pay me $50 if I did it.”

“You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?” You had to admit that you were surprised. Yoongi didn’t really strike you as someone who took many risks, as he always seemed rather underwhelmed by everything.

“Well, I’m not doing anything; you’re going to do it.” He explains, eyebrows raised in your direction.

“What if I mess up? I don’t want your hair to fall out?” You counter, eyebrows raised back at him.

He cringes slightly at the thought before shaking his head, a breath escaping his nose.

“My hair won’t fall out, and even if it does, it’s not a big deal, I’ll just hate you forever.” Yoongi’s gaze is playful but, his tone is unchanging as he nudges the supplies towards you.

You roll your eyes, picking up the box, your eyes scanning the instructions. It was a 5 step process that promises to take hair from “the darkest black to the shiniest platinum in under 2 hours!” That sounds incredibly gimmicky and, you feel nervous at the thought of actually messing up Yoongi’s hair. It’s so pretty and soft-looking and you really want to run your fingers through it. And pull it. Hard. You feel your eyes widen at your own inner monologue and Yoongi smirks at you.

“You good?” He inquires, his head tilted, a smirk still playing on his mouth.

“I’ll get some towels.”

A few moments later, Yoongi is sat on a chair in the middle of your living room floor. Earrings have been removed, towels have been laid out and, your laptop is open with a video titled ‘The Best of Opera Masterpieces. 6 Hours of Classical Music Nonstop.’ Who the hell wants to listen to Opera for 6 hours? Your hands were covered on black latex gloves and, you have your hair tied up in a bun on top of your head. In hindsight, confronting your fears at the same time wasn’t the best idea because, you were nervous enough just dyeing Yoongi’s hair but, with Opera music playing in the background, your anxiety level was at 9000. Yoongi however, couldn’t be more unbothered, he’s sat on one of your two dining chair, phone in hand, scrolling through a site that appeared to sell music equipment.

“Ok, I think I have everything set up, are you ready?” You ask him, one of the bottles in your hand.

He nods, eyes still trained on the screen.

“Go for it.”

Your fingers start at his black tresses, moving pieces to the side before squirting some of the purple liquid on his hair. Yoongi leans forward and presses play on the video, Opera music filling the room. You wince at the sound but, you do your best to focus on the task at hand.

“Ooh, this one is in Italian. Are you sure you’re going to be ok?” Yoongi jests as you continue working on his hair.

“Shut up.”

The rickety laugh finally makes an appearance before, the two of you settle into a comfortable silence. You work through the discomfort radiating throughout your body whilst diligently applying the dye to Yoongi’s raven locks. The task of dyeing his hair is actually helping you focus on something, rather than just cringing at the wailing coming from your screen. Things were going pretty smoothly until you feel Yoongi’s figure shaking lightly. Your eyes scan over him before you realize he was bouncing one of his legs rather vigorously and, it was causing his head to move too much.

“Stop bouncing your leg, I’m going to get dye all over you.” You nudge him lightly, giggling before moving to apply more dye to untouched hair. Yoongi stops for a moment before, immediately starting to bounce his leg again, smirking as he does. Without thinking, you tug on the dry part of his hair lightly and, immediately the room thickens with something you didn’t want to identify. Yoongi makes a sound in the back of throat that sounds like a very faint…whine?

“Oh shit, Yoongi, did I hurt you?” You peer over his shoulder in concern and, see that his cheeks have been decorated with a pretty intense rouge. His dark eyes shoot up to yours for a moment before looking back down at his phone. He scoffs.

“No but, I’d like to keep as much hair as possible so, don’t be ripping it out please.” He doesn’t sound irritated, he sounds, for the first time, like he’s nervous. “Is this song getting to you yet?”

A smooth subject change forces you to ignore the bubbling that returned to your stomach. Although this feeling was slightly different than the one you felt before Yoongi arrived.

“Actually, it’s not that bad. I think dyeing your hair is distracting me from wanting to vomit.” You explain, an airy laugh passing your lips. Your fingers brush over Yoongi’s ear as you smooth his hair into place. The action causes his neck to erupt in goosebumps and, you feel your mouth curve up into a smirk.

“Are you cold or anything?”

“N-no, I’m fine.” Yoongi’s voice sounds shaky but, his focus is zeroed in on his screen so, you can’t tell is he’s lying or just distracted.

After about 30 minutes, Yoongi’s head was covered in purple goop and, the onyx color was already lifting from his locks. He had mercifully stopped the video, deciding that almost an hour worth of Opera was enough. In the bag, there was also a hair cap that you were currently securing to Yoongi’s head. You lean down towards him checking to make sure his hair was completely tucked into the plastic. Yoongi visibly shrinks away from your figure as you near him and you feel a little drop in your stomach. Oh. That’s never a good sign. Quickly leaning away from him, you nod to the clock on his phone.

“What time is it?”

His eyes glance towards the top of his screen before he replies, his voice laced with sleepiness.

“It’s almost 10, how long do I have to keep this stuff in my hair?” His brown eyes look upwards as if the action would allow him to see his scalp.

“The box says 45 minutes.”

He nods before rising from the chair, stretching his limbs as he does so.

“Ok, I’m heading out then.” You sort of flinch at his abruptness, moving to the side as he gathers his belongings.

“Oh, we’re not finishing it here so; I can see how it turns out? I need to know if I should change my major to cosmetology.” The joke passes your lips whilst you force disappointment to the corner of your mind.

Yoongi smirks slightly, packing his laptop in his backpack.

“I’ll text you picture when it washes out.” He promises as slings his bag over his shoulder, fishing his keys out of the front pocket.

You nod, meandering along beside him as he walks toward the door.

“Ok, well, thanks for the food and everything. I’ll see you Tuesday?” You offer, attempting to make your voice sound casual and Yoongi flashes a small smile your way.

“Yeah, I’ll be there. Thank you for having me. Have a good night.” He waves, his mouth doing the [: thing again as he steps out of your apartment.

“Yeah, you too, drive safe.”

Yoongi turns back and waves before sticking his headphones in his ears and getting into the elevator.

