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malk1ns · 8 months

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36. things you said but didn’t mean (sidgeno)

tell me you're not over contractgate without saying you're not over contractgate...

thanks anon! the prompt list is here :)

Zhenya’s phone has been going off since the news broke last night.

He turned it off after he signed his contract and got confirmation it was received; he wanted to go to bed without constant interruptions, actually get some sleep after an emotional and exhausting couple of days. He hadn’t been that successful, but he’d at least woken up and for a few minutes been able to pretend that it was just a regular day, that nothing dramatic had happened to him recently, and all he’d have on his phone were the usual drunk messages from Sasha begging him to come back to Moscow early and a few good-morning emojis from Sid.

After he finished his tea, though, he couldn’t avoid it any longer, and he reluctantly took his phone into the living room, hoping that maybe the background murmur of the TV would lessen the blow.

It did not.

The TV is on, sure, but Zhenya had to turn it to mute—the morning news clashing with the constant pinging and buzzing as his phone frantically tried to alert him to every missed call, text, email, telegram, WhatsApp, instagram DM, snapchat, and tweet was giving him a pounding headache. And two hours later, he’s just barely climbing out from under it, deleting the majority of the notifications unread and focusing his attention on responding to teammates and the guys who are still lingering around Miami for the summer. The rest of the Russians and his family can wait—his parents will understand, and he doesn’t care about pissing Sasha off.

There’s one conversation that’s been pushed all the way to the bottom of his iMessages, inactive since yesterday morning. Zhenya’s scrolled past it a few times, but can’t bring himself to click on it.

Finally, when he finds himself actually contemplating responding to fans’ DMs with apologies for making them worry, he forces himself to open the last things Sid texted him, right after their fight.

hanging up on me? seriously?

this isn’t my fucking fault

and now you’re ignoring me? fucking awesome

whatever man. i don’t have to deal with this shit from you. i’m sick of your bs whenever you’re not getting your way. do whatever the fuck you want, i’ll find out what sorry team signs you tomorrow afternoon

Zhenya feels a little sick, reading it back now. He’d been so angry when he’d hung up on Sid, screaming at him like he hated him. Some of the stuff he’d said…he can’t blame Sid for being upset.

There are Flyers fans from their early years in the league who’d love to take notes on what Zhenya said to Sid yesterday.

Sid’s weathered Zhenya’s temper before, though—let him rant and rave and calmed him down with just the right words, and eventually, just the right touch. He’s always known when to leave Zhenya alone and when to engage, just like Zhenya knows how to handle Sid’s bursts of anger and the rest of his quirks. It’s why they work, it’s why they’ve always worked.

Now, though, staring at a conversation that hasn’t been updated in over 24 hours, Zhenya wonders if he finally said something that Sid can’t forgive. What else would have kept him from sending a message when he got the news that Zhenya was staying after all?

Screwing up his courage, Zhenya presses ‘dial’ and waits, holding his breath.

When it goes straight to voicemail, he wonders for a second if he really will pass out.

call me pls he fires off, sinking into the couch and rubbing his hand over his face when the message stays green.

He fucked it up for real this time, then. And now he’s tied himself to Sid’s team for the rest of his career, when Sid’s never going to talk to him again—or worse, he will, but in that freezingly polite voice he uses with annoying reporters and former teammates who have fallen out of his favor.

Zhenya wonders if Hextall would be able to trade him, even with the dramatics of the last 36 hours. Surely someone would be able to accommodate his new, reduced cap hit.

He’s not sure how long he sits on his couch, the TV playing soundlessly and his phone slack in his hand, but when his lock starts to turn, it sounds like a gunshot.

“Fuck,” Zhenya hisses, scrambling to retrieve his phone where it had fallen when he jumped. Probably Seryozha; old man never knows when to mind his own business.

When the door is finally open, though, the voice that floats through from the foyer is distinctly Canadian. “G?”

“Sid??” Zhenya says incredulously, jumping to his feet and almost tripping over his couch on his way to the hall.

Against all odds, it is Sid in his hallway, raggedy in his sweats and with bruise-dark circles under his eyes. He has one of his plain black caps crammed over his head, and the curls escaping from the sides are greasy.

“You’re staying,” Sid says, dropping his duffle. He looks small, shoulders uncharacteristically hunched in, and Zhenya moves toward him before he remembers what happened.

“I’m not sure you see,” he says cautiously. Sid seems skittish, darting his eyes around Zhenya’s condo like he’s never been here before. “I try to call, it’s voicemail. Sid, you’re here?”

“Oh, I was on the plane…I think my phone died while I was in the air, I don’t have a charger, can I plug it in somewhere?” Sid’s fumbling in his pocket. He won’t meet Zhenya’s eyes.

“Sid,” Zhenya says, concerned now, moving closer just as Sid sways forward alarmingly. “Sid! Jesus, come sit down.”

“Sorry,” Sid says faintly, letting Zhenya manhandle him into the living room and down on the couch. Zhenya remembers when they went to pick it out, how Sid had spent hours thoughtfully trying every couch in the store until the salesman looked like he was about to scream, before finally convincing Zhenya that this boring beige monstrosity was the right choice. He’d been correct, of course; this one is big and deep, and even ten years later still the most comfortable piece of furniture Zhenya owns.

“You’re sick?” Zhenya asks, plucking Sid’s phone from his hands and plugging it in. “Need water, maybe, or like, soup?”

“No,” Sid says with a deep sigh, settling back into the cushions and cracking his neck. “I’m fine. I’ve been traveling since last night, I haven’t slept…I’m just tired.”

“Last—” Zhenya snaps his mouth shut when Sid looks at him steadily. Last night, when his contract extension was announced. “Sid, I…”

“No,” Sid says firmly. “Listen. I get you were mad. I…well, I don’t know what it felt like, but I understand. And we both said some things…” He heaves a sigh. “I didn’t mean what I texted you. I’m not sick of you. I want to deal with your shit.” He looks down at his hands, twisted up in his lap. “I…you promised me. Do you remember?”

Zhenya does. After their first Cup, when they’d been so sure that they’d be back the next year, and the year after that. He and Sid had been tucked away together in a corner of Mario’s backyard, passing a bottle of shitty flat champagne back and forth and watching the sun rise. They’d been talking, but after a while it had faded to nothing, just quiet company, shoulders pressed together as the next day arrived.

“You’ll stay, right?” Sid had said abruptly, and Zhenya had looked at him, bleary-eyed and confused. “Here, in Pittsburgh. With me. You’ll stay? Even after your next contract?”

It hadn’t been a question that needed answering, in Zhenya’s eyes, but he’d answered anyway, leaning over and tilting Sid’s chin up and kissing him before whispering, “I stay always. Promise.”

He’d meant it then. He meant it last night, when he put pen to paper and signed away the rest of his playing career. He’d meant it when he was spitting invective at Sid over the phone, too, swearing he’d leave and sign somewhere the front office actually gave a shit about him.

“I never forget,” he says now, sitting next to Sid on the couch. “I’m so sorry, Sid, I’m like, I don’t know what I say to you. It’s such horrible things…I’m not mean, I swear. What do I do for forgive?”

When he looks over, Sid’s eyes are squeezed shut, but there’s a tear trickling down one cheek anyway. “I know you didn’t,” he chokes out. “I know, but…I was scared, G. I never really thought you’d leave me, and then…”

He opens his eyes and glares fiercely at Zhenya. “Fuck you for saying all that shit,” he spits, and Zhenya bows his head, because he deserves it. “Fuck you for doing that to me.” He sticks his hands in his hoodie’s front pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. Zhenya goes very still.

“I had to stop in Pittsburgh, on my way here,” Sid says, turning the box over in his hands. “I’ve had this…well, I had ideas, but we haven’t exactly made the most of the last couple of playoffs, so.” He snorts humorlessly. “We might not ever again, so I’m not sure what the point of waiting is.”

Sid flicks the box open. Inside there’s a ring, nestled in satin, shining bright. It’s gold, with beveled edges cut through with black striations, and thick; something that won’t look out of place on Zhenya’s big hands. If he knows Sid, there will be something on the inside—a date, maybe, or even a time.

“You don’t deserve this right now,” Sid says quietly, lifting Zhenya’s right hand and sliding the ring on. “And I’m not sure I deserve to be asking, either. But maybe that’s the point, eh? We’re still here.”

“Yes,” Zhenya says, splaying his fingers out to admire the ring, then folding his hands around Sid’s.

“Yes to what?” Sid asks, a bit of amusement lacing into his voice.

“Yes to everything,” Zhenya replies. “Everything, with you.”

#this one's weird; sorry i had a weird day!#sidgeno #hockey rpf #my writing #my fic

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gyusbambi · 3 years

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humph; han seojun (pt 5)

click here for humph masterlist!

story: frenemies to enemies to lovers, high school au

synopsis: seojun and you have known each other since kindergarten. you’re neighbors and even attended the same singing and piano classes. despite knowing each other for such a long time, you don’t enjoy spending time with seojun. even though you are aware of his unfairness, you keep spending time with him. when will you finally leave your childhood frenemy?

note: this is the last part of the series! i’m thankful for everyone who liked, commented and shared this fanfiction it really means a lot to me! through this series i gained many followers, i never imagined that this would get so many likes! again, hope you enjoy the last part and stay tuned for many other fictions hehe. humph! is a story inspired by pentagon’s “humph! / 접근금지”. originally, this is a seungyeon fanfiction, which i posted on my wattpad. words: ~4k

words cannot describe your current feelings. all you can say is that everything feels unreal and odd. indeed, you’re no longer able to focus on your work. all because of that night. all because of stupidly drunk han seojun.

why did you have to pick him up? why didn’t you just call someone else? thanks to his actions, you feel emotionally confused. not to mention, you are frightened to go to school.

can you imagine how awkward it’s going to be if seojun remembers the night? without doubt, your heart would get broken because you just know he’s going to apologize for kissing you. he’ll tell you it happened because he was drunk and definitely not because he feels anything for you.

memories from that night fill your head and it’s the only thing you can think of for the rest of the weekend.

not until your mother forces you to visit the han’s with her. no wonder you refuse to go, han seojun kissed you! of course, neither your mother nor your brother understand your panicked actions when you drop on your knees, hiding your face in your palms dramatically. both of them end up dragging you to the han’s, ignoring your annoying whines.

seojun’s mum greets you with excitement when you eventually arrive at their front door. stepping in with your trembling body, you look around in paranoia, checking if seojun’s home. while doing so, you fail to notice juyeong giving you a side glance with narrowed eyes.

you: chorong please pick me up from seojun’s house

quickly you type your friend a text message before entering the living room, where gowoon waves at you happily.

kim chorong: you’re at seojun’s?!

kim chorong: can i guess what you’re doing ;)

your phone rings two times in a row, making all eyes land on you. laughing it off, you put your phone on mute before typing chorong a reply.

you: ew no please just save me from here okay?

the conversation between the mums continue and suddenly your brother asks if seojun is home. gowoon replies that he probably got out of the shower just now, which puts you in a panicked situation.

i need to get outta here

but like always, the universes loves playing with you right on time because the next thing you see is seojun walking out of his room, dressed in jeans and a hoodie, hand ruffling his wet hair. trying your best not to make eye contact, your gaze darts around the whole room.

after greeting your mother and juyeong, seojun’s eyes land on your awkward figure. no longer able to avoid his gaze, you look right back at seojun, cheeks turning into a red color. you can’t do anything but blink since you’re extremely nervous. if he does remember everything from that night, you want to get swallowed by the floor beneath you. if he doesn’t, you certainly will try your best to remain calm and unsuspicious.

“do you have a moment?”, without waiting for too long seojun grabs your wrist after putting the towel away.

“f-for what?” you manage to speak as your panicked posture suddenly stiffens.

“science project.”, the boy comes up with an average excuse while trying to ignore the surprised looks everyone is giving him as he practically drags you to his own room.

what if he knows?!

from all the heart racing, you’re sure that you’ll end up in the hospital one day. it technically pounds heavily in your chest when you’re head is going through every possible answer you could give seojun when he asks you about the kiss.

after pulling you into his room, seojun closes the door behind you before pushing your body against it. in only seconds, his palm presses against it, right next to your face. it reminds you of the time when he questioned you about his motorcycle keys in the hallways. thankfully, his face isn’t as close as back then. you’re pretty sure, you would’ve fainted by now.

“so what about the science project, haha?” words finally leave your mouth when you realize seojun isn’t going to say anything but stare at your flustered face.

“about that...”, seojun mutters in a quiet tone as he leans in slowly. the only thing you can do is avoid his gaze while gulping, thinking that he probably remembers the kiss. yet, when he doesn’t stop getting closer, lips almost touching yours, you push him away in a swift move, eyes wide in shock,

“what the hell!”

han seojun doesn’t seem surprised. he only scratches his neck, eyes darting around his room before finally landing on your panicked figure,

“i had to do an experiment.”

“w-what experiment? are you kidding me?”

more confused than ever, you question with a flushed face. however, seojun sighs to reveal his exhaustiveness, hands hiding his face before rubbing his brow to ward off his headache,

“i- something happened friday night and i can’t stop thinking about it.”

acting like you don’t know what happened, you continue to look at him with confusion.

“i drank a little bit too much and can’t really remember anything except for one detail- but apparently someone came to pick me up and brought me home. i asked the worker who it was and he told me it was my neighbor.”

when seojun trails off and shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows you hold yourself back from letting out a relieved sigh.

he doesn’t know it was you. it’s like all the worries leave your body before the boy starts talking again,

“isn’t that weird? i mean why would my neighbor come to get me, it’s not like i’m close to any of them. also, which neighor? he said it was a girl around your height with y/h/c hair. the only neighbor that comes to my mind is lee minji but there’s no chance i could have kissed her.”

“you did what?”, although knowing exactly what he did, your eyes widden in horror when you notice that he remembers the kiss but not the person. seojun realizes what he just said and tries to explain everything in a rushed tone,

“look, i don’t know why i did it. i was drunk! besides that, i’m not even sure if it was her, or anyone! what if it’s just a false memory? or a dream?”

the young boy feels like he needs to justify himself to you when he catches glimpse of the worry hiding in your eyes. han seojun doesn’t want you to think that he would kiss anyone just like that. in fact, he wouldn’t want to kiss anyone but you.

but that’s not what you’re thinking at the moment. the only thing you can focus on is seojun’s statement leaving his mouth a few seconds ago: “i was drunk!”

of course, he was. how could you even have the smallest hope that he kissed you because he wanted to? ashamed of your expectations, you clear your throat and look away, playing with the rings on your fingers.

“oh man, that sucks!”, you chuckle falsely, “don’t worry about it too much. it could happen to anyone, you know?”

“i think about it day and night, thought.”, seojun rubs his neck, eyes fixed on the carpet on the floor.

“why? was it that special for you?”, laughing you push his shoulder playfully.

unexpectedly, seojun looks up to meet your eyes and blinks,

“it was.”

your heart drops. your body freezes on spot. your eyes stare into his.

hearing this shocked you, why was it special to him? without doubt, it was special to you too. precisely, you remember his soft lips on yours, warm touch on your face.

breaking the stare, you shake your head and look around, “just forget about it.”

after a short silence, your eyes finally land on something certain on seojun’s desk. taking a few steps closer, you are able to take a closer look at the item. picking up the polaroid picture, you smile at the photo of you sleeping on seojun’s shoulder in the bus. your arm was wrapped around his torso, his look fixed on you.

“where did you get this?”, turning around with the picture still in your hands, you show it to seojun with a happy face.

“o-oh that? the others took it while you were sleeping.”

“i didn’t know you had this.”

“yeah, i kinda just forgot hahahaha.”

“sure you did!”, suddenly kim chorong bursts into the room with a teasing smile,

“i’m here, y/n. but it seems like you don’t need me anymore.”

“why are you here?”, seojun frowns.

“she told me to come! it’s not always about you.”, sticking out this tongue, your friend shrugs and lets himself fall on seojun’s bed,

“what are we doing today? how about noraebang?”

brushing his fingers over the multiple lipsticks, seojun’s eyes focus on a certain pink one. hesitantly, he picks it up to take a closer look before putting it back to its place.

“do they have strawberry ones?”, he asks his sister who looks for something specific. gowoon asked his brother if they could go to the mall together, since she’s been getting into make up these days and therefore needs more products.

“what?”

“like strawberry lip balms.”

“why do you need one?” she laughs at her brother who seems a little unsure.

“just because!” seojun tries to hide everything when he notices his sister making fun of him.

when she eventually shows him the lip balms and he’s able to smell all of them, seojun gives up. the boy went through several lip balms but couldn’t find the right one. maybe he should just give up looking for signs.

“why is everyone so obsessed with them? y/n owns plenty of them, it‘s insane.“

juyeong, who happened to tag along with gowoon and seojun, lets out a sigh as he watches the older boy.

“she does?“, suddenly seojun is interested in something that juyeong says.

“absolutely. you can ask her, you know?“

“i should ask her as well! she seems to like make up!“, gowoon smiles excitedly.

although juyeong is aware of his sister‘s lack of skills in make up, he still nods almost to quickly,

“definitely, you should! you can come to our house since she‘s always home anyway.“

seojun no longer listens to the younger‘s conversation, but instead thinks about what juyeong said earlier.

running to get in class on time has become a regular thing for you. once again, your legs move in super speed in the empty hallways as you hold tight on your heavy books. not even realizing your open backpack hanging on your right shoulder, you struggle to breathe normally.

you become interested in your untied shoes while running and suddenly bump into someone else, because you didn’t look ahead.

in a swift move the person steadies you to keep you from falling. still, your backpack drops from your shoulder and causes all of your belongings to drop on the floor.

too distracted from the mess that got created, you quickly kneel down to collect your books and folders,

“shoot!” you mutter, extremely stressed from the fact that you’re losing more time.

“running late again, zombie?”

you realize it’s han seojun when he bends down to help you pick up your stuff. after collecting some of your folders and books, his eyes focus on a certain lip balm placed next to your foot. instantly he reaches for it with a frown, your books still in his other hand.

completely stressed out, you rapidly stuff all of your supplies into your backpack and fail to notice seojun observing every small detail of your lip balm. as you finally look up, you take your books away from seojun’s grip and hold them in your hands instead of putting them back in, so that you can save some time,

“thank you.”, before you can leave seojun stands in front of you, holding your strawberry lip balm. after smelling it, he raises his eyebrows at you,

“is this yours?”

“oh, yes! thanks.” unaware of his thoughts, you take the item from his hand with a smile and put it into the pocket of your blazer.

and then seojun just stands there, watching you sprint to your next class.

he’s about to lose his mind.

patting his skin dry with a towel after washing it with cold water, seojun’s gaze darts around the school’s gym. his eyes look for you in the big hall filled with students, who came to watch the basketball game. the young boy is sure to have seen you sitting in the first row with lee suho during the game. however, it seems like you are nowhere to be seen. did you maybe leave with lee suho?

frustrated and tired at the same time, seojun approaches his friend kim chorong only seconds after the game,

“do you know where y/n is?”

“y/n? i’m not quite sure. she was here during the whole game, thought.”, chorong shrugs with a small pout forming on his lips.

“how did she leave so fast?”, seojun sighs annoyed before someone suddenly hits his back forcefully,

“if you’re looking for y/n, she just left with lee suho.”, sua tries to hide her teasing smile.

“with lee suho? why? where did they go?”

“she told me she lost her bracelet and wanted to find it.”, sua crosses her arms,

“they’re probably looking in the hallways or something.”

hearing that, seojun instantly drops his bag and runs out of the gym hall, ignoring his friend’s calls.

“yah, where are you going? we’re gonna celebrate your win!”, kim chorong yells only to turn to sua after seojun is out of his sight. they both share a smile before high fiving,

“good job.”

“taehoon just called me. suho left y/n. she’s alone in the hallways, looking for that bracelet.”

“as expected, cupid team never fails.”

seojun slows down when he turns the next corner. finally reaching the hallway of the third floor, his steps echo in the empty area. it’s dark outside and many students already left the building right after the end of the basketball game, leaving only seojun and you in the dark hallway of the third floor.

eventually the young boy spots you near your classroom, searching for your bracelet with worried eyes. he notices how you run your hand through your hair, upset that you lost something so important. seojun hides behind the wall, still questioning if he should approach you. strangely, suho is not around which makes him question everything.

while thinking about leaving, seojun’s eyes land on a specific item placed right next to the plant on his right side. surprised, he picks up the flower bracelet, which he gifted you after he apologized on the last day of the school trip, and stares at it for a short while.

hesitantly, seojun finally steps out and approaches you with a more relaxed figure.

letting out a yelp, you turn around in a swift move when you feel two hands placing on your shoulders. with widen eyes you face han seojun standing only a few inches away from you. pressing a palm on your chest, you sigh in relief,

“you scared me. again.”

“looking for this?”, ignoring your annoyed eyes, he swings your bracelet in his right hand.

“how- where did you find it? i was looking everywhere!”, quickly you snatch it away from him to place it around your wrist tightly, making sure it won’t slip out this time.

“is it so important that you spend hours searching in this building?” seojun rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, “you should go home now. it’s really late.”

“yes. it is important to me.” you mutter and glare at the boy in front of you before thanking him.

after that, suddenly silence takes over the room. you are too busy adjusting the bracelet on your wrist, while seojun only watches you with a curious gaze. he seems to be lost in his own thoughts.

it’s true that he’s seen you wear it every single day.

he’s also certain about the smell of your strawberry lip balm. seojun is a little bit angry at himself, for remembering every small detail of the kiss, but not the face of the person he shared it with. maybe he’s just tricking himself about it. maybe it is actually you, who he kissed that night.

thinking of the only way to find out, the boy interrupts the long silence as he puts his hand into the pocket of your blazer, taking out the specific strawberry lip balm. you’re more than surprised and freeze on spot when he places the tip of the container on your bottom lip and applies it on your lips.

absolutely taken aback, you fail to notice seojun taking a few steps closer to you, his body almost attached to yours now. it doesn’t take him long to lift up your chin, enabling your eyes to meet his. they look into yours with so much intensity that your cheeks start glowing from the heat. once again, your heart pounds aggressively in your chest as the young boy nears his face to yours. from all your experiences till now, you feel the most nervous now. not to mention, confused from his sudden actions. (*insert “i’m the mood for dancing” by yuju*)

last time he was drunk and didn’t know what he was doing.

now he’s completely aware of his actions.

instantly you close your eyes shut, waiting impatiently for his lips to touch yours. both of you have been longing feel this feeling again, never able to get rid of the memory from friday night. seojun tilts his head slightly before finally placing his lips on your soft ones.

and in the exact moment, when he tastes the strawberry flavor on your lips, his heart speeds up, his hands hold your warm face, he knows it’s you. he realizes that it was you, who picked him up and you, who he kissed with so much emotion.

firmly you grip onto seojun’s t-shirt when your knees feel weak. as a result the boy only smiles against your lips before his hands move from your face to your waist, pulling you to his body. running one hand up and down your waist, he continues moving his lips against yours.

before you have the chance to move yours arms to wrap them around his neck, seojun slowly pulls away. you open your eyes to see him licking his bottom lip with a small smile. somehow you’re unable to meet his eyes when he lets out a chuckle,

“thought i wouldn’t find out sooner or later?”

“h-how did you know it was me?”, you whisper, grip still tight on his shirt.

“strawberry taste.”

his simple answer surprises you, “oh, right...”

seojun caresses your face in his hands as he notices your shy tone to make you look at him,

“why didn’t you just tell me?”

“i thought you didn’t mean it since you were extremely drunk.”

“ah, y/n. you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

hearing seojun suddenly laugh makes you even more confused,

“what do you mean?”

“you’re always so oblivious about everything like my feelings towards you.” seojun smiles at you adoringly and pushes a few strands of hair behind your ear.

“you-”

“i like you, y/n. have been the whole time.”

“you were always mean to me, how was i supposed to know?”, slighlty pouting, you push his shoulder playfully.

“you’re right and i’m sorry about that. i was so focused on hiding my feelings that i didn’t realize i was hurting you. i didn’t want you to think that i liked you.”

“you succeeded.”

“yeah,” seojun scratches his neck while looking into your eyes, “still haven’t gotten an answer from you, y/n.”

taking his hand, you rub the back of it before kissing his right cheek,

“i like you too, seojun.”

seojun melts. he feels his happiest and his cheeks turn into the shade of a tomato.

“look at us. who would’ve thought?”, you laugh at his shyness.

“not me.”, seojun smiles before pulling you in for another kiss.

the cold hair hits your face as you sit on a swing while seojun pushes you. swinging your feet with a big smile on your face, you glance behind your shoulder quickly to see seojun looking at you with adoring eyes.

“higher!”, you scream, catching the kids’ attention on the playground for a short second.

therefore, your boyfriend pushes you with more force as he tries to hide his amused grin, “as you wish, my highness. but you’re scaring the kids away, don’t you think?”

“feels like we’re kids again.”, you remember your childhood moments with seojun.

“enough for now. when is it my turn?”, seojun pouts playfully, still pushing you on the swings.

“i said ten minutes not five, seojun.”

both of you laugh hysterically at your remark before he firmly grips on the chain of the swing, making it stop abruptly. before you can turn around to look at him with a frown, your boyfriend places a kiss on your left cheek, causing them to turn into a shade of bright pink.

“i love you.”

“i love you too, seojunnie.”

that’s all seojun needs to hear before pushing you on the swing again, heart melting in his chest.

and in the end of the day he knows that you’ll always be there for him. and you know that he’ll be right there too.

the end!

this is the last part of the series “humph; han seojun”. firstly, i hope you liked the ending and the story in total. secondly, i wrote this story because i noticed that there aren’t many han seojun fics! i thank everyone for giving me all the love that i don’t deserve. thirdly, please stay tuned for more fanfictions! be aware that i’m open for requests, feedback and everything nice. love you and stay safe,

your writer renjunes

#the end #humph #frenemies to lovers #han seojun #seojun #han seojun fluff #seojun fluff #han seojun x reader #han seojun imagine #han seojun imagines #seojun imagines #seojun imagine #seojun x reader #true beauty #kdrama #kpop #hwang in yeop #hwang inyeop #fanfiction

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writertitan · 3 years

Text

Saturday Cartoons

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 2001

themes: semi-mature content, morning after fluff, some good old-fashioned friends to lovers

requested by anon

Sunlight peered curiously through Levi’s curtains and caressed your face and your bared shoulders, gently coaxing you out of whatever dream you’d been having, already long forgotten. Though your back is turned to Levi now, you feel his warmth radiating towards you. With a blush, you remember the previous night, how his warmth enveloped you and made you dizzy with pleasure.

It had been the first night together after prancing around each other idly for months and months, always flirting secretly with glances and touches, never following through. After all, it was a little unwise to sleep with a friend. Nonetheless, you’d been invited along to happy hour with Levi and your little group, laughing into the night with no care for the time. The Friday night happy hours were the best; drinks upon drinks after everyone got off of work, empty complaints about the trials of the day and sometimes the entire week, and no worry about needing to go back the next day to do it all again.

Last night, however, things were electric in that buzzing bar with Levi and your mutual friends. It was one of the only times that you could stare at him as much as you wanted. Other times, everybody else strived to be inclusive, group conversations forcing you to look between everyone equally. Gawking at Levi would have earned a few jokes, a few jabs at your expense. But as the night wore on, your friends all getting more and more tired, more intoxicated, wrapping themselves into more intimate conversations of pairs of two or sometimes three, you seized the opportunity to melt into a one-on-one conversation with Levi. And, with each drink, the two of you had gotten closer and closer, thighs touching, shoulders brushing, and you were happy. It came as a shock when Levi whispered in your ear that you had to be more discreet so your friends wouldn’t get suspicious, more of a demand than anything. The acknowledgment of where this was headed was a surprise. Usually, the two of you skittered around it, halted the flirting before it became too serious, too solid. Not tonight. He told you to wait until it was time to go, and then you’d catch an Uber together. All you did was nod.

Now here you were, in his bed, one hand tracing the edges of sunlight on his crisp sheets as you struggled to prepare yourself for the inevitable and awkward morning after.

Your head throbbed just a tad, only a mini hangover dulling your mind, which you were thankful for. It was nice to be able to enjoy the morning, breathing slowly and evenly as you replayed last night in your mind over and over, your eyes closed as you thought of Levi’s lips, his hands…

His hands.

Your eyes snapped open when you felt feather-light traces down your spine, fingertips caressing you softly, barely noticeable had you not already been awake. Your face got hot instantly, knowing Levi was awake too, and you contemplated whether you should turn around or not.

Silly, you thought to yourself, I should turn around.

So you did, your eyes finding Levi’s stormy ones as his hand retreated back to his own bubble of space. He looked a little embarrassed, as though he’d been caught red-handed, but he played it off coolly.

“Good morning,” you whispered, voice still raspy from sleep.

“Good morning,” he echoed, eyes unreadable for a moment as he regarded you. Again, your face heated up, not knowing what to do next. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to stay the night? Maybe he’d expected you to leave before he awoke?

“I had fun last night,” you said, honest as can be. Slowly, you realized it wasn’t as awkward as you’d anticipated. Levi was, after all, still a dear friend to you. Things had just reached a new level. You contemplated for a moment how that would change things going forward.

Levi didn’t respond, but you smiled brightly upon seeing the small upward curve of his own lips, a rare smile gracing his features. One thing you knew about Levi: he smiled with his eyes. Even if a smile didn’t play on his lips sometimes, you could always see it in his eyes.

The rare smile on his lips touched the smile in his eyes today.

A silence wrapped around you again, not awkward but not comfortable, but filled with something you couldn’t quite make out. Unspoken words.

“There’s...a brunch place across the street,” Levi started, clearly a little uncomfortable, “Are you hungry?”

As if on cue, your stomach rumbled and you hid your blush by burrowing most of your face into one of his pillows, eyes still on his as you smiled with pure embarrassment.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“How embarrassing,” you complained, but you laughed as the words tumbled out. You sat up, shyly keeping the sheets wrapped around you. “Let’s go. I think a Bloody Mary will help with my headache.”

Levi perked up at that, cocking his head to the side. “Hungover?”

“Not quite, but I guess I had enough to make me feel nasty,” you told him, easily slipping into a normal conversation with him.

“Wait here,” he muttered, and you catch the way he hesitates before throwing the sheets off himself to bare himself to you. Of course you’d seen it all last night, but it was different in the morning, in the muted daylight peeking into his room through his curtains. Bashful, you looked away, also wanting to respect his privacy as he pulled on his boxers.

While Levi was gone, you scrambled to dress back into your clothes. You hadn’t made it very far, only able to have put on your undergarments and shirt, before he was back with a bottle of water and a bottle of painkillers. The thoughtful gesture made you blush again and you smiled, shy and grateful, as you took them from him.

“Thanks, Levi,” you said, popping two pills into your mouth and chasing them with some water. You were sitting on his bed, legs tangled into the sheets once more for some warmth, and you gazed at him as he also sat back down to join you. “So, when are we headed out?”

Levi was quiet for a moment, his expression a little thoughtful, but you couldn’t read the other emotion there until he spoke up.

“I was thinking we could just order in. Eat it here? Maybe just hang out?”

The idea made you perk up, finally picking up on that subtle shift in the atmosphere around you. Of course things weren’t going to be the same after sleeping together, but there had been a part of you that had been so sure that things weren’t going to change too much. Levi was offering to spend more time together and it made your head spin.

Not just a one night stand. You’d never wanted it to be, but this felt almost surreal.

You found yourself nodding eagerly before you registered what was happening.

Levi pulled up the website and let you look through the menu on his phone, not so subtly leaning in close so your cheek pressed against his shoulder as you browsed. Being more or less on the same page, wanting to still spend time together and not disregard last night as a one time thing, had made the energy clear and the awkwardness dissipate. You protested with Levi when he paid for the entire order, offering to give him money, but he scoffed and told you to knock it off.

Neither of you made a move to leave the bed. Unlike last night, this mood was calm and relaxed, both of you leaning into each other as you sat up against the headboard and gossiped and resumed your conversation from last night while you were still out at the bar. It was so easy with Levi, always. The only difference now was that you still felt nervous to test the waters. You were side by side, shoulders together with one of your legs draped carelessly over his, but could you stroke his arm if you wanted? Could you rest your chin on his shoulder while he talked about his clueless new intern?

The doorbell rang in the middle of one of your own tangents and you hesitantly pulled away from Levi to follow him to the door. He had pulled on a t-shirt and some sweatpants to go and answer to pick up your breakfast, and you awkwardly swayed in the background just out of eyesight, still clad in just your shirt and underwear.

As you moved to sit at Levi’s small dining table, he gives you a questioning look and nods to his living room.

“More comfortable,” was all he said, and you agreed. You sat on his couch and helped him take out your containers of food, watching Levi turn on the TV and immediately flip to the channel still showing Saturday morning cartoons. Your breath can’t help but catch in your throat as you flashed a small smile; you’d mentioned in passing last night that you sometimes liked to watch cartoons on your lazy days. The fact that Levi had remembered made your heart flutter.

This time, you weren’t going to be so shy and question if something was okay or not. The energy around you both was constantly shifting, ebbing and flowing, but there was no denying it. Though the question hadn’t come up just yet, you felt it now, stronger than ever: this was a new beginning.

You felt more confident about the way you pressed into his side as Levi smeared jam onto some toast with a plastic knife, and mumbled a thank you when he gave it to you to snack on. He casually lifted his legs to rest on the coffee table, with you mirroring him, and the both of you rested your breakfast on your lap as you watched cartoons.

Levi, always the ridiculously fast eater, finished way before you did and moved to immediately clean up after himself, but found himself right back at your side moments later. This time, however, his hands were free and you watched him stretch his arms above his head, not-so-subtly moving one behind you on the couch, and then slowly moving down to rest around your shoulders. You leaned into him and offered him a bite of your pancakes, which he was happy to munch on. As if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Each action got a reaction from you. When he started stroking your arm lightly with his fingers, you rested your head on his shoulder, eyes still on the screen. When you were finished eating and he wordlessly set the container aside without getting up to properly clean up, not wanting to make you feel like anything less than a welcome guest, you were huddling closer into him, practically on his lap. You knew the two of you were feeling the same. Nervous, excited, confused.