Stepping back inside your apartment, you couldn’t help but, feeling a little…weird? Like, obviously Yoongi was your classmate and the two of you were only hanging out because, you literally had to but, you had been entertaining the thought that the two of you could at least be friends. However, the way Yoongi behaved towards the end of the night led you to believe that he wasn’t really interested in forming any sort of relationship with you and, that didn’t feel great. You were attracted to him so, maybe you had also thought of other things that slightly stepped over the friendship line but, your mind was quite certain that someone like him wouldn’t be interested in someone like you. It would be nice to be wrong though, for once. At this bit of self-depreciation, you decide to stop yourself. There was no way you were going down that road again. You had spent far too long comparing yourself to others and looking down on yourself and, you weren’t about to fall back into those patterns. You are you and, that’s enough.

Cleaning up your apartment doesn’t take long but, by the time you finish throwing the towels in the hamper, you feel the familiar pull of exhaustion on your body. Marzipan has already perched herself on the towel beside yours and, that confirms that it is in fact, time to sleep. As you lay in bed, pants removed, hair in a newly made bun, you send a few memes to the group chat you share with your best friends, eloquently named, Bros for Life (Jungkook obviously). You giggle to yourself as your friends, mainly Jungkook, start contributing to the conversation with some of their own fresh memes. You fall asleep an hour or so later and, if anyone asks you definitely didn’t dream of Yoongi and his stupid smile.

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Sixty-Six: Five Thousand Dollars ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Pretty in Pictures ] [ AO3 Link ]

Typically, he’s not the sort to flaunt his money. The Uchiha - or, well...some of them - have always been rather affluent, sticking fingers in as many pots as they can manage in their home city. Even Itachi has been making a name for himself the last few years as a budding politician, eyes set on the mayoral title. He’s even been building up assets to look the part, dating some model for the last few years now.

Politics...aren’t really Sasuke’s speed, though. His father is the chief of police, and his mother runs a charity, hosting fancy parties to build funds for this cause or that. Fugaku is one of the most highly-respected people in their city...at least, in most eyes. And Mikoto is beloved for her social work.

Sasuke, at least so far...hasn’t quite decided what he wants to do yet. Fresh out of high school, he’s been taking a year off to “consider his options”.

And by that, he really means...wander aimlessly for a year, having absolutely no idea what he wants to do with his life. Fugaku seems to think he’s destined to join the force. His mother has always said he has a face for the same path as Itachi’s girlfriend (which always earns a scoff...from both himself, and his father). Itachi is the only one who claims he just wants his brother to be happy.

But...happy doing what? Everything he gives a try just feels...flat. Nothing sparks his interest. Sure, he could just get any job for money’s sake, and for something to do. Money, however, isn’t really an issue. At least, not yet. And if he’s going to do something, he doesn’t want it to be a waste of his time.

For now, he mostly just plays the part of a socialite. Gets stalked by small-time journalists (which is mostly his brother’s fault for looking for spotlights), is forced to rub elbows with bigwigs by his mother at all her galas...and just sort of...glides through life completely without any sense of direction. Hoping that, one day, he’ll stumble upon something that gives him that spark. That...drive to follow through something.

Sitting at an outdoor table at a Starbucks, he heaves a sigh, drink half-empty and sitting ignored on his table. A thumb listlessly scrolls through his phone, reading some new piece that popped up about his brother. Some kind of apparent scandal with his sweetheart...yeah right. Do these people really have nothing better to do than stalk Itachi and try to dig up dirt where it doesn’t exist? Everyone knows he’s due to pop the question any day now…

“...called him, but he just...blew me off. You know how he is…”

Hearing a terse, desperate tone, Sasuke can’t help but glance up. A young woman just emerged, wallet in one hand, drink in another, phone pinned to her ear by her shoulder. Her cheeks are red, and she’s clearly been crying.

...what the hell?

Seeming not to notice him, she sits at another table, relieved of her burdens and switching gears. A hand takes the phone, the other letting her brow rest heavily against her palm. “...I know. Everything was in there. My laptop, m-my camera, my purse...thankfully I had my w-wallet on me cuz I was paying for parking, but just…” Her teeth grit, shoulders shaking. “...my life was in that car, Neji! A-and now it’s...it’s all gone! Ever since Father kicked me out, I’ve had to do this on my o-own. He wouldn’t even offer me sympathy when I called. Just...told me to file a report with the police. Didn’t even ask if I wanted to come h-home! It’s like I’m not even his daughter, Neji! I can’t...I…”

Words fade out into quiet sobs, and Sasuke glances around, feeling...extremely intrusive. But surely if he moves to get up, she’ll only be mortified to see someone’s close enough to hear her. He can’t hear the other end of the conversation, but the woman slowly calms, sniffling and nodding.

“I...I know. But I don’t want to -? I know that, Neji. But you’ve got your own problems. You don’t need to deal with m-me on top of it all. I’ll...I’ll figure something out. I just paid rent a week ago, I’ve got some time, I just…” The butt of her palm rubs at her brow, sighing heavily. “...I know. I love you, too. You’re really the only f-family I’ve got left, I guess. Hanabi hasn’t even texted to see if I’m a-all right. No...no, that’s all right. Thank you, though. I’ll...I’ll call you later. I just...I had to talk to you. I’m sorry. I know. I’ll...I’ll be okay. Give me a day or two to just...get things figured out. I need to go talk to the police, and...see where to go from there. Yeah. All right. Thanks, Neji. Bye.” Ending the call, she stares at her phone listlessly for a moment before setting it atop the table, folding her arms and burying her face in them.

...well that sounded...unpleasant.

Sasuke lingers, not sure what to do. So, sounds like this girl got robbed...and pretty badly, too. Add in a family that doesn’t seem to care, and she’s in a tough spot.

He’s attended dozens of his mother’s parties over the years. She does a lot of good, helps a lot of people. But this...this feels...different. Admittedly, he’s never seen the people her fundraising goes to help. But this? Right now? This is...tangible.

And just like that, he feels a spark. One of action. He can do something. He can make this right. He can really help someone…!