Finally, during a commercial, you were building the courage to speak the words into existence. However, Levi beat you to it.

“Is this okay?” he asked, head tilted down to look at you, still resting on his shoulder. You blinked a few times to regain composure, biting your lip as you looked at him.

You knew what he meant, of course. Did you want to be here? Did you want to be like this? Was the direction this was going okay with you?

“More than okay,” you replied in a breathy whisper. Levi physically seemed to relax under you and you couldn’t help the small chuckle that left you. “I’m...really happy. I don’t regret any of it.”

“Me too,” Levi assured you.

You felt a hand in your hair, threading through it gently, calming you, a silent action to let you know that he was willing to give this a try if you were.

And you were.

#levi x reader #levi one shot #levi fic #levi fluff #levi fanfiction #levi ackerman #levi ackerman oneshot #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan #snk fanfiction #snk #levi

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heartybubs · 3 years

Text

EXHAUSTED

type — fluff

pronouns — caring!sapnap x f!reader | she/ her

warnings — readers body is not bigger than 'medium' cause it probably wouldn't go with the plot, i'm sorry <3

summary — y/n spends sapnap’s stream on his lap because he’s worried she’ll put herself under too much pressure, if he doesn’t look after her

a/n — can someone pls tell me, if i ACTUALLY enabled anonymous asks? i am lost lol. i also hate this so much

your head hurt, your hand felt numb and you were one more missed assignment away from crying. school was stressing you a lot since the year was about to end and they wanted to make sure that every student got through it despite covid-19.

it was only 6pm but you had been doing homework for more than 8 hours already, even seeing some of them turning into missing assignments because your teachers apparently thought it was cool to not have any structure and making them due to the most random times.

the last time sapnap had checked on you was when you guys had lunch. you actually didn't plan on eating anything before you weren't done with biology, history, maths and english but he forced you to eat something, claiming you wouldn't get done until tonight anyways and he was right. even though you hadn't eaten a lot, you were glad that your boyfriend took care of you when you were too stressed to do it yourself.

sapnap was currently streaming minecraft with his camera on. it was a chill stream after he had recorded a new challenge with dream and george and although it could've been distracting him from you, it didn't. he texted you almost every 30 minutes and asked you, how you were feeling and if you needed something but when he hadn't gotten a text back for a bit over an hour, he decided to go into the kitchen to check up on you.

"guys, i'll leave you for a quick second because i need to look after y/n. i'll be right back", was what he said as he got up and left his room. when he entered the kitchen, he closed his eyes for a second and sighed before he walked up to you. you hadn't noticed him yet because you had sunken too deep into your homework.

"hey babe", be mumbled softly, putting his arms around you. you didn't respond and only leaned back against him, which made him pull you closer. "you need a break, okay?"

you considered it and nodded slightly. "yeah, i'll just get on my phone for a few minutes", you agreed and went to grab your phone but a kiss on your shoulder made you hesitate.

"no, y/n. i won't leave you with your homework, we both know that the break wouldn't be a break if i did. you will come with me. i want you to come with me and chill for the rest of the day", he explained, grabbed your hand and pulled you from your chair to get you to follow him.

"but your stream—"

"don't be silly. they love you more than me but if you want i can end it, i'm cool with that", your boyfriend offered but you just shook your head.

chat could hear the door open, since sapnap had forgotten to mute his mic earlier and only a few seconds later, they were also able to see the streamer and his girlfriend of almost two years. as you got closer to the screen, you could read some of the chat and spotted a lot of messages directed to you, some even worried.

“i’m back and i brought y/n with me because she never listens and i need to make sure that she gets her well deserved break”, he told them and sat down on his chair. you were standing next to him, zoned out due to your headache but he didn’t mind.

two hands were positioned on your sides before nick pulled you on his lap, making sure you were comfortable and secure.

your legs were dangling on his left while your head was lightly resting on his right shoulder. your fingers were playing with one of the straps hanging from his hoodie while he continued the game he was playing. he asked you how you were doing and if you needed something but when you declined and he looked down at you, he could tell that you didn’t have enough energy left to ask for anything, so he pressed a soft kiss on your skin and ignored the chat calling him a simp.

there were times where the game got him really upset but he didn’t want to startle you, which is why he kept quiet every single time. he had a hard time holding back his singing but when chat told him to sing to you, to help you fall sleep, he immediately did.

“okay chat, fuck y’all for calling me a simp when i’m just trying to take care of my girl. i hate you for this”, sapnap said and put his arms around you tightly. “i’ll get off now, bye!”

he sighed quietly when the stream was finally done and halted before his gaze fell upon your peacefully sleeping figure. as he did so often, he kissed your forehead and got up to carry you over to the bed, when he noticed your eyes opening a little.

“i love you. please stop putting so much pressure on yourself, alright? good night, babe.”

#sapnap #sapnap x reader #dream smp #mcyt #sapnap x y/n #imagine #oneshot

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

Jason knows the second he’s pulled from sleep by a low vibration close to his head that today’s going to go down in the books as, to put it simply, a bad day. There’s a dull sense of pressure in his head, pushing lightly against the base of his skull, and his phone buzzing insistently beside his head is only heightning his overall awareness that he’s got one hell of a mirgaine trying to grow against his brain.

He slaps his hand around blindly for his phone, squeezing his eyes shut against the drum of pressure as he clumsily presses answer on his phone with a groan.

“Look, Dick Brain, I’ve already told you that I’m not teaming up with you lot of dumb birds tonight. I have my own shit, so you you all need to keep your shit to yourselves.”

“Master Jason?”

Jason isn’t prepared for the polite accent on the other line, one that’s distinctly laced with an air of disappointment. He shoots up in bed, his free hand flying to push against the alarming wave of pressure that’s blooming across is forehead. “Shit, Alfred. Sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“I assumed as much. Did I wake you?”

Jason clears his throat to rid the lingering dryness from sleep that’s coating his throat. He blinks slowly at the digital clock on his bedside table until his mind finally makes sense of the numbers and orders: 10:22 AM.

He contemplates lying for a breath of a moment only to chase the thought away with a shake of the head. Alfred will know; he always does.

“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “Guess I slept in a little.”

“Are you quite alright, Master Jason? It’s unlike you to sleep past 7 AM.”

Jason mentally supplies the words that go unsaid: ‘because of your nightmares.’ Sighing, he digs his fingers into his forehead, massaging around the blossoming pressure. “Yeah, just a headache.”

“Not one of your migraines, I hope.”

“Nah,” Jason tries for an airy attitude, one void of any concern, and to his legitimate surprise, Alfred seems to accept his answer, though hesitantly.

“If you’re absolutely sure...”

Deflect, Jason supplies to himself. “I assume Dick’s got you calling to do his dirty work?”

“Not quite. Master Bruce asked me to call when Dick informed him that you’ve been dodging his calls all week.”

“That’s new,” Jason mutters, swinging his legs over the bed and sliding to his feet. The sudden change in weight distribution elevates the pressure in his head. He swallows back a gasp, free hand finding the wall for support as he shuffles from his bedroom to his bathroom in search for pain killers. “What’s so important about tonight? Sounds like a standard drug bust that Dick can more than handle on his own.”

“Master Bruce would feel better if all of his sons were present tonight.”

Jason doesn’t understand Bruce’s mind, his logic and reasoning for his choices. He never has, and he gathers that he never will. He snags a bottle of pain killers and balances his phone between his ear and shoulder, ignoring to sudden shift of pain in his head.

“I have my own patrol, Alfred.”

“We’ll have all patrols covered, Master Jason. Your territory will be well looked after tonight.”

Damn, Jason thinks. If there’s one thing Alfred is good at, it’s his verbal reassurance, something so frighteningly powerful. He dry swallows a few pills and drops against the edge of his tub with a sigh, fingers raking through his hair.

“Fine. Will you send me the details?” He drags out each word slowly, making sure that Alfred knows he’s only agreeing because it’s Alfred asking.

“Of course.”

***

Jason’s head feels far too heavy on his neck, the added pressure weighing it down. The pain killers chased off the edge of the migraine for a few hours, but per usual, the pain came back stronger as the pills wore off, and he’s opted not to take more, not wishing to risk being slightly sluggish.

He walks up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian occupying a small corner down an alleyway, their odd meetup point. Tim’s seated, his back against a wall, and he’s yawning. Dick’s stood with his back against a wall across from Tim, his arms crossed, as he muffles a few light coughs into his fist. And, Damian’s standing closer to Dick with his right arm cradled close to his chest.

Tension trickles down to Jason’s limbs, and he grips his helmet a little tighter in his hand as he approaches. “The fuck’s wrong with you all?” His own voice is a drill in his head, piercing through the pressure and re-distributing it unevenly.

It’s Tim who opts to speak around a second yawn.

“Dick’s still recovering from the flu, and the Demon Brat hurt his wrist on patrol yesterday.”

“My wrist is fine, Drake,” Damian spits out, drawing out words deliberately.

“I assume you haven’t slept,” Jason mutters, nodding toward Tim, who’s slow to get to his feet.

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” Dick cuts in sharply, and Jason arches a single brow to the oldest, faintly curious. “You need sleep, Tim, or you’ll wind up sick.”

“Funny since you’re the one who’s running a low grade fever.”

“Grayson is competent, Drake, even while recovering from illness. He’s not so easily taken down by the flu.”

“And what are you planning on doing tonight, Damian,” Tim drags out lowly, and Jason shifts his faint curiosity from one idiot to the other.

“You can barely move your wrist.”

“I’ve been trained to be ambidextrous, Drake-”

“-Okay,” Jason calls out, the curiosity from before replaced with dull, familair annoyance that’s now mixed in with a hot pain swirling in his skull. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with, yeah?” He looks to Dick, a silent question to take charge, and Dick nods and turns on his heel, leading everyone to the hinted base for the drug ring.

“Father would tell you to watch your language,” Damian mutters at Jason’s side before he quickens his step to match Dick’s steady pace.

Jason flips him off and shoves his helmet over his head, swallowing back a groan when the added weight pushes the pressure in different directions. Nausea starts to tumble in his stomach, and he tries his best to steady his breathing, pushing his concentration away from himself.

“So, Timmy, what are the deets? Alfred didn’t say much.”

***

Turns out, Bruce’s hunch was correct, and all four were forced to hold their own against multiple, burly men, all of which got in numerous, painful hits before being taken down. The fight ended at the top of an apartment building across the street from the warehouse that was doubling as the drug storage, and Jason’s not sure he’s ever felt this much pain in his head, knowing that it didn’t help he let a few men get some solid hits to his face and temples.

The others appear to be, more or less, in similar conditions. Dick’s down on one knee, panting heavily. Damian’s paler than usual, and he’s got his wrist held tightly to his chest, and Tim’s swaying on his feet, looking about ready to drop any second.

Jason pulls a slow gaze around them, swallowing thickly around the bursting pressure that’s pushing hard against every inch of his skull now, swelling against his brain, leaving his vision fraying at the edges. He’s faintly aware that the others are talking amongst each other, but he can’t keep up with the conversation, not with the sudden roar in his ears that drowns out the voices around him.

The pain’s... intense. It’s all he’s able to supply, most thoughts breaking against the pressure. He takes a step back, fingers clumsily slipping under his helmet. His vision is graying now, blurring, and he tries to blink around it. He can see Dick get to his feet, see the older boy frowning at him. He’s saying something to him, but Jason can’t work his mind around reading lips. No, all he wants is to get the damn helmet off his head, but his hands are shaking too hard to be of any use.

He starts to feel hot all over despite the crisp fall air. He takes another, staggering step back, his legs struggling to hold his balance, to support the weight of his abdomen and head, and the back of his foot knocks hard into something. He only realizes that he’s bumped into the edge of the roof when he’s falling backward into open, empty space.

His stomach plummets in time with his body, bringing back his vision, sounds, his surroundings.

“Jason!”

He pulls his gaze from the tilting sky to see the others coming into view, and he wonders, briefly, if it’s the last thing he’ll ever see, but the thought gets josteled from his head when something small yet strong latches onto his ankle, followed by a loud, gasping cry.

His back slams against the side of the apartment building, bringing with it bursting, white hot pain across his head, but he manages to stay present, craning his neck up to see Damian crying and holding onto his ankle with his injured hand. Dick stumbles toward them, wrapping one arm tightly around Damin to keep him up on the roof.

“Jason! Do you think you can lean upward?”

Nodding, Jason breathes deeply around the pain and nausea, and he swings himself upward, arms flying forward until he’s grasping at the hands reaching out to him. Dick and Tim pull him up, and the second he’s upright, his vision grays until he blacks out entirely.

***

“Come on, Jay, open your eyes for me.”

Jason wants to be annoyed that the voice is waking him, but there’s something so soft and desperate in the tone, in the gentle touches at his face, so he decides to try and chase it.

“Bruce is on his way.”

That brings Jason back all at once, his mind reeling against pain, and nausea twisting so hard in his stomach. He leans to the side and vomits, mutely thankful that someone removed his helmet.

“Shit, Jason!”

He can feel a hand at his back, rubbing small circles, and when his stomach settles, he flops back onto his back with a groan, only faintly aware that his head is pillowed on Dick’s thigh.

“Jay? You with us?”

“Bruce says he’s two minutes out. He wants to know if we can make it off the roof.”

Jason realizes slowly that there’s a voice missing, and then memories flood agaisnt the pressure in his head until he’s jerking forward to see Damian sitting across from his, tear trackes evident against his cheeks.

“Fuck, Damian, your wrist-”

“It’s okay.” Damain’s voice is shaking, and Jason leans forward to pat Damian’s knee, unsure of what else he could do or say to properly express the heavy weight of appreciation for Damian saving his life.

“Jason, what happened? Are you sick?” Dick’s voice is laced deep with worry at Jason’s back, two hands planted firmly to Jason’s shoulders.

Before Jason can answer, Bruce is swinging himself over the ledge of the roof, fully suited, dark eyes shifting between each son, falling on Jason.

“Migraine,” he answers deeply for Jason. “Alfred suspected as much.” Bruce stops before him. “Can you walk?”

Jason nods and allows Bruce to pull him to his feet. He sways for a moment, swallows back the need to dry heave, and grounds himself, faintly aware that Bruce’s hand is just inches from his elbow. He doesn’t meet Bruce’s studying gaze, doesn’t fully breathe until Bruce breaks away to assess the others.

He watches, exhausted, as Damian argues with Bruce that he doesn’t need to be carried. He frowns when Tim stumbles into Dick, and Dick crouches down and instructs Tim to climb atop his back. He follows behind the others, listening in briefly to hear Tim grumble how Dick’s fever feels like it’s spiking, or how Bruce’s is tugging Damian tightly to his side and muttering reassurances under his breath.

When they reach the ground floor, his knees begin to shake, but then Alfred’s at his side, worried, arm tight around his shoulders, and he’s guided into one of Bruce’s many cars, squeezing in the back beside the others. Tim’s directly to his left, and he drops his head to Jason’s shoulder almost immediately. Jason nudges him forward just enough to slip his arm around his back, and Tim curls closer into him.

Jason decides that just for tonight, he’ll let him. He cranes his neck to see Damian similarly clinging to Dick, and he locks eyes with Dick, the two sharing a mutual, tired nod.

Dragging his gaze slowly forward, Jason squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the lull of the engine and not on the drum pounding in his head.

“Shall I drop Master Jason off at his apartment?”

“No, I want all of my sons at the manor tonight.”

#batfam #batman #batbros #sickfic #whump #whumpfic #dcu #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #red hood #nightwing #red robin #robin #hurt/comfort #hi dysfunctional family

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1kook · 4 years

Text

commercial break ; THREE

this is a netflix & chill drabble kook’s pov during their argument in d&b !

summary; But Jungkook loves the sun. warnings; post-fight, drinking, heart ache :( miscellaneous; everyone say thank u kim namjoon 🤩 word count; 1.5k

notes; a lot of people wanted to know his thoughts during the iconic d&b fight scene so here’s the closure we all needed </3

He knows he’s said the wrong thing the second the last syllable departs from his lips.

Jungkook doesn’t mean it, that much he knows right away, but even still… there’s a silent moment of shock between the two of you, one where even he is surprised by his own tongue.

You move first, phone whipping across the room.

Now Jungkook has seen a lot of scary things in his life. He’s seen horror movies and walked through a cemetery at night once. He’s come home way past curfew and had to face the wrath of his normally lenient father. He’s sat front row in his first ever college seminar. Yet none of that fear, that anxiety, that dread, compares to the level of emotion he feels wrap around his throat the moment you get up.

“___, wait,” he calls out frantically, hands shaking the further and further you get. He has to tell you he doesn’t mean it, that he would never mean it. But how do you follow up a statement like that? Even when he catches your eyes, beautiful irises colder than the bottom of the ocean, he doesn’t know what to say. He stutters through an excuse he wouldn’t have believed himself and watches you slip further away.

Jungkook can’t let you leave, not when you’re so hurt and he’s so confused, but what else can he say? He doesn’t know, and when you angrily send him back inside he feels every bit the scolded child. Funny how that works.