Carefully standing, he hesitates for a moment before just...approaching her table. “Uh...hey. You all right?”

Her head whips up, eyes wide. “W-what?”

“Look, uh...I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but...I was sitting just over there. Sounds like you’ve had a real shitty day.”

Though tense for a moment longer, his observation lets her wilt. “...yeah. That’s o-one way to put it. My car got broken into, and...just about everything got stolen. I work in, um...photography? My camera and my lenses were all stolen, my laptop...everything. All I’ve got is an empty wallet and a cell phone I can barely afford,” she murmurs.

“Well, uh...I happen to have some connections with the police, if...you need help reporting all this.”

That earns a questioning glance. “...you do?”

“Yeah. My...father’s the chief,” Sasuke admits. Usually a status symbol with most crowds, he almost feels...sheepish telling her now.

Her eyes flicker over his face, and then she brightens. “...you’re Sasuke Uchiha, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh...oh my gosh. I’m sorry, I…” She gives a short, nervous laugh. “I didn’t, um…”

“It’s fine. I’m not exactly a celebrity. That’s more my brother’s thing. I’m the aimless little brother.”

“I...t-that’s not what I -?”

He waves her reply aside. “It’s fine. I’m used to it. My point is...I’d like to help, if I can. Look, uh...how much was all that stuff worth, do you think?”

“Oh, gosh...um…” She seems to flounder for an answer. “...a few thousand, at least. I just started my new job, and…” Tears threaten to spill. “...a-and now all my gear is gone, a-and -”

“Hey, whoa, don’t cry. Here, it’s gonna be okay. Look, uh...we’ll go report this. But I won’t lie, I dunno how good the odds are you’ll get your stuff back.”

Her shoulders fall.

“...so, uh…” Reaching into a back pocket, Sasuke pulls out a leather-bound checkbook.

“...wait, w-what -? What are you -?”

“Your stuff got stolen because the police aren’t doing their jobs,” Sasuke cuts in, pen dashing across the paper. “And you might not get it back, because they’re not doing their jobs. That partly falls on me, even if I’m not one of them.”

“But -!”

“So, I’m gonna do this another way. What’s your name?”

Shock wipes her expression clean. “...Hinata. Hinata...Hyūga…”

Filling in the last space, he tears out the check and hands it over. The sum of five thousand dollars meets her eyes, which go wide. “That should cover your missing stuff, and give you a little buffer. But we should still report it. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find it. Maybe you’ll get some, or all of it back. Either way, though...that’s for you. From me.”

Hinata stares at the slip, clearly, still not quite comprehending. “...I...I don’t…” Slowly, her expression crumbles into more tears. “Why...why are you…?”

“Because I haven’t done a damn useful thing with my life so far that’s done anyone a lick of good,” he mutters. “I’ve attended fundraisers, I’ve given some money...but I dunno where it goes, or how it’s used. But this? Right here? I know what this is. I can see it. And maybe I’ll make one person’s life a little better. I need to pick a direction, and...maybe this is a good start.”

Left a bit speechless, Hinata tries to blink away the sting in her eyes. “This...this is the kindest thing someone’s...e-ever done for me. And it’s coming from a total stranger. I...I don’t know what to say…”

“Just say you’ll use it to get back on track. That’s all I want. And here…” He grabs a napkin, scribbling some digits. “This is my cell. If you need anything, or if something goes wrong, you call me.”

“...Sasuke, I -? I don’t even know you, I-I can’t just -!”

“This is what I want to do. Just...let me do some good in my life for once. Please? I get it, we don’t know each other, but...that’s sort of the point. Let me know how it goes, either way. I want to be sure you get back where you’re supposed to be. Okay?”

She stares at him, eyes puffy and cheeks red. “...I will. Thank you...so much. You have no idea what this...what this means to me…”

He just smiles. “You’re gonna be fine. And hey, keep in contact, all right? Maybe I’ll need some photos taken sometime, huh? Can’t let my brother have all the paparazzi to himself.”

In spite of herself, Hinata chokes out a small laugh, wiping at her eyes. “O-okay. Anything you need photographed, it’s o-on the house. Because I...I can never thank you enough.”

“Don’t thank me at all. I’m happy to do it. Now, let’s get down to the station. Maybe seeing my mug around will make them work a little harder, huh? Don’t want me reporting to daddy that they aren’t doing their jobs.”

Hinata looses another laugh. “I hope so. Either way, I just...w-want to move past this. And this will be a huge help.”

“Any time, Hinata. Any time.”

.oOo.

I was really stumped with this, I'll admit...then this idea hit, and poof, here we are! I know it's a bit of a cliche for the Uchiha to be rich, but honestly same with the Hyūga, so...here's a little twist: destitute Hinata kicked out by her father, and picked up by a stranger! But they aren't strangers now, are they? And Hinata has his number ;3 Anywho, it's VERY late, and I've got a VERY busy day ahead of me tomorrow, so I better get to bed. Someday I'll catch up with comments, and stop being a day behind :'D Life just has to slow down first, lol - but for now, thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #pretty in pictures [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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chimyoung · 6 years

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I’ll Try

As requested by @agylala7: what about the second prompt with Yoongi and OC, but where OC is the art student who smokes and Yoongi is the med student?

Here we go! This was supposed to be a drabble but it went over 2k so does it still count?

Warning/s: SMOKING (pls do not, take it from a smoker, it is very expensive and bad for your health), swearing, reader gets sick, mentions of gross sick stuff.

Paring: Med Student!Min Yoongi x Art Student!Reader

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for your peers to find you outside, under one of the large trees on the quad with a cigarette in your mouth. It was a well-known fact that you were a chain smoker, many of your professors and friends trying to lecture you on the detrimental impact that the nicotine had on your health, but you never listened.

Min Yoongi was one of those people who were trying to convince you to quit smoking, or at least cut back from two packs a day. At first he had started out by simply looking at you and telling you that the ‘cancer stick’ was going to kill you before you saw your first grandchild. He was a very blunt man, but that was probably what made you fall in love with him in the first place.