He calls and calls until he realizes the muted hum from upstairs is the phone you left behind. He’s crazy and in love, desperately scouring through your social media accounts for a sign you’re safe and home. (You were on Twitter three minutes ago, so that’s a relief.) But even then he can’t relax, turning his own words over and over in his head.

Jungkook values a lot of things in your relationship. There’s a beautiful understanding that comes with being in love, a new sense of comfort he’d never felt before. You make him feel warm and in love, keep him grounded when the world threatens to swallow him beneath its surface. You care for him and he for you.

Where those thoughts had come from, he didn’t know. All he knew was that one minute you were picking at the edges of his patience, and the next he was shooting a dagger into your chest.

Self-reflection, Namjoon had always said, the key point to understanding oneself. Usually, that’s followed by some tips on yoga, on calming the mind, but his leg won’t stop bouncing and there’s a boa constrictor wrapped around his throat so that zen mentality will have to wait for now. A harsh exhale, foot thumping against the floor.

Carefully, he unscrambles his thoughts.

There were times you were childish and, for the most part, Jungkook didn’t mind. You brought out the most beautiful things in life with just your laughter alone. You roped him into doing things he never could enjoy growing up, which made him rekindle his love for old hobbies. If sunshine was a person, Jungkook is sure it was you.

You were bright and ever-burning, always with a mission in your head, even if it was something as small as cleaning your windows that day. A star, he thinks, except your smile alone garners the power of ten supernovas combined. The amount of joy and euphoria you’ve brought him this past year was immeasurable. You made him smile, even when you were tired, rising every morning and setting every night dutifully just like the sun.

But too much sunshine could be hot, scorching even.

His mom had mentioned it once, very early into your relationship, how you were a little too childish for Jungkook. He had angrily defended you, stormed out of his parents' house like he was ready to leave them all for you. (Would he? He likes to think so.) But a mother’s advice always haunted one the most.

Yes, your youthful outlook made his life colorful and bright, but there were times he found himself wondering what it would be like to have someone… not as outgoing.

Someone plain and always collected. Someone who would gently remind him of his deadlines, and watch all his favorite documentaries with him. Someone like him, he supposed, who matched his interests perfectly.

It sounds awfully boring.

It sounds terrible to be damned to such a dull life, especially now that he’s had a taste of you. You, who brings laughter and sunshine everywhere you go, his amazing other half. He’d hate it if you always did what he wanted— he loves when you pick at everything he likes because you let him do it back! Jungkook’s head was a never-ending spiral— that much he’s known from a young age. But with you in his life, it became fun and exhilarating. Gone was the dark tunnel and in its place was a twisty slide with loops and turns that defied all laws of gravity. It wasn’t a scary place anymore and it was all because of you.

You, who he might possibly lose forever. His own negligence was to thank, an inability to voice small issues until they piled up and became this big, warped monster that no longer pertained to his original frustrations. It was an ugly thing, so twisted and vile, taking the thoughts he seldom had and weaponizing them against you.

Was that it? Had those mindless thoughts been the root of today’s brash decisions. Jungkook wants to blame it on that, but part of him knows it’s his own inability to share his feelings that led to that spontaneous outburst. There were obviously some things he still needed to work on, but pinning it all on you, his dazzling ray in the sky, was the worst move he could have made. Self-reflection, he repeats to himself.

His heart is still pounding in his ears, drumming obnoxiously loud as if it wants to torture him for his actions. His phone rings across the room and Jungkook lunges for it, hoping and praying it’s you.

It’s not.

It’s just Namjoon calling to wish the two of you a happy anniversary. “You two having fun?” he teases before Jungkook can get so much as a greeting in.

“Hyung,” he chokes out hoarsely, glancing down at the ground. “I-I said something to ___,” he whispers even though there is no one here to hide from but his own crippling thoughts. “And I don’t think she’s coming back.”

His voice cracks a little. He hides it with a gulp so dry it hurts. “What?” Namjoon asks. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook sighs, running a hand over his eyes. “Are you busy right now?”

—

“You need to go to bed,” Namjoon tells him, ambling the two of them up the stairs. Jungkook snorts, sliding against the entire wall on the way up.

“I refuse,” he announces. He has to pause on the next step because he’s pretty sure there’s about four of the same step whirling before his eyes. Beside him, Namjoon sighs. “Hyung, I can’t see.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes, deciding the stairs are too much of a hassle and guiding them back to the living room instead. “Couch,” he informs him before rather carelessly dumping him onto it. “Listen,” he begins, crouching down beside Jungkook. “It’s like, 4 AM… and I have work tomorrow. So I’m going to leave,” he says, slowly pointing in the direction of outside. Jungkook nods, even though Namjoon is definitely pointing upside-down backward. “Okay, JK?”

“That’s me,” he agrees, letting his head slump back against a throw pillow. Namjoon groans.

“That is you,” he concedes. “And you need to sober up before you try talking to ___ again.”

The mere mention of your name turns a switch on inside him. “Can’t,” he whines, features twisting up together. “She hates me. Will cut my balls off.”

Namjoon goes to protest but eventually stops himself. “Yeah, well. Probably.” Jungkook wails at his friend’s poor attempt at consoling him. “Sleep a little and then head over to hers, okay?” He pats him on the cheek once before finally making his exit.

Jungkook can’t believe this. How embarrassing. If you saw him right now, you’d clown him for getting this drunk off wine. But he truly understands it now. It was the devil’s drink, so sweet and cooling only to suddenly slap him across the face with his own insobriety. Oh, his head was going to ache badly later.

Well, that was a problem for later’s Jungkook, he decides as he slinks off the couch and back into the kitchen. There’s a new box of cherry vodka he’d bought just for tonight—or last night, technically—because he knows it’s your favorite. And well. He misses you so much he’ll do anything to feel close to you again.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the floor, swing after swing going down his throat until he’s got three extra fingers and a new middle name. Just that when the sun finally filters through, so warm and bright, he finds himself missing you again. His feet take him out the door before he can think twice.

The morning rays bring with them a wicked headache that almost has Jungkook throwing up into his bushes. Part of him, the last droplet of reason, tells him he should change. He’s wearing the same clothes from yesterday and they reek. Furthermore, the sun is hellbent on soaking up every inch of his black clothing.

He should change if he doesn’t want to suffocate in this heat, under this blazing sun in the sky.

But Jungkook loves the sun.

He walks on.

—

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #jungkook fic #jjk fic #mine

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demonsandmischief · 3 years

Text

Come Home To Me Part 5

Marvel - A Sam Wilson Imagine

Sam Wilson x Female Reader 1.4k Words

Here's Part 4 and my Masterlist for additional parts

-Part 5-

The ending.

----

You liked Washington DC. You liked Sam's house and being able to see the things he enjoyed.

It was also nice that you had the opportunity to be able to walk or ride the subway to wherever you needed. Even though there was a car for you to use, you couldn't drive. Sam had promised to teach you when he got back.

The only downfall was when he had to work. Sometimes he was gone for days. Two weeks had been the latest so far. It did give you a chance to find yourself beyond your sweet soulmate, but you always missed him terribly.

For this mission, it had been five days since you had last seen him.

You took boxing classes once a week to give you something to do. You considered getting a job, but you still were very uncomfortable and wary around other people.

It was also really difficult to sleep without him. The nightmares return full force. You didn't mean to be so attached to Sam, but how could you not, given everything that you went through?

You hum to the music as you eat some cereal for breakfast. Sam's place was full of old records, CDs, speakers. It was comforting to listen to the things he liked.

Sam: Miss you.

You grinned when you read the text. He had managed to call last night, and it had been so good to hear his voice.

You: Miss you more.

You could just push the messages right to his head, but you promised yourself you wouldn't when you learned they gave him serious migraines. Not to mention you had no idea what he was up to and you didn't want to be a distraction.

The TV program you had on in the background cut off to an emergency news broadcast, and even though it was muted, it still caught your attention. You turned up the volume.

It was definitely an adjustment to be without him, but you were learning lots of new things. How to cook and clean, different kinds of movies and TV shows. It was nice to feel like a normal person doing normal things.

Everything had been good recently, but that never lasts long.

"We interupt your scheduled program to inform you of the reports of a plane hijack containing US officials, including the Vice President. The plane has since crashed over Pennsylvania and is believed to be an act of terrorism. Captain America is believed to have been helping get the plane under control, but has not emerged from the crash site. Emergency personnel are on the scene."

You watched with horror as the cellphone video played, capturing your glimmering man falling from the sky before disappearing into the dust and flames.

You turned it off as a quick reaction, your heart pounding viscously in your chest. Your stomach threatened to turn, and your spoon hit the table with a clatter.

Oh god. Please let Sam be okay.

He had just texted you. He had to be okay. You cringed as the video replayed over and over in your head.

He had to be okay because you loved him.

Your phone ringing broke through your sluggish mind and you scrambled to get to it in time. It was an unknown number, but you answered.

"Hello?" you whispered.

"It's Bucky. Sam's been hurt."

A sob left your mouth but you muffled it with a shaking hand, "Is he okay?"

Bucky didn't say anything, only adding to your worry. You didn't even know Bucky was with him, or any of the details

"Bucky?"

"He's going to be fine, Y/N," he gave a tired sigh. "I'll come pick you up and take you to the hospital to see him. Is that okay?"

You nodded, before realizing he couldn't see. "Okay."

----

Sam was pretty banged up when you got there, but he was alive and you had never been so relieved in your life.

You sat impatiently by his bedside. The doctor told you his suit had taken the brunt of the impact, but he still hit his head pretty hard. Some of his ribs were fractured, along with his right wrist. He had been very lucky.

You dried your tears for the billionth time. Where would you be without him? Sam saved your life. He was your soulmate, your home.

You had dozed off in the stiff plastic seat when he woke.

He hissed as he shifted and stretched.

"Sam," you cried, reaching for his hand. "Don't move too much. Let me get the nurse."

"It's okay," he said hoarsely. "I'm fine. It's just a headache."

"You scared me," you whispered, feeling new tears. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Shh," he soothed, running his thumb over your knuckles and closing his eyes again. "I hate to see you cry."

----

The hospital monitored Sam's head injury for about a day before they cleared him to go home.

Bucky had stuck around and he drove you and made sure Sam was settled.

"Thank you for everything," you told him. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat before you go?"

He shook his head, "My girl is waiting for me at home. Let me know if there's anything he needs. You have my number now."

Sam was out cold. He was taking some medicine for the pain, and you felt beside yourself, not knowing what to do or how to help.

You had fallen asleep on the couch when you were startled awake by Sam standing over you.

"Jeez," you gasped, pushing yourself upright. "You scared the hell out of me. Why are you standing over me? Why did you get out of bed?"

Sam chuckled, "I'm sorry. You should have seen your face."

He nudged you over and sat down beside you, pulling the blanket onto his lap.

"Hey," you protested. "I was using that."

"Too bad. You have to scoot closer if you're cold. Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I don't want to hurt you, Sam," you protested. The cool air caused bumps to form on your arms.

"C'mon. You can't hurt me. Get over here before you freeze."

You hesitated. "I'll just get another blanket." You stood up, but he reached for you.

"Please, baby. I just need to hold you. I promise to tell you if you hurt me, okay?" He said it so soft and sweetly that you couldn't do anything but comply. Besides, all you wanted was for him to hold you.

You sat as close as possible without leaning too much on his ribs, resting your head on his shoulder as he wrapped his left arm around you.

He reclined the couch, and you adjusted the blanket so it covered the both of you.

It was pretty quiet, and you could feel yourself starting to go to sleep when he spoke.

"All I could think of was you."

"What's that?" you mumbled.

"When I fell, all I wanted was to come home, to be with you."

You hummed, reaching for his hand. He kissed your head.

"When I accepted Captain America, I accepted my fate. I told myself that I would be okay with dying, but now I have so much to live for."

You smiled, turning slightly to see his shining eyes. He leaned down for a sweet kiss.

"I was terrified when I saw that video, and then Bucky called me. Like I told you before, I don't want to be anywhere you're not."

He sighed, "There's always a risk. It comes with the territory."

"I know," you whispered. "And I know it'll never get easier for me, but we can handle it."

Sam nodded, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I'm surprised your sister hasn't personally come up here to beat your ass."

He laughed, wincing at the jostle it gave him. "That's only because you were around to tell her what's going on."

You smiled, "That laugh was payback for nearly giving me a heart attack."

Sam peeked down at you with another chuckle "You're a brat, but you're my brat."

You shuffled a bit so the blanket was pulled to your chin, a warm contentment settled over the two of you. He reached over to turn off the lamp.

"I do love you, Sam," you whispered very quietly into the darkness.

He groaned playfully, "You just had to wait until it was dark. How am I supposed to kiss you now?"

You giggled, a light happiness swirling in your stomach.

"I love you, too," he said back. "So much."

Tag List: @superwholockruleztheworld @imiiimargo @hiuahoe @idunnomayn @cable-kenobi @nialeesato @bklynxbaby @wolflover384 @mytbel0st @burnalley @heyarely16 @lilithknight1111 @loveyou5everr @yougottalovefandoms @lets-love-little-me @cxlpxrnia @daddyissuesmademe @queentorresstuff @spookycereal-s

----

Thank you guys for loving this series. I've been in such a mental slump and struggled with this, so I hope it ended okay. I appreciate each and everyone of you.

#sam wilson x you #sam wilson soul mate #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson #bucky barnes #anthony mackie imagine #anthony mackie #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #tfatws imagine #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #marvel #marvel soulmate #captain america x you #captain america imagine #sebastian stan #san Wilson x reader #sam wilson x female reader

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johobi · 4 years

Text

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious.

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience.

Yes, dismal is an ambience.

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him.

“Taehyung.”

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between.

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify. Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.”

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status.

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist.

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that.

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk.

He’s always doing this.

Always moistening himself.

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates. "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do.

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person."

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that.

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so."

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along."

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism.

"Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon."

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?"

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking."

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit.

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets.

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable. But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs.

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him.

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness.

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead. You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly.

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows.

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #v #v fluff #v scenarios #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #v x reader #v x you #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader

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katymacsupernatural · 3 years

Text

Under the Texas Sun Part 2

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary: Having been best friends with Jensen since kindergarten, Jensen has always been there for Y/N when she’s needed it the most. Best friends turned roommates, but will he still be there for her when things turn south? Or will his friendship turn into something more?

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

Two weeks later and you were completely moved into Jensen’s house. Your tiny little apartment had sold quickly, and you used part of the money towards your photography studio, saving the rest for a rainy day.

Moving hadn’t been too hard. The furniture in your apartment had gone to a thrift store, back to where you had first purchased it. Jensen had let you borrow his SUV, and it had only taken one trip to bring your most important possessions to his house. Your room was on the second floor, on the far side away from Jensen with a perfect view of the backyard. Your own huge walk-in closet and bathroom made it a perfect little oasis when you needed to get away from Jensen. Which wouldn’t be often, since he was still busy filming in Vancouver.

It had taken some getting used to, changing your living space from 600 square feet to over four thousand. His place was huge, and so freaking quiet when it was just you. You loved his living room, with the plush couches and the gigantic TV. A TV you would turn up a little louder than necessary, trying to drown out the silence.

Tonight was just like the other nights. A quiet dinner after a busy day at your studio. Wrapped up in your favorite blanket, you had the TV on while you scrolled through your phone. It was only Wednesday, and you were all ready for the weekend. To have your buddy Jensen back to help fill the void you were beginning to feel.

Just then your phone rang, Jensen’s face flashing up on your screen, and you picked the phone up, grateful for the distraction. “Hey, Jay!” You exclaimed, muting the TV.

You could hear people talking behind him, yelling and horns honking. “You must still be on set.”

“Yeah, it’s a late one tonight,” he muttered. “Just wanted to call and see how things are going with you. Settled in?”

“Fully,” you answered. “Even have my favorite chips in the pantry. Oh, and I bought ingredients for that casserole you really liked. Thought I could have that ready on Friday when you get in.”

You could hear the hesitation in his voice. “Listen, I don’t have much time, but that’s why I was calling. Looks like we’re going to have to work longer this week. I don’t think I’m gonna make it home.”

“Really?” You sighed, trying and failing to keep the disappointment from your voice. “Work that rough?”

“We’ve dealt with colds and weather. Even Baby got stuck in the mud. And to keep the episodes coming in a timely manner, we’re filming Saturday. But hey, I can make it up to you next weekend. Dinner at any restaurant you pick. It’s on me.”

You could hear them calling his name, so you let him go, staring down at your phone long after he hung up. You had been really looking forward to this weekend. To spend some time with your best friend. Some time with someone other than the people who paid you to take pictures of them.

“That’s it,” you muttered to yourself, tossing your blanket off and standing up. You weren’t just going to sit at home and feel sorry for yourself. Instead of sitting in silence, eating a thing of raw cookie dough, you bounded up the stairs, forcing yourself to keep moving. Throwing off your sweatshirt you had stolen from Jensen, you pulled on a low-cut black top, pairing it with your favorite ripped jeans. With a quick dab of perfume and lip gloss, you climbed into your little hatchback, turning it towards your favorite bar.