Min Yoongi was the complete and total opposite of you, with his natural black hair, no piercings other than his ears and no other body modifications whatsoever, he was not afraid to speak his mind or call people out on their bullshit. Yoongi dressed to be comfortable, and his outward appearance, although intimidating, was somewhat comforting. He was a med student who would never even think of putting a lit cigarette anywhere near his face.

You on the other hand, had bright red hair, a couple of piercings (your nose and lip) as well as your ears, you had tattoos all over your body and you were a very soft, outspoken person no matter what you looked like. You often dressed in a way that would scare people off, and it was a common occurrence for people to cross the road to avoid you altogether. You were a socially awkward art student who couldn’t really go ten minutes without a hit of nicotine.

“Large soy chai latte, no foam!” You called, finishing the order and pushing the to-go cup forward in time for the business lady to snatch it off the counter and completely ignore your polite smile. Seeing no more orders for you, you wiped down the coffee machine and moved out from behind the counter, joining Hoseok in cleaning the now empty tables. It was a late Tuesday evening, and the quaint little café that you worked at was beginning to start closing, ready to turn in for the night.

“Here, I’ll take that. You go talk to your lover boy.” Hoseok winked, taking the empty plates from your hands. Hoseok was much like you in his appearance, two full sleeves of tattoos to complement his spider bites and eyebrow piercing. He was your best friend and he was also a pain in the ass, often giving you a hard time for your crush on Yoongi, your polar opposite. Where you had fallen for a man who was complete opposite of you, Hoseok’s boyfriend, Taehyung, was very much the same as him, maybe with a few less tattoos.

“Fuck off, Hobi.” You spoke, but handed over the plates in any case, turning to see Yoongi sat in the corner with three empty mugs around him, typing furiously on his laptop. You assumed that the med students had an assignment or test of some sort coming up, explaining the urgent way that Yoongi was slamming his fingers against the keypad.

“Do you need another?” You asked as soon as you got close enough, taking a small amount of joy in the way that the man jumped, his hand almost knocking one of the mugs from their place beside him.

“Um, yeah. Just a latte, thanks. I’m nearly done.” He smiled up at you, watching as you collected the empty cups and plates, nodding as he spoke.

“No problem. It won’t be too long.” You smiled back, turning to walk away. Jimin had taken your place at the coffee machine, so you relayed Yoongi’s order before grabbing your packet of cigarettes from your jacket’s front pocket and taking your lighter from Jimin’s outstretched hand. You often left it laying around, and your friends ever so diligently continued to pick it up for you.

“I��m going for a smoke, I’ll be back in like 5 minutes.” You said, moving towards the back of the store, and out the back door, flipping Jin off when he made some comment about not getting cancer before he can draw up the next roster. Placing the cigarette between your lips and sparking the flame from the lighter, you inhaled the toxins, letting out a relieved sigh at the familiar burn. The tightness in your chest dissipated upon seeing the cloud of grey smoke leave your lips, blowing away with the breeze.

You were in a world all your own, thinking over the man who sat inside and what he would say to you when you walked back inside. He often left little notes on the napkins, other staff at the café passing them along to you. At first you were a little put off when you read “EXPOSURE TO SECOND HAND SMOKE KILLS NEARLY 50,000 PEOPLE EACH YEAR IN THE U.S ALONE”. Though as time went on, the little notes became more frequent, facts about cigarettes and the deadly impact that they had on the average human. Now you had begun to expect them, somewhat looking forward to them in your own morbid way. Stomping out the now finished cigarette, you exhaled the lung full of smoke, waiting a little so that you wouldn’t smell too strongly of smoke, before you made your way back into the café, finding Yoongi gone but a note left in his place, folded in half with your name scratched onto the top in his usual scrawl.

“What did he leave you this time? His number? The national quitting help line? The number to some sort of a funeral service?” Hoseok asked as you unfolded the paper, smirking at the newest note.

“TABBACO ADDICTS ARE MOST LIKELY TO CONSIDER QUITTING ON A MONDAY. MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE COME IN YESTERDAY?” It read, making you giggle quietly at the absurdness of the fact.

“Nothing of your concern.” You quipped, walking towards the front doors to lock them and flip the open sign to close.

The next time you spoke to Yoongi, you were sat under the largest tree on the quad, a lit cigarette in your mouth, and two finished ones stamped out beside you.

“You are going to die an incredibly early death if you continue smoking at the rate you are.” His voice cut through your thoughts, halting the movement of your pencil on your paper.

“We’re all gonna die Yoongi. When, where or how is undecided. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, and that would have nothing to do with my smoking habits.” You said, smirking up at the man and taking another drag.

“You are as bad a Namjoon. I’m just pointing out that the likeliness of you living to the ripe old age of 45 is pretty low.” He spoke back sarcastically, beginning to walk away once more. You laughed at his statement, taking one final drag from your cigarette and putting it out, half finished.

“Now I might make it to 46!” You exclaimed, smiling at him and picking up your pencil once more.

“Maybe. It might take a little more than that though.” He quipped.

“I’ll try.”

You went the next few weeks without seeing Yoongi, too swept up in work and your classes to even bother looking for the man, and with the stress of three back to back major assessments, your smoking increased as well. Probably getting you to where you are now.

You had been with Hoseok, Taehyung and Jimin when you began to feel short of breath. You had been dealing with a pretty persistent cough for about two weeks now, putting it down to coming down with a head cold or something, but this was different. Your chest was tight, and your coughs were racking through your body, the other boys looking over at you worried.

You had managed to grab a tissue from the coffee table in front of you, and pulling away to find a yellow-grey coloured mucus was concerning. Even further concerning was the fact that specks of blood covered the small area on the tissue.

“Okay that’s it. You’re going to a hospital. I don’t care what you say.” Hoseok jumped up, moving to wrap his arm around your waist and walk you out of your apartment, the two younger boys following. Your wheezing only seemed to get worse, as did the tightness in your chest and it wasn’t long before you were groaning with the effort it took to inhale.