The place was packed. A group of college kids playing pool in the back and a bridesmaid group giggling like crazy in one of the booths. You took the only stool left at the bar, quickly ordering a whiskey. Downing it, you held your fingers up, ordering a second while you glanced around the bar.

Twangy country music played in the background, muffled by the loud laughter of the college boys. They didn’t hold your attention long as you continued to glance around the dimly lit bar. A couple of older gentlemen were the only other ones sitting in a booth. A group of men about your age took the last of the bar stools, watching the football game on the TV. Nothing that interested you, or could take your mind off of things.

“Fine, I’ll stick with the whiskey,” you muttered to yourself, knowing it was the smart thing to do. Whiskey would give you a headache in the morning, but that was it. A slight reprieve for the night.

That Saturday morning you snuggled deeper into your bed, planning on spending the day tucked under the covers. Sure, you’d probably surface at some point to find something to eat, but otherwise, you felt like staying in bed for the day. Then maybe, later in the evening, you would hit that bar again.

“Y/N!” Jensen called out, pushing open your bedroom door. “What the hell are you still doing in bed?”

Sitting straight up, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “What the hell are you doing home?”

He sank down on the foot of your bed, and you could see how tired he was. “We filmed through the night to get caught up. Jared and I flew home at three in the morning.”

Lifting your blanket, you offered him part of your bed. Sliding in beside you, he yawned. “I did promise you that dinner.”

You snuggled back down into your bed, relieved to have your best friend back home once again. “We can do that later. Right now you need some sleep, and I could use a nap myself.”

He was snoring softly before you even finished your sentence. His long lashes fluttered against his freckled skin, and you pulled the blanket up over his chest. Laying there, you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have such an amazing friend such as him. If only you could find someone like him to fall in love with you.

Read Part 3

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bi-danvers0 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @screechingartisancashbailiff @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thoughts-and-funnies @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 @beabutterfly987 @pink-sparkly-witch

UTTS Tags: @deanwanddamons @fanfictionismydeath @supernatural-love14 @jbbarnesgirl @deangirl7695 @ladyofmaidensandwine @compresshischest09 @thevelvetseries @that-one-gay-girl @supraveng @laycblack

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#under the texas sun #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural rpf #katy writes #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen fic #supernatural fic #supernatural series #jensen ackles series

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the-fandom-is-now-my-life · 3 years

Text

Hc inverse au! Fem Reader in Victorian era England and ynm characters are in our time.

You are a character in an anime and ynm are in real life

Williams

( he seems like the type to be into really dense, historical mangas)

He first read a manga featuring you when one of his students left their copy on their desk and he had to overview some students while they were using the presentation room.

He mostly just sat in the first row while the group of teens were recording hamlet for the theater class.

He didn't really took the story seriously so he started reading a lady who was trying to seduce a noble for a few pages, he was about to leave the manga given that he supposed it was a hentai but when you poisoned them with the wine cup he found it interesting

The main character had a set of very strong ideals that weren't so common in the historical context, be it strip nobles and royals from benefits, be a suffragette, or something similar .He ate the manga in five minutes

When he returns home (and leaves the item in lost objects, ofc) he checks online to buy the first volume to see if the background and sort are interesting along with every other volume and official light novel and Novella . He usually isn't home from very early to very late at night so it would be Louis most likely the one who receives the box with the books

"Brother, did you buy a box full of comics" Louis asks from the kitchen after he feels his older brother returning home

" oh? They already arrived? I thought they would be here next week" well Louis always was worries about how his brother didn't have any hobbies aside from teaching at the University so he was happy that he found something else to do with his life

He would ask for a sick day on a Monday or Friday so he could plan everything that was needed at his class that day and spend the weekend lazing around and reading the various volumes and the light novels. That day Louis and albert almost cried of happiness, that was the first time he took a sick day in all of his teaching years to take a break

The type of fan who creates theories that everything is symbolism, how they are ambidextrous to show that even if they intend good sometimes their methods are too extreme or how their hat was placed or the color of their clothes show their political affiliation. Nothing can be just a coincidence with him, everything means something

Is a big pain in the ass about historical inaccuracies, be it dress, manners or social hierarchy being off

" But listen this is the late Victorian era, where is their crinoline??/ They are supposed to be a Victorian dandy and the writer wants me to believe they would wear that? In that society?" williams turned on the lights to his younger brother room while walking in circles as if he was trying to calm down

" Williams it's 3 am. Please I want to sleep"

" Oh and don't let me get started when they crossdressed/dressed as lady northinburg, that tight lacing scene made me so angry" he was dragging his words, Louis guessed he was sleep drunk " how much I hate that, karolina or bernadette would kill those producers if they saw it" Louis simply opted to sleep while his brother was ranting about how the hairstyles were al wrong

When speaking of merchandising he appreciates his mature and elegant reputation so he would buy small things like cute stationery and notebooks and a few pens. Most of them either are about the main character, you, or have the anime title or something similar

A few students think that the professor brings some childish pens in case some student forgets one and he doesn't have to give them his mechanical pencil. He actually uses those pens when he is grading the exams. His notebook annotations look a lot cleaner and are more colorfully bc of the markers and pens

When and if your manga gets and anime he would be 100 percent bitching about how they skipped, if you are a minor character, scenes where you are introduced or you character gets development.

" Oh my goodness, they skipped to this ark? And 'the mask'? In that ark we get the development of many characters, yn, edward, Amélie, Alex. We are absolutely robed of their backgrounds and aspirations and how they are all connected"

" Brother be honest with yourself, you only wanted more animated yn, you follow their voice actor on twitter"

" That is not my point!"

Albert

he was watching it when he came late

Albert usually keeps company to his youngest brother until around 5-6 pm, then he leaves for work and returns around 12 am and eats dinner alone mostly.

When he returns from his job the house is more often than not totally dark so he makes his way to the kitchen and microwaves the leftovers and eats silently.

But one day it seems like Louis or williams forgot to turn off the TV before going to bed, he was about to turn it off but decided that watching something with the tv muted wouldn't wake his brothers up and kept watching.

He didn't pay much attention to it at the start but it became routine, he comes home, heats the food, sits down and watches that show so he grew quite fond of it

How much attention he pays to it depends on the type of plot it has, if it is light-hearted humor he would most likely not pay much attention but laugh when a joke came, one the other hand, if it's a more serious he would find it hard to take his eyes away from the screen

Second least likely to buy merchandising, if he buys it's mostly to wear home, a one size too big shirt for a pj (mostly for the comedy anime) or, if they aren't childish and look professional maybe a pocket watch like the one x character uses ( in the more serious one)

Won't buy the mangas if there are any because he is happy watching the animated version and already has to read a lot at work, but if he is gifted the volumes he will read them sparingly, maybe he will finish one volume every week and a half, unlike williams.

Louis

He spends most of his time home because of his illness and doesn't like to stress too much given that it makes the symptoms worse, he enjoys light hearted comedies or cooking in the victorian era or those typical time travelers who now have to live in different situations than those they are used to

He most likely found it after doing all the housework and being bored so he opted to browse the TV or netflix and fell on one specific serie

If it is a comedy he will listen to it while cleaning or cooking, he feels like he does everything faster and the housework is more enjoyable that way.

If it's a cooking related program he will watch as entertainment after doing everything and to get ideas what to cook, he is always surprised with the recipes that your character comes up with, be them savory ( things he will absolutely do the next day for lunch or dinner) or sweet ( things he will make more sparingly given he can't have too much sugar). I think of mangas and series like the duchess' 50 te recipes or shokugeki no soma

If it the third option he was interested on the alternatives to modern things, like how to make a more natural soap with animal fat and wood ash, or how to use certain plants to help a headache or stomach bug.

With merchandising he doesn't buy much, some kitchenware and some bowls mugs and maybe a tea set that isn't much of an eyesore. Overall he isn't all that crazy over that kind of things if there is a cooking book he will definitely buy it

He, like albert, doesn't care much about historical accuracy and if the events that happen are cohesive, he is there to have fun

Fred

He watched it because he heard his classmates talk about it and wanted to join them but was too scared to bother them if he didn't know anything. Baby has the social abilities of an anxious lobster

He comes home from college and looks the anime up in his phone and, like every broke college student, he watches it from an illegal streaming service.

He gets hooked up and stays all night watching it until his clock snaps him out of his trance and makes him drag his feet to his 7:30 am class

Fred tries and fails to talk to the group so, after the lesson, he drags himself to his room to be miserable alone. It's not until he reaches a certain chapter or episode where you say something that make him think, " if you wish to be loved you must face first your fear to be known" he keeps thinking about it, he didn't truly ever talk to the group, he cowarded before even trying.

The next week at that same lecture he approaches the group and tries to make some small talk

" Oh hey uhm i heard the past class that you liked (maga name)" he was this close to running to his desk and act as if nothing happened

" Yeah! You like it too?" The boy seemed to notice fred was nervous

" Yes! I really like it, what is you favorite character? Mine is yn" he certainly didn't have any favorite one before but after this he thinks your character is pretty good " they are really inspiring"

In terms of merch he is broke so there is none, If he had any money to spare he would buy notebooks and even those chibi statues or funko pops

#yuumori #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #yuukoku no moriarty #moriarty x reader #albert james moriarty #professor moriarty #moriarty the patriot #mtp #ynm #gn reader #william moriarty #williams james moriarty x reader #louis moriarty

97 notes · View notes

min-youngis · 4 years

Text

I'll Drive You

gif not mine (and i can't remember if i've used it before but it is very much past my bedtime and i am too tired to check)

~ Pairing : Min Yoongi x Reader

~ Genre : Fluff, Comfort, Humour

~ Rating : PG-13

~ Summary : The shaky beginning and abrupt end of an incredible, two week long system where Yoongi drives you to and from your residency at the hospital during his band break. Ft. one Min Holly.

Established Relationship.

~ Word Count : 4,270

~ Warnings : 1 (one) mention of alcohol, mentions of sex (i believe the word quickie is used somewhere in the middle), swearing

~ A/N : basically i got thirsty. shockingly, there is some discernible plot in this.

i'd love to hear feedback! spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

Your bag seems to weigh you down as you slowly climb out of the car, coat flapping against the sides of your thighs. With a huff, you transfer it to your left hand as you trudge up to the door, blindly reaching inside it for the house keys.

The foyer light is still on despite the fact that it’s nearing 10 PM, and as you unlace your shoes and place them on the rack, you can hear the faint noise of the television coming from the living room.

With a sigh, you make your way further into the house, gently massaging your temple in a vain effort to get rid of the headache that’s been mounting for the last couple of hours.

You’re too tired to admonish him for staying up and waiting for you to return from the hospital for the third time this week, but you feel like you should still say something. He’s supposed to be on holiday, for fuck’s sake. You wouldn’t dream of trying to get him to stop working hard during the day, knowing that it’s as natural as breathing when it comes to his production regardless of whether the company’s given the band a twenty day break or not, but the fact that he puts off sleep until you come back home simultaneously irks and flatters you, all in all making you feel like you just have one more thing to deal with at the end of every day.

You’re in for a surprise, though, as you enter the living room thinking all these hard thoughts only to see a gently snoring Yoongi asleep on the couch, spectacles precariously positioned on the bridge of his nose. Evidently fallen asleep in the middle of a show, he’s got his knees folded in, tucked tightly into his chest. One of his elbows is resting on the couch arm, hand propping up his tilted head, and the other is resting on Holly’s similarly asleep frame that’s pressed against his thigh.

Quiet as you can, you walk towards the table, picking up the remote to switch off the sitcom that’s playing in the background, and turn around to survey the scene in front of you. You see Holly twitch at the sound of your feet scuffing on the floor and before you can shush him, he’s awake, softly yelping and wriggling out from under Yoongi’s hand to jump down from the couch and excitedly bound to you.

Dropping your bag, you bend down to pick him up, nervously shooting a glance at the miraculously still asleep man in front of you. Pacifying Holly, you decide to try getting Yoongi to bed if he’s still dozing here when you get out of your shower.

As delicately as possible, you deposit the now-quiet dog back in his place on the couch, fondly watching as he wiggles under Yoongi's splayed out hand, and deftly take off the skewed glasses, folding and placing them on the centre table. He stirs slightly but doesn’t wake up.

The torrent of warm water hitting your sore muscles simultaneously freshens and further tires you, leaving you in a better mood but all the more eager to go to bed. Dressed in pyjamas, you step out of the bathroom, ready to get Yoongi and fall asleep, when you stop short as you see the man himself sat on the edge of the mattress, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, eyes threatening to shut but steady gaze trained on you.

“Welcome home,” he blearily says with a kind smile.

You walk towards him, halting once you reach the bed and standing in between his knees. He lets go of the blanket, opting to tug you closer by the waist and pressing his face to your abdomen, as you let yourself rest your arms on his shoulders, leaning your weight on his body.

“How was your day?” he asks, voice muffled by your t-shirt.

“Hmm, the usual. You?”

“Good, good. Dinner?” he asks, pulling away slightly, probably realising that if you both don’t get to bed soon, you’ll end up falling asleep while standing.

“I ate at the hospital cafeteria.”

“Food still shit?”

“Still shit,” you confirm with a sluggish nod.

He sighs a bit, standing up without releasing his hold on you, pulling your head into his chest. You deeply inhale, feeling calmer with every passing second, snuggling into his warmth.

You haven’t had a chance to enjoy more than a couple of minutes with him at a time, the last few days having been extremely busy at the hospital. When your professor had told you that a residency would be hectic, you didn’t know that that was code for really fucking exhausting. Every morning, you’ve been leaving before Yoongi wakes up fully, with only a fleeting goodbye kiss to sustain you the entire day, and whenever you return, he’s either too busy composing or he’s fallen asleep. The few days he actually is awake and waiting for you, you’re both too tired to spend anytime together and end up going straight to bed.

“I miss you,” you mutter, weight of the past week crashing into you as your shoulders slump even more in his embrace.

You feel his arms tightening around your waist and a brush of lips on the top of your head.

“I’m right here,” he gently teases, making you let out a huff.

You can tell that he’s trying to be optimistic, to keep you afloat, but he isn’t quite able to hide the downward inflection of his voice, betraying his own frustration with the situation.

“You know what I mean,” you whine.

He doesn’t reply, probably realising that there’s really nothing he can say that’ll make this state of affairs suck less.

You let out a loud yawn, jaw clicking, and he pulls away with a chuckle. “C'mon, miss doctor. Sleep time,” he briskly ushers, or as briskly as he can when he’s fighting a yawn himself.

“Not a doctor yet,” you mumble sleepily as you let him tuck you in, curling in on your side and sighing in contentment as you feel him climb under the covers behind you, moulding his frame to yours, legs tangled and arm thrown across your waist.

You’ve almost fallen asleep, comfortable in the warmth he provides and his slow, steady breath hitting the back of your neck, when you feel rather than hear him say, “I could drop you tomorrow, if you’d like.”

Not registering his words at first, you simply hum in acknowledgement that he said anything at all. Encouraged, he continues. “I’m at home anyway, and it’s not like I have a schedule.”

You feel his deep voice, throat scratchy with tiredness. In the middle of your haze, you confusedly ask, “How will I get back, then?”

“I’ll come pick you up,” the simple reply promptly comes. You let out a little, amused huff, which is the closest you can manage to a snort in your current state.

“No, I’m serious. I can be your chauffeur for the next two weeks, we’ll have car dates.”

This time, you really do snort. “Romantic,” you dryly utter, knowing very well that when 7 AM comes around, Yoongi will be out like a light, just like he is every morning.

You feel a gentle, half-hearted pinch on your waist as he says, “Just think about it. No driving to and from the hospital. Maybe you can eat something more than an apple for breakfast in the car. And all your colleagues can get jealous watching me wait for you outside at the end of the day.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just doing this to boost your own ego?” you sleepily giggle.

“It's a win-win scenario. You get a driver, I get my superiority complex fix.”

Sluggishly turning around in his arms, you stick your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder, not at all taking this conversation seriously. “At least you’re self aware,” you pointedly say.

Feeling his breath fanning over your head, you hear him implore, “C'mon, just let me drive you.”

Nuzzling further into his warmth, seconds away from slipping into blissful oblivion and knowing fully well that nothing concrete is going to come from this conversation, you reply obligingly, “Okay, Yoongi.”

____________________

The 6:30 AM alarm rouses you from the depths of sleep and the first thing you register is the lack of warmth next to you. Drowsily muting the decidedly inglorious sound of Morning Glory from your phone, you reach out a blind, searching arm, only to come up empty handed.

Smelling caffeine through the open door, you stop your pursuit and sit up, suddenly remembering the previous nights', mostly one sided, conversation.

He can’t be serious.

Carefully stepping around Holly, who’s sleeping on the dog bed, you trudge to the kitchen to see Yoongi leaning against the counter, pouring hot coffee from the pot into a large thermos. He looks only slightly more awake than you, despite having been out of bed for a longer time if the lukewarmth of the sheets is anything to go by.

Feeling partly surprised, partly exasperated and completely enamoured by the lengths to which this man in front of you is going to, still slightly hazy with sleep, your mouth morphs from an O to a dopey smile, moving closer to him and making to accept the thermos once it’s been filled.