Reaching the hospital seemed to take less time than you remember, Jimin and Taehyung jumping from the car to grab you whilst Hoseok went to find somewhere to park. Jimin was supporting you while Taehyung ran ahead to get some help. You had barely made it through the front doors before there was nurses grabbing at you and putting you on a hospital bed, wheeling you away from your friends. You made it into the ER, two of the nurses talking to you to tell you that a doctor would be on his way soon, and that they were going to be taking your vitals.

“Okay, honey, can you tell me your symptoms? How long have you had them?” One of them, an older lady, asked, smiling down at you in comfort.

“Um… I feel like I can’t breathe, my chest feels really tight. I’ve been coughing for about two weeks now and it’s had mucus and only just recently I’ve been coughing up blood too.” You tried to explain, trying to ignore the feeling of passing out.

“I’ll take it from here, Joy. Hello miss, I’m Dr Kim. I hope you don’t mind but there is also a medical student with me as well,” Another smiling woman approached leaning over you to inspect. “Have you had any trouble sleeping at all, or a fever perhaps?”

“Yeah, but I just thought it was a head cold or something, nothing too serious.” You said, your words coming out in between pants. You were finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.

“Okay, just a couple more questions. Are you a smoker at all or have you been exposed to cigarette smoke regularly over the time of your illness?” She asked, the sound of scribbling drawing your attention away from the woman. You couldn’t see whoever it was so you turned your focus back to the doctor.

“Uh, yeah. I smoke.” You said, a little ashamed with the way this woman was looking at you.

“Okay, how often? As in, how many packs a day do you think you average?” She questioned further.

“Maybe two, usually. But I’ve been really stressed lately so maybe more.” You spoke, trying to remember just how many packets you had gone through in the past three weeks.

“Hmm.” She hummed, pulling her stethoscope out and listening to the rattling of your lungs as you inhaled and exhaled on her command. She said a few more things before a nurse came over and demanded the doctor’s presence.

“Okay, you can probably finish this. Give your diagnosis and check it with the primary and the head nurse.” Dr Kim said to whoever the med student was. There was a noise of affirmation and a new figure stepped into your line of sight. Min Yoongi had his most disappointed look printed across his face, looking down at you in the same way your parents would.

“So from what I can tell, you’ve got chronic bronchitis. Not cancer, thank god. You’re probably gonna need some respiratory antibiotics and inhalants, and pulmonary rehabilitation. That means quitting smoking.” Yoongi spoke softly but he was stern, letting you know he wasn’t up for any of your bullshit. He waved down a nurse and told her of his diagnosis, watching as she pulled a breathing mask over your face and went to go grab the head nurse in charge.

You were still stunned but you nodded, your eyes never once leaving him. He was still so attractive, even when he was obviously tired and upset with you.

“You know, if you give up the smoking, I may just ask you on a date.” Yoongi spoke so nonchalantly that you almost thought that you heard him wrong.

“I’ll try.” Your voice was muffled but he understood you perfectly.

“I suppose that’s all I can ask.” He brushed your hair off of your forehead and further shocked you by placing a kiss on the now exposed skin.

“I’ll be back later. Try and get some rest for now.” He looked over at you, almost as if he didn’t want to leave as much as you didn’t want him to leave.

“I’ll try.”

#min yoongi #bts min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #bts suga #bts suga x reader #bts au #bts angst #bts fluff #tw: smoking #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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destielstuffandthings · 6 years

Text

Chapter 26, Heaven And Hell

“NO!” Sam yells. He pulls his gun and fires into the chest of three demons. Knowing it’ll slow them down, at best. He runs over and stabs the black haired one in the chest with the demon blade, Dean makes quick work of the other two by exorcising. “Gabe-hey hey-hey, it’s ok. You’re gonna be ok.” he lies to himself. Gabriel is bleeding out, bright white light shining through it cuts that occupy his flesh. “Dean, HELP!” Sam begs. Dean looks down at his baby brother with tears in his eyes. “Sammy...he’s not...” “NO GABE PLEASE NO!” he chokes out a scream. Gabriels body goes limp in his hands, his terrified eyes stay on Sams face as the light leaves his.

“Sam. Hey, Sammy boy, wake up.” Gabriel grabs Sams arm. Sams eyes fly open and he lurches up out of his nightmare. Breathing heavily, sweat pours down his face and chest. He closes his eyes tight trying to shake the images of Gabriel dying out of his mind. “Fuck.” he whispers, running his hands through his sopping wet hair. “Everything ok, baby boy?” Gabriel asks quietly, running his hand down Sams back. “Bad dream.” he barely whispers. “Wanna talk about it?” the angel asks. “No. Not even a little.” Sam says while turning and wrapping his arms around Gabriel and pulling him down into bed, holding him tight.

Dean is sitting at the table cleaning his gun. He picks up a rag and wipes the handle. “When Gabriel showed up in the motel with us, he mentioned something about ‘angel on angel’ torture. Should you be worried about running into some bad eggs in heaven?” Dean asks Cas who is looking at pictures of cats on Instagram. Living with Dean has made him more human and he ever expected. He looks up from the laptop briefly. “It had crossed my mind. It’s a possibility, but the ones on Earth are the ones doing the torturing. Everyone is heaven is either trying to rebuild or--” he chuckles at a kitten falling into a basket of pillows, “or trying to track down the rogue angles and make them see sense.” Dean sets his gun down with a thunk. “Are you seriously still looking at cat videos?” he asks, pushing the laptop cover down. Cas looks up, very irritated. “They make me happy.” he states bluntly. Dean rolls his eyes and picks his gun back up. “Cas, I don’t like this. There’s too much room for things to go sideways and I ain’t losing you.” he cocks the gun and puts in his waistline. “Dean, I will be fine. The one we should be worried about is Gabriel. Taking the tablet out will be nothing like extracting his grace. It will be far more complicated. Not to mention extremely dangerous.” Dean sighs. “Jesus, Cas. You got any good news or is to all doom and gloom?” Cas smiles. “Yes, I have some good news, Dean.” “Yeah, what’s that?” Dean scowls. “I love you.” Cas’ smile widens. Dean holds back a grin and mutters “Love you, too.”

Sam and Gabriel join them in the main room in the bunker. Tensions are high so, of course, Gabriel is cracking jokes and being overly sarcastic. Sam has barely let go of his hand all morning. Gabriel keeps calling him out on it, saying he’s a clinger and makes a joke about going to the bathroom together. But he knows why he’s doing it, he’s glad he’s doing it. Cas and Dean haven’t left each others sides, either. Their shoulders seem to be held together by the strongest magnets on Earth. They’re all silently saying “be careful” to each other, either that or “goodbye”.

“Well, ladies and ladies, I think it’s time.” Gabriel finally chimes in. Sams worried eyes fly to his angels. Gabriel puts a hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes. “I promised, didn’t I?” Sam nods his head slowly. “Cas.” Dean says to his angel, nodding his head to the bookshelf across the room. They walk away hand in hand, giving his brother some privacy. “Gabe--” The angels finger rests on Sams lips. “I know, baby boy.” His lips replace the finger and press a soft kiss against Sams. Wrapping their arms around each other, their kiss deepens. Dean looks away, feeling embarrassed and focuses his attention to Cas. “Everything will be fine, Dean. I promise.” He lifts a hand to his humans face and caresses it softly. “I know..yeah I know. I love you, Cas.” he says in a low tone. “I love you too, Dean.” Cas leans in, breathing deeply and rests his forehead on Deans. Dean reaches a hand up and places it on the back of Cas’ neck as he kisses his forehead. “Let’s go.” Dean calls to his brother. Gabriel holds Sams hand, Cas places his hand on Deans shoulder.

Suddenly, they’re in front of a small, empty play ground. A little boy is sitting alone on the see saw and looks over to them. “Raziel,” Cas calls out. “it’s good to see you brother.” Sam grips this angels hand tight. “This is good,” Gabriel whispers to Sam, “Razzie here is Gods keeper of secrets. He’ll help us.” he says to reassure his man. “Castiel. Gabriel. What are you doing here? And with the Winchesters?” The little boy slides off the see saw and makes his way over to the group. “We need safe passage into heaven. We have to tablet.” Raziels’ eyes widen. “Really? Because I heard you handed it over to the demon scum to get him back.” he spits, pointing a sharp finger at Gabriel. “It was a fake.” Sam blurts out, trying to defend his angel. The angel cocks his head to the side. “Smart. Never take you Winchesters for granted, I guess. Where is it?” the little boy asks, cocking his blonde head to the side. “It’s right here.” Gabriel pats his chest. “It’s IN you? How?” “Long story.” Dean states bluntly. “We’re kinda sitting ducks out here. Can we get on with this?” Raziel nods. “Just the angels. I’m not letting you two-” pointing at the human brothers, “-poke your noses where they don’t belong.” “That’s fine, Raziel. I have another favor to ask of you. Once were in the gate, I need you to take the boys back to their home. If demons haven’t figured out were here by now, they will soon.” Raziel nods again, walking over to the sandbox. He waves his hand over it and the sand begins to swirl. Blue and white light mix with the sand as it starts to rise. An opening appears. “Gotta go, baby boy. Be back before you know it.” Gabriel squeezes then lets go of Sams hand. Cas gives Dean a meaningful look then walks over to Gabriel, placing his hand on his shoulder. They walk into the opening together.

Just as the dust begins to settle they hear a voice. “That was really somethin’ to watch, boys.” They all turn and see a girl about fourteen years old sitting on a swing, digging her toes into the dirt. She places her hand over her heart and pouts. “So, so touching.” she sobs sarcastically. “They’re already in.” Sam yells. “You can’t touch them. Missed it by about five minutes.” he scowls. “Better luck next time.” The demon hops off the swing and walks slowly over to them. “Stop right there, bitch.” Dean warns, pulling his gun. Raziel steps behind Sam. “Now is that any way to speak to a child?” she says, faking a frown. “I may have missed the kegger, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun at the after party. I don’t think Cas or Gabe would like it if I fucked up their pretty little boy toys.” she snarls, pulling a knife from her jacket. “How’s about I carve your hearts out slow so you scream for your feathered bitches. That outta get their attention. Plus, I owe you one for faking that tablet. Good job, by the way, you had us for a minute.” Sam pulls out his knife, the blade shines in the sunlight. “You really wanna do this?” Sam asks darkly. The demon takes a step back. “Yeah, three on one doesn’t seem that smart now does it?” Dean yells out. “Three on one?” the demon laughs. “More like one on one. I brought enough for the whole class.” Two more demons step out of the trees and stand next to the girl.

Sam and Gabriel are in a white hallway lined with a hundred doors. They look around trying to get some semblance as to where they’ve landed. “We need to move.” Cas says bluntly. They start jogging down the corridor. “Where exactly are we going?” Gabriel puffs. “The archives. That’s the safest place in heaven and where the tablet needs to be stored.” Cas responds. “This way.” They round the corner and come up on a glass door at least twenty feet tall. “Dad was always so ostentatious.” Gabriel scoffs. “What are you doing here, Castiel?” a voice asks from behind them. They turn to see Eremiel. “Ermy, baby, good to see you!” Gabriel says cheerfully. Eremiel turns to Gabriel, her eyes soften. “Gabriel? You’re alive?” She runs over and hugs him tight. “I never thought I’d see you again. I’m so glad you’re here.” She lets go and steps back with a confused expression. “Why are you here?” “I’ll tell you inside.” he says, pushing the enormous door open and walks in. It closes with a thunderous boom. “We need to be quick.” Castiel says, walking over to a table with a large metal chair. He pushes it over to Gabriel. “Sit, let’s get started.” “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Eremiel says in an annoyed tone. “Well, here’s the long and short of it, sweetheart.” Gabriel begins as Cas sets up.