Like he’s just realised you’re there, his eyes refocus, looking at your hand confusedly before his eyebrows straighten out in realisation.

Voice hoarse but deadpan, he says, “Oh, this one’s for me. Yours is there.”

Quizzically, you look in the direction he’s indicated with a tilt of his head, anticipating another thermos like the one he’s just finished filling, only to find a white mug with ‘You’ve Made A VAS DEFERENS In My Life!’ printed in shocking red, disastrous Comic Sans font. You hadn’t expected to see the gag cup you had bought him for your one year anniversary staring back at you this morning, but here you are.

Gaping in simultaneous amusement and indignation, you turn towards him. Yoongi has a deeply content expression as he keeps his eyes closed, sipping from the flask in his hand, looking for all he’s worth like a patient in pain who’s just been administered morphine. Before you can say anything, he opens his eyes, looking slightly more awake.

“Don't you need to get changed and packed?” he asks. “We have to leave in twenty minutes.”

Then he promptly ruins the effect by letting out a yawn, sound amplified by the bottle that he had just stuck his face into for another sip.

Squinting and taking a sip of caffeine from your delightfully disgusting mug, you enquire, “Are you sure you want to do this? I can just drive myself, it isn’t a big deal.”

With a shrug, he replies after swallowing what looks like an unhealthy amount of coffee, “I’m awake, amn’t I?”

“Yes, but for how long?”

With speed and agility that surprises you, he sets his thermos down before turning you around towards the door of the kitchen, palms on your shoulders. Giving you a tiny pinch on your hip and marching you to the door, he says in a faux-annoyed voice, “You can be a smart ass in the car, now scram.”

Bemused, you change and emerge from the room with your bag, coat in hand. Re-entering the kitchen, you see Yoongi putting the lid onto a Tupperware.

“This is a complementary service, then?” you ask, thoroughly engaged by how seriously he’s taking this.

Shaking his head, he gestures you closer and drops the box into your bag, saying, “Oh, no. You’ll be paying.”

You accept the wax paper wrapped sandwich that he hands you with a grateful smile as you tease, “You can’t possibly want more money. If you’re going bankrupt, I’m breaking up with you.”

Disregarding your empty proclamation, he drops his empty thermos in the sink before checking that Holly’s food and water bowls are filled and ushering you towards the front door, ensuring that you’ve got your bag in one hand, breakfast in the other and coat slung over the crook of your elbow. “Whoever said anything about money?” he asks with a wink, sliding his feet into his old-man sandals and taking the car keys from the bowl atop the shoe stand.

You cast an appraising look at his plain black t-shirt and flannel pyjamas, looking at him pointedly. Rolling his eyes, he grabs your hand that’s holding the sandwich and marches the both of you out while saying, “That coffee can only sustain me for so long. Once I’m back, I’m going straight to bed.”

“You literally drank a whole litre just now, I don’t see how you’re going to manage that,” you sceptically state, climbing into the passenger seat, only for Yoongi to shush you as he sticks the keys into the ignition and encourages, “Eat up now, before it gets cold.”

Snorting, you tune the radio to the station you prefer every morning and take a bite of the sandwich, immediately realising how much better it is than the apple that you usually eat while driving. He catches your pleased smile, flashing you a soft grin before he focuses on the road again.

“Good?” he asks, changing gears.

“So good. I’ll drop you a five star rating.”

“That’s all I ever wanted.”

You have what may just be the best morning drive to work you’ve ever experienced, even the too loud and too cheery voice of the RJ seeming bearable when Yoongi’s in the car next to you. Of course, it’s an added bonus that you get to ogle his hands on the steering wheel, a fact that isn’t lost on him as he teases you for it when he finally pulls up outside the hospital, saying, “Would you like a picture? A simple Google search should throw up what you’re looking for.”

Staunchly, a little disappointed that the ride hadn’t lasted a little longer, you reply with a sniff, “And what is it that you think I am looking for?”

Leaning over the centre console, intentions perfectly clear, he smirks and airily says, “Oh, you know, a little bit of this, a little bit of that.”

Chortling, you move towards him as well, and with a quick kiss and a deeply grateful ‘Thank you!’ muttered against his lips, you skip out of the car, feeling more uplifted and calm than the last four days combined.

I could get used to this, you think, punching in and entering the building.

____________________

You could drop to the floor instantly as you walk into the room where all the residents keep their bags during the day. Final rounds are always the most exhausting and you’re more than ready to go home, feeling tired but satisfied. You’re still thinking about the last patient whose chart you had signed over to the night shift, the other residents around you similarly silent as they go about leaving, when your phone begins to vibrate in your coat pocket.

Min Yoongi, the caller ID reads.

With a jolt, you feel a little better at remembering the prospect of not having to drive back home, and accept the call, tucking your phone between your ear and shoulder as you drop your scrubs in the basket.

“Hey, I’m done. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

“I have food with me.”

“Three minutes,” you amend with a jaded grin he can’t see but is surely aware of, going by the deep chuckle you hear.

Hanging up, you hasten your checking out process, leaving the room with a ‘Night!’ that begets you a couple of tired grunts in response from the people still left inside.

You shuffle out of the building and immediately spot the sleek black sedan parked on the opposite side of the road. Through the tinted windows, under the streetlight right above the car, you can just about make out a stooped silhouette.

In moments, you’re sat in the passenger seat, bag in the back, head resting on the cool leather and eyes slipping shut as your body sinks with exhaustion and you let out a soft sigh in simultaneous comfort and tiredness. You feel a heavy paper bag being gently set on your lap and very nearly moan out loud as long, dexterous fingers come up to soothingly massage the side of your neck. Opening your eyes, you see Yoongi with a kind but worried smile on his face.

“You good?” he asks, palm now resting, solid and comforting on your shoulder.

“Better now,” you reply with a grateful smile, taking a moment to deeply inhale the delicious smell that’s coming from the cover on your lap, suddenly realising how hungry you are.

“Let’s get you home,” he says, dropping his hand down to the gear stick. You turn up the radio a bit so the lo-fi beats get a little louder, settling you, and eagerly take out the box and spoon from the bag.

“How was lunch?” Yoongi softly asks, breaking the silence in the car that’s only punctuated by your chewing.

“So good. Hyejin wanted to know how I made it,” you say along with a thumbs up, swallowing a large mouthful.

Grinning, Yoongi asks, “What did you tell her?”

“I told her I’d send the recipe. So that means you should probably send me the recipe.”

“I’ll do that,” he chuckles, pulling into the driveway as you close the empty box, feeling drowsy now that you have some food in your system.

Thirty minutes later see you in bed, freshly showered, head cushioned by Yoongi’s thigh as he’s sat up against the headboard using his phone, Holly curled next to you with his fur slightly tickling your nose. You’re stuck in the limbo between sleep and wakefulness, just floating along, not particularly registering anything, and you sleepily mumble into Holly's dog-shampoo smelling head, “This was a good idea.”

Yoongi doesn’t stop his mindless stroking of your hair and just replies with a deep, satisfied hum and a smug ‘Told you so.’

You fall asleep that night almost peacefully, a single car ride with Yoongi and a good meal having managed to wind you down more than has been possible in a long time as you easily allow yourself to slip in his reassuring embrace.

____________________

The next few days are absolute bliss, at least in comparison to the months of residency you’ve already had, and you hardly realise two weeks are over, only remembering when Yoongi hands you your customary Vas Deferens coffee cup one morning with a grin and a ‘One last time.’

“One last what?” you ask, still sluggish. Yoongi’s become great at this whole waking up early thing, nowadays needing only three-fourth of a thermos full of caffeine to start feeling truly awake, but you still struggle with it on occasion, particularly after comparatively later nights.

“Break's over today,” he says, turning towards the stove to fire it up, pan in hand ready to be heated.

Checking the date on your phone, you see that your blissful period in heaven is, in fact, over. You have to resist the urge to whine in disappointment, but your heavy silence seems to be answer enough as he turns around and fondly, tenderly smiles at your thinly veiled pout.

Making sure the stove isn’t on high, he gives the pancake mix one last whisk before wiping his hands on a towel and making his way towards your frame that’s sat cross legged atop the granite counter.

You’re drinking the final dregs that you can extract from your cup, the taste of sugar and coffee strong on your lips and tongue, when Yoongi stops right in front of you, gently taking the cup from your grip and winding your fingers in his instead.

“I could always ask the company for a driver for you, if you want?”

Leaning forward, you stick your face into the crook of his neck and shake your head in response.

“Not the same,” you mumble. You’ve always been a little loose-lipped and clingy in the mornings. Regular Y/N would rush to explain that they’ll get over it, that it isn’t a big deal, that Yoongi being back in studio is exciting and they want nothing more than for him to go back to properly doing the job he loves so much. But sleepy Y/N has no qualms about being vulnerable. Either way, you know that Yoongi’s perfectly aware of everything that you haven’t verbalised.

Not letting you stay in your hiding nook in peace, he annoyingly bounces his shoulder up repeatedly, making you raise your head and catch his eye.

“Maybe I should get BigHit to deliver lunch to you at the hospital everyday.”

Snorting, you reply, “Yeah, everybody'll love that. No, now that I’ve seen how great the alternative to cafeteria food is, I think I’ll try out some of your recipes whenever I can.”

He looks pleased at that, obviously not having anticipated this outcome. You’ve always been big on the concept of self-care, but not particularly good at the execution.

These are a couple of things you’ve realised and learnt over the past two weeks.

Number 1 : Hospital food is shittier than you had thought it was, now that you’ve got a taste of somebody cooking fresh meals on the daily for you.

Number 2 : Min Yoongi sometimes puts sticky notes in your lunch that have profound things written on them like ‘Don’t cut up somebody if you can help it!’ and ‘XOXO - Genius Min Suga', and on one memorable occasion that had you snorting in the canteen, ‘Went to the optician the other day and bumped into...everybody’. When you had asked him why he didn't do it everyday, he had answered that he didn’t want to become predictable.

Number 3 : You absolutely adore being pampered and eagerly look forward to the end of your workday just so you can receive that kind, I'm about to shower you with so much love and comfort look when you enter the car along with your dinner care package that sometimes contains a tiny flask of whisky, just as a little treat, when you’ve had a particularly rough day. You’re also a fan of the quick, thirty second, single handed neck massage you get as soon as you clamber into the passenger seat, and if you strategically place some sexy moans in the middle, you manage to up it to a minute. He had caught onto what you were doing towards the end of the first week and had snorted, merely giving you a faux admonishing pinch before granting you a full two minutes while saying through his chuckles, “You could’ve just asked.”

Number 4 : Yoongi looks really fucking attractive when he’s driving. You’re particularly biased towards seeing him at the wheel with a watch on, but you’ll settle just fine for just bracelets. He had realised this as well, and made it a point to wear his more expensive pieces, all while playfully muttering, “I knew you were with me just for my money,”, words a direct contrast to the half-amused half-bashful smile on his face whenever he caught sight of your unabashed staring, all your shame thrown out the window.

All in all, you can heartily confirm that it’s been one of his better ideas, maybe even the best one, but you wouldn’t admit it to him. Not when you’re awake at least.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you say, coffee kicking into your system. “We still live in the same house, we'll just have to go back to our old system when both of us were working.”

The old system being video calls when he has to spend too long in studio or you have an extended day, and quickies in the shower when you actually, miraculously, manage to both be at home at the same time.

You know he misses working at the company. The set up he has at the home studio is rudimentary and even though he ends up giving the receptionist the slip and spending half of everyday in the Genius Lab, he’s been getting restless, pining to see his ideas get translated into proper, ready-to-release tracks.

“Hmm,” he hums, knowing full well that you’re half trying to convince yourself.

You squeeze his hands in reassurance. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

Slightly assuaged that you aren’t still in your stressed-from-work headspace, he eases a little bit, squeezing back and leaning closer as he teasingly whispers, “Try not to miss me too much.”

“I think I’ll manage. Your music taste is kinda sad anyway,” you softly reply, covering his offended gasp as you kiss him, the tastes of strong coffee and minty toothpaste mingling.

Pulling away, you allow yourself to linger in his presence a little longer, knowing that these moments will soon become scarce and that the universe has been veritably spoiling you recently, and finally succeed in pushing him away and hopping off of the counter as you catch sight of the time. He sees it as well and rushes to get the pancakes done, shooing you out of the kitchen with an annoyed whine about you being a distraction.

Rolling your eyes, you obey, shouting behind your back, “Those better be the best damn pancakes I’ve ever eaten, Min Yoongi. Let’s end this shit with a bang.”

(You do end it with a bang. But not exactly in the biblical sense.)

227 notes · View notes

imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Note

Imagine a still-angry Bree went to Craig na dun straight after Claire told her everything, to check out her mother's story, fell through the stones by mistake and met Jamie first.

The High Road and the Low Road - Part One

Brianna needed to get out of the house and just… away. She couldn’t stand to look at her mother just then and when she’d turned to Roger she’d been disappointed by what she found there. She’d thought they understood one another, thought he’d be on her side – the reasonable side.

But there had been something in his face as he looked at Claire Randall. If not outright belief in the ridiculous story she’d concocted to cover up an affair, then he’d at least been looking at her mother like he wanted to believe her.

And that was the last thing Brianna wanted right then.

It was Roger’s car. She’d seen him drop the keys in a bowl on the counter when they’d arrived. She looked at the gauge and saw there was a little less than half a tank left. She’d be good for a while. Not that she knew where she was going to go. It just had to be away – and preferably somewhere she could scream where no one would call the police.

Taking Roger’s car would slow them down if they tried to follow her.

Not if. When.

She didn’t mean to make it easy for them to find her.

As soon as she reached the main road, she headed in a direction that would take her away from town and began repeating aloud, “Left side of the road, left side of the road.”

The need to focus on fighting her American instincts and keep from drifting to the other lane actually helped her to calm down. A little.

She slammed on the brakes when she saw the sign, wincing when a horn blared behind her and another car flew past.

But then she was along and the rage returned. Craigh na dun. It was absurd that anyone could believe what her mother had said. It was absurd that the very thought of seeing the place was twisting her stomach into knots.

Gritting her teeth, Brianna put the car back in gear and sped in the direction of the signs. She would see these stones for herself if only to quell that feeling in her stomach, to be able to return to her mother and Roger and give them another telling off.

It was falling dark as Brianna reached the bottom of the hill and she could just make out the moon peeking between the low tree branches and the standing stones. The bravado of the drive shrank at the eerie sight.

But there was a stubborn streak that kept her feet moving toward the stones.

Her ears began to ring and her head to spin as she reached the center of the circle and touched the largest stone.

Pain. In her hand and arm and head. The buzzing in her ears became a scream and it was only as she felt her throat ache she realized she was the one who was screaming.

Her last thought before passing out was that her mother’s description of it all had fallen woefully short.

*********************************************

She wanted to throw up from fear as much as the nausea in her belly and the ringing headache that threatened to send her back under as soon as she tried to sit up.

Brianna scrambled backward, away from the stone, to the edge of the circle. The moon still shone in the sky and the stars seemed brighter too.

A few deep breaths helped to steady her enough to get to her feet. She brushed away grass and dirt that clung to the corduroy of her skirt.

Turning on her heel, she carefully made her way down the side of the hill in the direction where she’d left the car. With every step she scolded herself for being ridiculous and gullible enough to have let her mother’s tales affect her in such a way. With every step the buzzing and nausea faded and it was easier to tell herself that she had imagined the whole thing.

She’d taken too many steps. She should have reached Roger’s car by now or at least the solidity of the paved road.

Brianna turned around, peering into the darkness. Maybe she’d gotten herself turned around and had come down the wrong side of the hill. Making a quarter turn and referencing the gentle incline of the hill, she did her best to circle the hilltop.

It only made her feel more lost. She would have to wait until it grew lighter to complete her investigation of the hillside. In the meantime, she was getting cold and any chance of a blanket or additional protection from the elements was in the impossible-to-locate-in-the-dark car. (Why did Roger have to own a brown car? Why couldn’t it have been white and reflective?)

She couldn’t just lie down in the open. Looking around, she saw a faint light in the distance and made her way toward it. It didn’t appear to be moving, so not a car. It was dim, muted, so maybe a house with its curtains closed. But she didn’t think there were any houses this close to Craigh na Dun. She hadn’t noticed any as she passed to get there, anyway, but she was hardly an expert on the area and who lived there or where. She just needed someone who could loan her a flashlight or who had a telephone she could use (worrying her mother and Roger a little was one thing but she couldn’t let them go the whole night wondering where she’d gone).

Drawing nearer, Brianna was confused. It wasn’t a house – it would barely qualify as a shack. There was no door – well, no door left but old fashioned hinges clung to the frame to show there had been a door at one time. The roof appeared to have partially caved in but on the opposite side from where a short chimney stuck out with a faint trail of smoke rising from it.

Someone must be inside if a fire was lit but was it safe to casually announce her presence?

“Hello?” she called softly, approaching slowly now. “Anybody home? I uh… I’ve gotten myself a bit lost and can’t find the car in the dark – accidentally locked my flash – my torch inside. Do you have one you might… let me… borrow?”

There had been no sound, no sign of movement as she reached the door and decided to poke her head inside.