Dean grunts as the tall redheaded demon crashes against his body. They fall to the ground and he looks over to the side, seeing Sam being pinned down by a short but rugged teenager in a football jersey. He’s reaching for his blade but it’s just out of reach. Raziel is squaring off with the original demon. It lunges towards him with a scream. He easily moves out of the way, the demon landing on the ground. Raziel stands over the demon, bending down he lays a hand on the demons head. She screams and shakes as her eyes turn to liquid. Sam and Dean are in a losing battle against their demons. Sam is half conscious and Dean is bleeding from his leg. He reaches out and slides a rock at the dagger, skittering it towards Sam. He grabs it fast and plunges it up into the jaw of the demon. Sparks fly and he screams out, then slumps down on Sams body. He tosses it back to Dean who lifts it up and stabs the demon hard in the temple twice. They lay there, covered in demons and blood breathing heavily.

“It’s in you? Gabriel what the--there had to be a better way! This could kill you!” Eremiel yells. Gabriel smiles, “Aww, you still sweet on me, Erm?” he chuckles. “Don’t get you feathers in a fluff. We got this.” Castiel walks over with a piece of paper and a cloth. “Let’s get going.” He says worriedly. Eremiel stands behind Gabriel, placing her hands on his shoulders and holds him down tight. Cas looks at the paper and reads: “Aperi ego praecipio tibi. Ut det mihi ad tablet angelis Dei!” Castiels hand presses into Gabriels chest, fingers cracking through his ribs. He cries out in agony, screaming into the air. Cas pushes deeper into his chest. “I can--I can feel it.” he says breathlessly. His hand grasps it tight and begins to pull. Gabriels scream begins to shake the room. A chandelier the size of a small house shatters into a million pieces, raining down on them. The glass doors begin to crack, spiderwebbing up from the bottom. “HURRY!” Eremiel cries out, putting all her weight on Gabriel. Castiel slowly pulls the tablet out, the inscriptions burning a brilliant orange. Cradling it gently in his hands, he closes a white fabric around it and sets it down. Cas raises a hand to the wound and says: “Gratuiti vulnus sanandum est angeli. Recta faciet cum eo. Et restituet Dominus gratiam suam.” Gabriels chest glows a blinding white and and he lets out a quiet sigh, his head slumps back against Eremiel. She cradles it gently in her hands. A sharp ringing noise fills the room as Gabriels chest begins to close. His body jerks and shakes violently, then stops.

“We gotta get back.” Dean tells Raziel. He nods and reaches his tiny hand out to the brothers. They step forward and place their hands in his. “Thanks, for the help, kiddo.” Dean smiles. Sam gives the angel a soft look as Raziel nods and squeezes their hands. They stand in the bunkers main room facing each other. Dean lets out a deep sigh and grabs his leftover beer from last night off the table. He presses it to his lips and takes a long drink. Sam runs his hand down his face and sits down with a sigh. “How long do you think they’re going to be gone?” he asks. “No idea.” Dean mutters while shaking his head. They sit in silence for the rest of the right, just keeping each other company.

#supernatural #destiel #sam winchester #dean winchester #angel #heaven #latin #tablet

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solarbird · 7 years

Text

The Armourer and the Living Weapon, Chapter 3: the waiting game

Yes, it's Wednesday, not Thursday, but Thursday this week is Second Thanksgiving, so I'm posting this a day early. ^_^

[AO3 link]

This chapter is pretty violent, so I'm putting it under a cut.

Oilliphéist wandered through the upper halls of the empty Château Guillard. So this is where the other half has been living, she thought, dreamily. It's nice. She danced through the halls, with their old, grey walls, and their old... no... it's not all grey, is it?

Hello, she thought, turning the corner. New paint! Not fresh, not wet - dry, with sealed canisters full of more, put away, for the moment, obviously to be used later, blue, blue like her blue, blue not entirely unlike her own blue, and she put her hand up on it, comparing the colours, smiling - not the same, but well paired.

I wonder if Talon would let us live together, now, she thought, smiling, still so light, so calm. Ah, it doesn't matter, does it? Moira will make sure they will.

Oh, this room's red! A library? An office? A bit of both, maybe? Most importantly, an actual laptop, obviously the spider's home system, and she rushed over towards it, feeling as though she was gliding, so smooth, so light.

Logged out, of course, and in standby, and she had no idea what the password might've been, though the login - Danielle Guillard - made her smile, again. I'll take this with me, she decided.

Turning, she looking around the room, catching the scent of her other half, and keened a little, missing her so much more now, so much more, and that's when she saw her face - an old picture, not blue, but pale pink, and not truly her spider, her weapon, but Amélie, Amélie with him, Gérard, and she snarled from memory, and ran over to the frame, grabbing it, You fool, you wretched idiot, she is mine now, and...

...she realised she didn't care. At least, not presently - only in memory. She'd been so... jealous? Was that the word? No. But something, and now nothing. That was new. She'd hated Gérard - not that she'd ever met him - for every reason and for none, and had cheered when Widowmaker had killed him, her first kill outside training, so beautiful... but now, he was nothing, and the memories faded to grey.

She looked at the frame again. A photograph of a dead man and a lost woman, that's all. Irrelevant to her, to her spider, to her mission, and she wondered why she still held the frame, and she put it back down, back where it had sat before she picked it up, only disturbed dust revealing it had been touched.

Footsteps. Boots. Heavy, coming from the wine cellar. Two groups, she could hear them, the sound bouncing off the walls differently, six in each. The sound of ammunition and belts and guns. A silent alarm, triggered by the picture? Or just by her presence in the room. It doesn't matter. But then, she thought, neither do they. Target practice!

She smiled, broadly, readied her rifle, and relocated herself to a better position, just to see what they'd do - and what they did was demand surrender and open fire, with very little time between, but she was no longer there, and she returned fire, anticipating their dodges, watching them run side to side in such obvious, predictable patterns, and she made a game of it - this one, shot through the left eye, this one, shot through the right, this one, the centre of the forehead, this one from above, the final two in group one, up close, a domino shot, temple to temple to temple to temple, and she laughed, joyously and freely, bathed in blood and wonder.

She didn't even notice the Talon insignia until she was halfway through the second six, and it cost her a moment, a moment of grace, and for that, she grew angry, and so, she left the last one alive, constraining, for the moment, her delight in deaths, as she stood over him, his spine broken, his legs useless, her fangs, her two sharp blades, at his neck, not even blessing him with gunfire.

"Why?" she asked, "were you such fools?" as she doodled with one blade's tip along his carotid artery, imagining the blood it would draw with just the slightest bit more pressure. "Were you looking for her? You would've fared no better."

"...Em?" said the Talon soldier, through a cough. "...Emily?"

Oilliphéist tilted her head just a little to the side. Emily? Oh, of course, Emily. Who she once was, who she still was, though she hadn't even thought the name since reawakening. "Ooooooh, I remember you! Sven, isn't it?" Her smile shifted, just a little. "How's the new ammo working out?" She looked around. "Oh. Not well, I suppose. But I guess that's mostly my fault."

"Emily, why, why do you look like Widowmaker, have you been..."

"Ah, ah, ah, that's not an answer." She poked him, just a bit, with the tip of the fang. "I liked you, Sven. You always took such care of your rifles and pistols, they'd come back so clean, so nicely kept. I'd hardly have to work on them at all. So... why all this?"

"We thought... we thought you were her. Orders are to secure and kill or capture."

"Oooh, an upgrade for you, too? Orders-wise, at least? Last I heard, it wasn't a search, it was just... on opportunity."

"We're, we were supposed to beat anyone else to her."

Oooooh, very interesting, she thought. "So you don't know where she is either, then?"

"No, we don't. Em, please... Let me patch myself up, I'll say we attacked you first, that I'm sorry, it was our fault..."

"Oh, no, it's fine, Sven, I don't mind at all - it was an honest mistake," she reassured him, just before she sliced through his neck, and cleaned her blade, watching the blood pool so elegantly along the grout of the stonework, spreading everywhere as his eyes stilled and lost their sight. "Don't worry. Rest, now." She patted his head, and closed his eyes. "I'll find her. And I'll bring her home."

-----

"Wait, love - you're telling me... she's... your template? What's that mean?"

"It means," said the Widowmaker, "that they did not create me out of whole cloth. They... borrowed. They found what they wanted elsewhere, and copied it. From her, came my love of the kill. Amongst other things."

"So you're ... her, but turned up?"

"Oh, no. That part of me is her... but turned down. I cannot even imagine what she would be like, with that turned up."

Tracer shook her head, trying to imagine that, but not quite getting there. "And yet, somehow, she was," she gestured with her hands in no particular direction, "functional? And your lover."

"I was designed not to feel anything, except joy at kills. But... it was not always entirely so, and I realised, that was towards other people. In part - in this - she is not another person, she is me. Or, I suppose... I am her. And I could feel for her, because she was myself, and so I did."

Tracer thought it out. Wow, she thought. No wonder they didn't think of it. Who would? "So that's what..." She looked at the empty wine bottle next to the bed, leftover from last night. "That's what broke the seal, then. Freed the cork."

Widowmaker nodded, amused by the reference. "And it grew more difficult over time to pretend it had not happened. With her, I did not need to contain myself - not in my love of the kill, not in anything. With her, I could be free. And once I knew what she wanted, I arranged my best plan to make it happen, as a gift. Once she came for me, I'd planned to..." she struggled for words," ...return the favour, and help her herself the same way I freed myself. But if they have changed their methods..."

"Then it won't work. And you're just a defector, and she's coming after you, and that's all it's gonna be."

"Do not misunderstand, Lena Oxton. I love her. Differently - and more - than I love you. And she loves me still, I'm sure."

"Someone like that can love? Really love?"

"Yes. I am someone like that, and you already know I have found myself... burdened with love for you."

"Blimey, you're a romantic. Swept me off my feet with that. But..." She looked intently at her bedmate. "F'real? It's not just an act, anymore? I couldn't tell for sure if you'd actually started feelin' something or if it was just a whole lot better acting, but it felt like y'did."

Widowmaker blinked, stunned. "You... knew?"

Tracer shrugged. "It's not like we both don't like t'take a bit of pressure off, and hate sex is great sex." She smirked, and didn't bother to bring up Prague; she didn't need to. Neither of them would be forgetting. "And hey, the chance to pull a top agent out of Talon? I'll take that."

Damn you, thought the assassin, a little spike of anger flashing across her face. "And you have been making a fool of me. For... what? Information? Infiltration?"

"Somethin' like that. At least," she stressed, and paused, "...until everything shifted about six weeks ago and suddenly I didn't have t'fake it anymore." She wore a soft half-smile while looking into her lover's eyes, "That's about when it changed for you, too, innit?"

Yes, the Widowmaker thought, in shock, as her mind reeled. Damn you, yes. She shook her head. "I... I'd had no idea... I feel so..."

"Betrayed? Angry? Used? Funny comin' from you, love, you were doin' the same th..."

"Relieved!" the assassin cried. She leaned forward, and grabbed Lena Oxton around the shoulders, pulling the two of them together. "I am so... relieved." She started to shake a little, shaking that slowly turned into laughter. "We have both been horrible and terrible and manipulative of each other, and doing it so badly that we have both been caught in our own idiotic webs..." And she couldn't say any more through the giggles, because what fools, what fools they both are, and Lena found herself laughing with her, and they leaned on each other, laughing until tears fell.

"Oh, we're a bloody train wreck, you and me, aren't we?" said Lena, once she had her voice again.

"Yes," said the Widowmaker, wiping the last tear from her left eye, and she leaned forward, and kissed Tracer, gently. "We are a large jumble of wreckage strewn across the tracks, and Talon, I'm afraid, is sending another train."

"You really do love her?"

"I do. She has everything she's ever wanted, now, but it will not be enough - she'll want me, too. And I still want her, just as much."

"Well," sighed Lena. "She saw you first. You're both just lucky I've never been the jealous type."

"Perhaps, if we're very lucky - that might even help us both survive."

"But if she's a killing machine..."

"I am a killing machine."

"If she's a killing machine who can't put a bleedin' lid on it..."

Widowmaker chortled. "Yes."

"Then how's this gonna work?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

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