A low fire burned in a hearth that looked like it might collapse in on itself at any moment.

A figure was curled on its side on the dirt floor in front of the hearth. It was a boy – probably only a few years younger than herself. Maybe this was some play fort or campsite for him.

Brianna inched closer to the sleeping boy. “Hey… you,” she hissed but he didn’t stir. She gently nudged him with the toe of her boot.

Startled awake and confused, the boy rolled toward her with a threatening cry and a dagger in his hand, apparently ready to stab her.

“Whoa!” Brianna exclaimed, jumping back. “I don’t want trouble,” she promised. “Just looking for a little help is all.”

The boy calmed and relaxed as he woke further and realized he wasn’t actually being attacked.

“Ye scared the piss right out of me,” he told her, returning the dagger to a safe and concealed place in his belt.

“Who are you?” Brianna asked, stepping forward as the boy got to his feet.

“Ian Murray, ma’am,” he said, smiling and inclining his head toward her. “And what should I call you?”

“Brianna, but you can call me Bree.”

*********************************************

Claire hadn’t gone to bed and so Roger hadn’t either (though, he had dozed off and on in his chair by the fire). She spend most of the night staring out the window, watching for any sign of Brianna’s return.

Around five, the light finally beginning to show signs of returning, Roger rose from the chair and stretched, back cracking as he yawned. He went to the kitchen to make tea and toast, returning with a simple tray to try and get Claire to eat something.

“She couldna have gotten far on thwart was left in that tank,” he explained. Brianna didn’t know how quickly the needle could drop from half a tank to empty. “It’s likely she ran out of petrol, pulled over and spent the night in the back. She’ll have to walk a ways to a phone or wait till someone comes along as can give her a ride.” He offered Claire a steaming cup.

She took it, forcing a smile and nod of thanks before blowing on it but neglecting to take a sip.

“I want to believe you, Roger, but I’m afraid Bree is very much her father’s daughter… both of them. That display of temper was all Jamie… the running away afterward…”

“That ye think she learned from Frank?” Roger suggested.

With a sigh and another nod, Claire admitted, “Unfortunately, yes. And the last time we had a fight and he stormed off into the night, he was killed in a car accident.”

Roger felt his own teacup tremble in his hands at the thought. He set it down carefully as he apologized to Claire. “Christ, I hadna thought – I’m so sorry. If I’d realized – I should ha’ called someone to help and we could ha’ been searching for her through the night.”

Claire shook her head. “No, I’m sure she’s fine, like you said. Going after her might have only made matters worse anyhow. Frasers need to wear out their tempers a bit before you stand a chance of getting through to them.” At last she lifted her cup and took a sip of tea, closing her eyes as she swallowed and visibly willed herself to relax.

“Well, if she doesna return by lunch and hasna phoned, I’ll see if I can borrow Fiona’s car and you and I can look for her,” Roger promised. “Like I said, she couldna ha’ gone too far.”

As Claire smiled her thanks again, the telephone rang. Claire moved to get it before recalling it wasn’t her house and deferring to Roger.

He moved quickly and, expecting to hear Brianna on the other end, he answered, “Speak of the devil.”

“Roger?” Fiona’s voice replied.

Roger covered the receiver long enough to whisper to Claire, “Wrong devil.”

“Aye, I’m here,” he said louder to Fiona. “Sorry, it’s just… early.”

“Aye, tis and I wouldna have called so early – I’m a bit relieved ye answered at all. I was afraid… but ye’re there.”

“Aye, why would a not be?”

“Oh… well… Ye mayna ken but – ye see, my gran was part of a… a group. They’re… caretakers, ye might say. And since she passed, I took her place in the group.”

“Caretakers of what?”

“The standing circle at Craigh na Dun,” Fiona explained.

Roger felt himself growing colder, thought he must be paler from the step Claire took towards him.

“We take it in turns to visit them and see any rubbish is cleared up, that they’ve no been defaced and the like,” Fiona went on at a nervous clip.

Everything around Roger seemed to be slowing, narrowing to a point as his gaze fixed on Claire.

“Anyhow, I had a call this morning from… another member of the group. They said yer car had been found abandoned near the stones. I worried something might have happened to ye, but–”

“Brianna,” Roger managed to murmur.

“Brianna Randall?” Fiona asked.

“Brianna borrowed my car last night,” he explained. “She didna come home.”

“Roger, what’s happened?” Claire asked, forcefully.

#;mod lenny #new multi parter #the high road and the low road AU #CANON DIVERGENCE #featuring: bree #featuring: roger #featuring: fiona #featuring: young ian

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shutupandshipit · 4 years

Text

Coming Home - Part 2

Summary: When Katsuki stepped off the plane, he was greeted with the familiar heat of Musutafu in summer. Humidity like he was sitting in a sauna. He’d been all over America in the past five and a half years, but nothing was quite like the weather of home. It could be similar, primarily along the east coast, but just not quite the same. Just similar.

Breathing in deeply, he gripped the small hand in his and started down the ramp to where he could see Best Jeanist leaning against a car with illegally blacked out windows. Katsuki idly wondered if he was absolutely roasting in his hero uniform.

“Your hand is sweaty, Papa.”

“Your’s isn’t much better, little monster.”

…..

Or where Katsuki disappeared to America to find someone to make prostheses for him. He was gone for five and a half years, and returns with a little tag-a-long.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (just for language mostly)

Chapter: 2/2

Part 1 <-Previous

Follow-on: Christmas Preemie

Part 2: what’s in the box?

Katsuki woke with a sudden start to cool sheets and aching ears. The events of the night trickled back slowly as he lay there, blinking into the sunlight peaking in at him around the edges of his curtains. No, not his curtains. They were a disgusting pea green color that had been left there by the owner who had rented the place to them. He'd have to remedy that as soon as possible.

In the confusion of the first good night's sleep he'd gotten in a long time, he could convince himself that everything had been a dream. He was still in America, miserable save for the time he spent with Katsumi. But with a rustle of sheets, Izuku's lightning storm and mint scent misted the air.

Katsuki buried his nose in the pillow Izuku had used, inhaling his scent for several long moments. He'd spent years without his mate's scent. Or he should say, the scent of the person he'd like to be his mate eventually. His alpha's scent. His Deku's scent. If scents could be made into perfumes, he would carry around a bottle of Izuku's scent just to pull out when he missed him. And he did miss him. Katsuki had gotten over the knee jerk reaction to deny any soft feeling towards the other hero a long time ago. It was hard to keep hold of them when he adored their daughter who was the spitting image of her father.

A crash and resounding laughter from the kitchen jerked him from his reverie. His hearing aids squealed, and he flinched before snapping his prostheses into place with a grunt. The palm of his prosthetic arm sparked feebly, but there was no sweat in the arm's tubes to light off. They'd be filled soon enough as he started to move around, collected from ports hooked into his armpit's sweat glands.

He took a moment to let the pain settle, running through his pre-operational checks before pushing to his feet.

His hearing aids squealed again, and with a grunt, he pulled them off. The world around him hushed into silence. He should have thought of taking them out before going to bed that night. He hadn't though, not with Izuku's hands on him. There was the very real chance he wouldn't be able to use them for the rest of the day, not with the way his ears were aching. The ringing built slowly until it was filling his head with static. Tinnitus, the worse part of anything he'd done to himself. Even worse than the prostheses. It would fade in and out throughout the day, leaving him in silence or giving him a splitting headache. There was never an in between.

In the kitchen, the counters were dusted with pancake or waffle mix. Fruit and vegetables sweat by the sink, begging for him to save them from a terrible butchering. Smoke rose damningly from a pan on the stove.

Standing over it, Izuku stood with Sumi on his hip and a spatula in his hand. They laughed in unison as Izuku failed to flip the pancake. 'I'm so bad at this. Your papa is a way better cook than me.' They looked so natural together. Izuku's curls against Sumi's. Izuku's smile matching the one of Sumi's face perfectly. Their freckles vibrant and an identical map across their faces. There was no mistaking what they were.

Katsuki couldn't hear them, obviously, but in five years, he had become passable at reading lips. And reading Izuku's had never been a problem.

'Me too,' Sumi confided, trying just as unsuccessfully to flip the pancake. When she finally got it over, they cheered together with hands raised high above their heads.

Katsuki leaned against his doorjamb, watching the pair interact until Izuku caught sight of him.

Red bloomed in his cheeks as he grinned. 'Kacchan! Good morning!' What Katsuki wouldn't have given to see those lips form his name on his worst days in America.

'Morning, Papa! We're making breakfast!' Sumi frowned down at the pan before turning serious eyes on him. 'Trying to. We burned the pancake.' When she looked back up at him, she frowned and pointed to her ear. She pointed the tips of her index fingers at each other, jerking them towards each other twice. 'Hurt?' the sign asked.

Nodding and stepping away from his room, Katsuki surveyed the destruction of his kitchen. He sighed. Raising his hands to sign to Sumi, 'That's because you two can't be trusted in the kitchen. The heat is way too high. How have you already managed to destroy my kitchen in only a day?'

Sumi grinned and translated for Izuku, but didn't actually answer. Izuku scrubbed at the back of his head, eyes darting over the area. 'We were hungry and didn't want to wake you up, so we thought we'd give it a shot. I'm going to clean up. Don't worry.'

Sighing and rounding the counter, Katsuki pulled on the apron he'd hung up the night before and bumped Izuku out of the way with his hip. 'Well, we have to finish breakfast first. Tell Deku he's eating that burnt monstrosity. Also, can you ask him to wash the dishes so you can set the table?'

Sumi nodded, and turned in Izuku's arms to hold his cheeks between her hands. As the three of them got to work, Katsuki fell into the ease of it all. Their scents mixing together in a harmonious chorus. Katsuki and Izuku orbiting around each other as if they'd never stopped. Sumi incorporated seamlessly into the movement as she worked with Izuku.

Katsuki was, fundamentally, happy for the first time in a long time. Even the usual self consciousness of his bare prostheses and deaf ears couldn't find its way into his body. When he was with Izuku, he was the most confident version of himself.

Breakfast went off without a hitch as Sumi did her best to teach Izuku a few basic ASL signs.

Across the table from them, Katsuki smiled and proceeded to say everything dirty he possibly could. He did them while Sumi's eyes were turned away, and was so lewd that Izuku didn't need to know sign language to know what he was saying.

Face red at a strawberry, he cried, 'Kacchan, stop!'

'Never.'

'Papa, stop teasing Daddy!' Sumi signed as she spoke, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow at her in challenge. “I do what I want, punk,” Katsuki said aloud, and though he couldn't hear himself, he knew they had come out correctly when Izuku's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

They were finishing breakfast when Katsuki's eye was caught by a light flashing by the couch. He'd completely forgotten that he'd left his phone out in the living room at the end of the night, and he stood to grab it. He groaned when he saw the name for the video chat request. Accepting the call, he held up a finger without looking at the screen as he returned to the kitchen to find something to stand his phone against. When he had it set up, he stepped back to greet his now ex-boss.

Negative was an imposing woman to say the least. Her eyes were inkwells, blending almost perfectly with her black skin. Her outrageously large Afro was starkly white and just barely being restrained with a Ground Zero themed bandanna she'd bought for the sole purpose of annoying him, but had ended up using often. She was tall and broad shouldered and took up space in a room with her mere presence. Every day he saw her, he thanked the stars that they were both gay. He'd met her wife, a teeny tiny beta woman who was the reason for the term 'lipstick lesbian', and still didn't understand their union.

'What?'

Negative signed as she spoke, mouth tight with consternation, 'You didn't call me, you punk ass bitch. I told you to call as soon as you landed no matter what time it was.'

Katsuki sighed, rolling his eyes. 'Stuff came up.'

'You're a dirty liar. Where's my goddaughter?' she demanded. Cynthia, her wife, appeared in the frame with the widest smile in the world. Her long rainbow dreads swayed as she waved at him and blew him a kiss.

“Hi, Cynthia.” He glanced away from the screen towards the table where Katsumi was waving wildly.

'Is that Shonetta? Aunt Shonetta, I'm over here! I'm over here!' Sumi was yelling, ready to crawl straight across the table to him, but Izuku had an arm around her waist to keep her in place.

Rolling his eyes back to the camera, Katsuki picked up the phone and switched the camera to show Izuku with his still rather sleep-mussed hair and Sumi look just like him. “Shonetta, Cynthia, Deku. Deku, Shonetta and Cynthia.”

Izuku waved at the camera. 'Actually, my name is Izuku. It's nice to meet you.'

Cynthia had crowded in next to Shonetta, staring intently at the screen with wide eyes. Katsuki scrambled to mute the call before she said anything that he was going to regret. 'Holy shit, that's baby daddy, isn't it!' They had always been good at talking while signing for his sake, but sometimes, he wished he couldn't understand them at all.

Which was, of course, a dirty lie. Shonetta and Cythia had singlehandedly kept him sane in America. He had a lot to thank them for. The biggest reason them guiding him through his pregnancy which had been more difficult than most for many reasons. It would take an act of god for him to give them up. Katsuki returned to the counter, glaring at the two women as they continued speculating together.

'Thought you had better taste than that, Kat. Isn't he kind of plain looking?' Shonetta asked.

Cynthia slapped at her wife's arm. 'Be nice! He's adorable! Sumi looks exactly like him! Take us off mute really quick.' Katsuki complied with her request as Shonetta squawked indignantly at not realizing he had muted them in the first place. With a roll of her eyes, Cynthia waves at the camera again. 'Good to know you made it back alright, Kat, Sumi. I've got to get to work, but hope to talk to you soon! Don't be strangers. Bye, Sumi! I love you both!'

Katsuki doesn't turn to catch Sumi's reply, just nodded to Cynthia. "Bye."

When Cynthia seemed to be completely gone, Shonetta turned a wicked grin toward him. 'So, is he... stuff? Have you already-' she signed. By the end, she wasn't even using actual words, just making hand gestures that were so lewd they even made Katsuki's face heat. She was the one he'd learned all of his sign language from, after all.

'No!' he signed aggressively, 'God, you are a menace to society! Leave my mate out of this!'

'Oooooh, mate already?' she crowed, flapping her hands instead of signing. She wrapped her arms around her belly as she began to chortle, and he could almost hear the exact sound of her laughter in his head.

He wanted to strangle every last breath out of her as he peaked at Izuku's red cheeks through the gaps in his fingers. Growling, he reached for the phone. “That's enough out of you. We're alive. You've seen us. Bye. Go die in a ditch.”

Shonetta only continued to laugh as he ended the call, and turned to the table. Without so much as he beat, he pointed at Sumi. 'Breakfast is over. You know the drill. Yoga and then a run. Chop chop. Go get changed. We've got a lot to do today, and not a lot of time to do it.'

Sumi nodded once before turning to Izuku to explain.

'I've got to start heading over to the agency anyway for patrol.' Izuku stood, smiling.

Without missing a beat, Sumi jumped from her chair to wrap her arms around his body and pressed her face into his stomach.

Izuku was taken aback, arms raised to shoulder level as his eyes flicked between Katsuki and Sumi. After a still moment, he let his arms drop around her. He lowered his head, his mouth obscured from Katsuki's views. Sumi grinned up at him before bounding off toward her room.

Izuku turned to look at Katsuki, scrubbing at the back of his head. 'Can I... see you guys again? Tonight maybe?'

“Whatever.” Katsuki pulled Izuku into his body. They tangled together, hips pressed flush, tongues twined, hands on waists and hands in hair. When they parted again, he said, “Gotta make up for five years.” He stared into Izuku's green eyes, brushing a thumb across his cheek. He dropped his eyes to Izuku's lips when he felt them brush against his, pulling back enough just to see what he said.

'Of what?'

“Everything.”

…..

Weeks passed, and things changed. Sumi started going to school. It was weird for her starting Kindergarten in the middle of the school year, but she adjusted well enough.

Katsuki started going back to work. He had more than enough to keep him busy. Relearning the streets and districts of his home city. Figuring out who was still in the city, who was new, and who he would work best with. Reestablishing himself in Japan, and painfully crawling his way up the ranks. Adjusting back to his old hero uniform with the minor adjustments he had made. When he'd gone to America, he hadn't been expecting to stay there for five and a half years, so he hadn't thought to bring his uniform. It wasn't particularly suitable for America anyway, so a uniform had to be made for him while he was there. But just like his original uniform wasn't suitable for America, his overseas uniform wasn't suitable for home.

Izuku became a constant fixture in his and Sumi's life. Every afternoon they came home, it was to Izuku standing on their doorstep. Every night when he fell asleep, it was with Izuku in his arms to soothe the nightmares. Every morning when they left, it was with Izuku beside them. He was around so often and frequently that Katsuki eventually gave him a key, a drawer in his wardrobe and a chunk of space in his closet.

After starting late night patrols again, Izuku was the only one he trusted to watch Sumi. Eventually, he started to let him take over more and more parental responsibilities until they were sharing them as equals instead of Katsuki remaining in his steadfast single parent routine.

He trusted Izuku implicitly, but even that trust was under scrutiny when it came to Sumi.

So, when Katsuki returned home one night with his heat building beneath his skin to Izuku curled on the couch alone, knees pulled to his chest while he watched hero videos, the slightest sliver of betrayal lodge in his chest. “Where's Katsumi? You were supposed to pick her up,” he growled dangerously as he stood behind Izuku, all protective omega father in his voice and stance.

Izuku tilted his head back to look at Katsuki, expression smooth and his scent doing a passable job of being calming. “With your parents and my mother.”

“Why?” Ever so slowly, he began to deflate. He wasn't exactly happy that his daughter was with her grandparents without his knowledge, but happier than if Izuku had forgotten to get her from school.

Blinking slowly, Izuku lifted his head and turned to patiently gaze at him. “We talked about this, remember? When the time came for your heat, Katsumi would stay with your parents and my mom. I know you'll start tomorrow, I could smell it on you every time I passed you on the streets today, but I thought it'd be nice to have a night for ourselves. I wanted to have a date night. Watch a movie, eat some take out, cuddle on the couch. Date nights don't normally include being accompanied by five-year-old daughters.” His expression remained pleasant, but longing crept into his voice. “We haven't spent any time alone together as a couple since you got back. I thought it'd be nice.”

Katsuki stared at him, silent for a long moment while he let his words settle in. Breathing out the spike of betrayal and anger that had stabbed him, he nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I'm going to bathe first. Did you order something already?”

Beaming, Izuku stood on his knees and beckoned Katsuki in for a chaste kiss. “I picked up food from that weird restaurant you like. That one place that has your favorite extra spicy California Roll.”

“Did you get me an extra spicy California Roll?” Katsuki asked, hands resting lightly on Izuku's hips.

Izuku scoffed. “Of course, I did. Do I look stupid to you?” When Katsuki started to open his mouth for a snarky reply, he slapped a hand over his lips. “Don't answer that. Jerk. Just go take your shower.”

Growling low and suggestively in his throat, Katsuki nipped at the soft pads of his fingers, sucking a digit into his mouth for the briefest of moments. When he pulled away, Izuku's face was flaming and he was smirking in satisfaction. “Keep it in your pants for now, Deku. You've got me for three whole days.”

Izuku whined pitifully before slumping back onto the couch in a boneless heap. He pressed his hands over his burning face. “You can't just do stuff like that, Kacchan. I'm not used to it anymore. Especially since we haven't done anything yet.”

Katsuki leaned over the couch, tugging a few fingers away from Izuku's face to look him in the eye. “Yeah, because we were waiting for my first heat together again. Well, it's here now. Prepare yourself because I've got five years of pent up sexual frustration to get out over the next three days.” He grinned viciously.

Again, Izuku whined. “Oh my god, I'm gonna have to go jerk-off or something so I don't cum the moment you touch me.”

Katsuki's smile only grew more vicious. “Do it or don't. You're going to have to figure out a way to satisfy me anyway.”

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut. “Thank god for ruts,” he whispered because when Katsuki's heat hit, Izuku would be catapulted into a rut.

Forty-five minutes later found take-out containers empty and Izuku leaned back against Katsuki's chest while they watched video after video of highlights from All Might's career. They hadn't been able to find a decent movie that they both wanted to watch, and settled for something they were always okay with. Fifteen minutes later though, Izuku turned in Katsuki's arms to face him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow at him, but remained silent in the face of Izuku's determination.

He pressed close, nipping at Katsuki's lips, coaxing him into a slow make-out session as he crawled his way into Katsuki's laps. Knees on either side of the other hero's hips, he ground languidly down into him.

Hissing, Katsuki ripped their mouths apart as he bucked up into Izuku. “Jesus fuck, Deku, are you trying to make me come in my pants?” He could feel Izuku's smirk against his pulse point rather than see it, and shivered.

“No. But I want you to know I'm going to ride you before anything else. I haven't been filled with anything other than toys in five years. It's all I've been able to think about when we're alone since you got back,” Izuku whispered, breath husky as it ghosted across the exposed skin of Katsuki's ear around his hearing aid, “No one wants to top an alpha. Either way, no one could ever live up to you. You're the best, you always have been. I want you to fill me up. I want you to pin me down and dominate me like only you know how, Kacchan.”

Katsuki groaned deep in his throat, biting shallowly into Izuku's collar bone, fingers bruising against his hips. “And no one wants to be topped by an omega. God,” he breathed, “I've missed you. You're the only alpha I'd waste my time on. No one else could ever compare.” Once upon a time, the admission would have made him embarrassed and then angry at his own embarrassment, but now, it was simply the truth.

“I've never been able to look at anyone else,” Izuku whispered, ducking his head to catch Katsuki's lips again, “You're my only. You're my forever even if I'm not yours.”

Katsuki didn't get the chance to reply as Izuku sealed their mouths together again. They were teeth and tongues and sharp canines and blood mixed with saliva. They were rolling hips and heat and moans and needy pleasure.

“Deku-” Katsuki gasped, but Izuku swallowed down his own name.

“Bedroom, Kacchan, please. I need you,” Izuku gasped between kisses and panted breaths. He moaned into Katsuki's mouth when Katsuki gripped his ass and effortlessly lifted them from the couch. Arms twined around shoulders, legs wrapped around that ever so slender waist.

They tumbled into bed with foreheads pressed together and gasped laughter.

It was hours later, after Katsuki had taken Izuku, allowed Izuku to manhandle his protheses off and his heat had fully set in that Izuku said anything. “I want to exchange mating bites.”

Katsuki was panting, face pressed into the sheets as his body wound back up for another cresting wave of his heat. His mind was hazed with lust, muzzy and indistinct, but he understood that clearly enough. “Still?” He was just curious, but he couldn't tell what his voice sounded like. Sarcastic? Accusatory? Interested?

“I never stopped wanting to,” Izuku whispered while he gently guided Katsuki onto his back and then to sit up so he could press a water bottle to his mouth. “I've only ever wanted to be with you, Kacchan. Ever since we were little. Even when we weren't anything more than rivals.”

Katsuki accepted the water gratefully while Izuku proceeded to wipe his body down with a warm, damp cloth. “I thought you would have stopped after I disappeared without even a text. For keeping Katsumi from you. All of it.”

Leaving the cloth in the bathroom sink, Izuku climbed back onto the bed behind him. He pulled Katsuki flush against his chest, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “No, I'm a stubborn as you are.”

Katsuki pressed back into Izuku, tilting his head so their temples were pressed together. “I don't think I'm ready,” he whispered, eyes closed as he tried to think through his jumbled thoughts.

“There's no rush. You don't ever have to accept. I'll wait for a long as you need even if that means waiting forever. I'm very patient.”

“It won't be forever, idiot. Just... not yet.” Turning his head more completely towards Izuku, he growled, “Now, less talking, more kissing.”

“Needy,” Izuku said with a giggle, but gave him what he wanted all the same.

…..

Katsuki was just walking into the office after his shift -nine in the morning, no coffee since midnight, no Katsumi since the morning before- and he was frustrated. The night hadn't been a good one, and with blood still drying in crusty patches all over his uniform, he was as unhappy as they could come. He just wanted to see his daughter for the first time in what felt like days and cuddle with her and his alpha on the couch.

“Kat! Thank god!” Kirishima shouted, running towards him. He wrapped strong fingers around his bicep, dragging him towards his office. “Come with me. Have you heard?”

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Katsuki snarled, but out of pure mental exhaustion, allowed himself to be dragged into his best friend's office. The door slammed shut behind them, and Katsuki went to raid Kirishima's coffee counter when he was released. “What the fuck's up with you anyway? It's too early in your shift to be acting like a jackass.”

Standing by his door, Kirishima rung his hands, staring out the clouded glass window instead of looking at Katsuki.

When he remained silent, Katsuki snarled and stepped into his space. “What the fuck is going on, Eiji?”

Kirishima jolted, head dropping in submission.

Katsuki stomach curdled with a sudden rush of nausea. It had been a long time since he'd seen Kirishima bare the back of his neck to him, and the last time he had, Izuku had been in a coma with no chance of recovering anytime in his immediate future. He gripped Kirishima's shoulder tightly, positive that his anxiety was being transferred through every pore. “What the fuck is going on?”

Whining, Kirishima covered his hand with his own, “I'm not supposed to tell you. The boss told me to just keep you out of the way so they can handle it.”

“If you don't fucking tell me, I'm just going to go out there and find out what the fuck is going on myself!”

“The- Uh- Your-” Kirishima groaned, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Some villains have taken a kindergarten school hostage. The call just came through a few minutes ago. The boss and some of the others have already gone-”

Shoving Kirishima aside, Katsuki tore through the door, heart beating a million miles an hour. 'Not again! Not again! Not again!' He burst into the sky towards Katsumi's school, sun bright and hot overhead. He could see the specks of other heroes moving in the same direction, then he saw a flash of green lightning disappear between the buildings.

He wanted to call out. He wanted Katsumi to be safe. He wanted Izuku to be safe. He wanted them both in his arms, and for none of this to be happening. He stumbled to a stop down the street from the school, just like he had the first time. When he saw the flames, his vision went black.

…..

When he came to, it was to the feeling of his breath wheezing in and out, warm familiar weight pressed against his chest, and Izuku staring straight at the ceiling with a far away expression. His fingers worked over something in his palm. His eyes were red, cheeks tear stained. His uniform was bloody and torn, but for once, he was whole. It felt like the first time Katsuki had ever seen him completely unbroken after a battle. Only thing was, he couldn't actually remember what had happened in this battle.

Agonizingly slow, he turned his head to look down at his chest. Katsumi laid there curled in the smallest ball possible, her own face tear stained and her legs removed. Her mane of green hair was tangled and dusted with dirt and ash.

He went to lift his arm, the one she wasn't sleeping on, but found only his stump. Frowning, he turned to glare at it. His mind was what he suspected was drug slow, and he couldn't really understand why his prostheses and hearing aids had been removed. He hadn't gotten that hurt, there was no way.

Lifting his eyes, Izuku was staring at him with a mouth all misshapen like a soft noodle and tears pouring down his face.

'Don't cry, idiot,' he wanted to say, but his hand was held captive and he wasn't sure if his voice was audible. He only knew that when he tried to speak, pain bloomed in his throat. Closing his eyes, his throat vibrated with a groan.

Fingers balled up the front of his gown, pulling the neckline taught against the back of his neck. A hard line pressed into his chest, and Izuku's fists shook against him.

'Don't. Cry. Izuku,' Katsuki tried again, and again, there was pain. He'd been expecting it this time so he was able to crack his eyes open despite the pain.

Izuku was sobbing against his body, forehead pressed to his chest. Head so close to Sumi's that their hair mingled, dirty and green and beautifully curly.

In his chest, Katsuki's heart silently swelled and burst when Sumi extracted a hand from beneath her body to pat Izuku's curls. Closing his eyes, a hot tear tracked down Katsuki's cheek with the sheer relief of having them both with him. He couldn't remember the battle, but for the second time, his daughter's school had been attacked. For the second time, he'd been close to losing her. This scene before him could have ended up as a very different one.

Katsuki could feel Izuku's lips moving against his chest, breath rapid fire with words he couldn't hear. He only opened his eyes again when he felt small fingers press to his ear.

Sumi wasn't looking at him, but instead at Izuku, tugging against his hair to get him to lift his head. When he finally complied, eyes blurry with fat tears, she tapped on Katsuki's ears before pointing to her own.

Izuku's eyes darted up to Katsuki's face. After a moment of staring, he scrubbed quickly at his eyes before stepping away towards a table that had four prosthetic limbs and three bags on it. Sitting back down, calmer than before even though his lips were still that same soft noodle shape, he handed Sumi one hearing aid.

Together, they hooked Katsuki back up. Very carefully, Sumi turned them on, staring at his face intently as she turned the volume up.

The beeping of his heart monitor faded into existence followed by Sumi's and Izuku's breathing. “Good,” he said, and his voice was barely a croak passed the pain. Wincing, he lifted his unpinned hand to his throat.

Izuku and Sumi reached for his hand at the same time, stopping him from touching his throat. “The doctor said not to touch,” Sumi told him.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow over at Izuku.

Tears crowded Izuku's eyes immediately again, and tracked down his face. His voice trembled as he whispered, “You were really hurt, Kacchan. The villain got you by the throat. You were fighting her alone while everyone else was either fighting the rest of her gang or rushing to evacuate the kids and staff. I couldn't get to you fast enough. I thought you were going to die. I felt so useless seeing you like that.”

“Now you know how it feels, dumbass.” Gritting his teeth, he breathed through the pain.

“Don't call Daddy that! It's mean!” Katsumi glared at him, lip puckered in a pout and her own big red eyes beginning to fill with tears. Her lip trembled, and then she was sniffling as her tears fell. “I-I was so scared, Papa. I thought you were gonna leave me and Daddy alone. I don't want you to die, Papa.”

Katsuki pulled her in against his chest, pressing as kiss to her forehead and holding her tight. When he looked to Izuku, he held out his stump, motioning him forward.

Izuku crowded in against his side, and the two loves of his life cried against him for long enough that their tears soaked his gown and the hard edge digging into his shoulder from Deku's palm pissed him off. “Deku, what the fuck is in your hand?” he growled through gritted teeth, “It fucking hurts.”

“Papa, you have foul language,” Katsumi whispered, but didn't pull away from him.

Izuku jumped away from him, his tears abruptly stopping as roses bloomed in his cheeks. He stammered and stammered and stammered a whole lot of nonsense until Katsumi's giggles interrupted him. “Sumi!” he cried.

“Just show him, Daddy! You don't have to be nervous!”

“Oh, yes I do!” Izuku argued back, “He could say no!”

Katsumi waved away his concern. “He's not gonna say no.”

“He might! I think I might know him just a little more after knowing him longer than you have!”

“Not in the last five years! I know him the best. He's gonna say yes.”

“How about you let 'him' decide for himself since he's sitting right here,” Katsuki interjected before the banter could continue any further, “Just spill it, Deku. My head's all fuzzy and my throat hurts, and I'm annoyed that my daughter knows more about whatever this is than I do.” Oh. Oh, he was going to regret all that talking later. He already was.

Izuku's eyes flickered between Sumi and Katsuki until he finally swallowed thickly. “Don't try to kill me. The doctors only stitched up the hole in your side a few hours ago.” He closed his eyes tightly.

Katsuki blinked rapidly at his alpha, those words sticking on repeat in his head. There had been a hole in his side? Just how much had the villains fucked him up? Well, clearly enough to land him in the hospital with some very good drugs running through his veins. Drugs that were clearly impairing his thought process.

'Not the point right now, dumbass,' Katsuki silently reprimanded himself.

'Alpha offer. Alpha wants. Give to alpha. Care for alpha,' his omega chanted, nearly prancing from one side to the other, 'Alpha offer family. Alpha offer commitment. Take. Agree.'

Izuku hadn't even opened his hand yet, so Katsuki turned a snarl inward, 'Shut the fuck up, and stop jumping to conclusions.'

'Omega conclusions. Our conclusions. Want. Take. Mate. Alpha. Family.'

Mentally rolling his eyes, Katsuki tried to ignore his omega's constant stream of consciousness in exchange for watching Izuku closely. Slowly, his fingers uncurled, and Katsuki's brain completely shut off. The monitor over his shoulder picked up its pace. His omega began to leap for joy in his chest, each jump punctuated by a beat of his heart.

When Katsuki just continued to stare, Izuku cautiously opened his eyes and with his mouth set in an uncertain line, opened the box. In a cushion of black velvet, a gold ring with two diamonds and a single emerald sat unobtrusively. “I've had it for awhile, but I was trying to get up the courage to actually ask you. I've never really thought about it, but after you came back, I couldn't stop thinking about it. And after the attack, I realized that I don't have the luxury of being afraid.” Inhaling deeply, Izuku finally met Katsuki's eyes. “I want to spend my entire life with you and Katsumi. I want to be your husband, your mate, a father to our daughter and everything in between. If you weren't in a hospital bed right now, I'd get down on one knee, but since you are, I'll just ask. Katsuki Bakugou, will you marry me?”

Completely speechless, Katsuki just continued to stare down at the ring in Izuku's hands. He realized Izuku's hands were shaking about the same time he realized that his eyes were filling with tears.

“K-Kacchan?”

“Papa! Answer Daddy!” Sumi cried, bouncing excitedly beside him on the bed, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on! Come on! Come on!”

Instead of answering aloud, Katsuki just stuck out his hand.

A sigh exploded from Izuku's chest. “Thank god,” he whispered, setting the box off to the side as he took Katsuki's hand in his mangled ones to slip the ring on his finger.

Katsuki dragged him forward, pressing their mouths together while Sumi cheered loud enough that a nurse peaked into the room. “One condition. You stop running headlong into situations that will get you killed,” he said.

“Okay, but only as long as you don't end up in situations that land you in a hospital bed. My heart can't handle it,” Izuku whispered against his lips, eyes still closed even though Katsuki's eyes were open again, “I can't go through this again. I don't want Katsumi to go through it again. You two have been through enough.”

“All three of us, but now you know how I felt every time I saw you in a hospital bed.” Izuku didn't need to open his eyes for Katsuki to see him roll them.

Sumi wiggled her way between them. “Does that mean Daddy is going to come live with us from now on?”

“I wasn't aware that he wasn't already,” Katsuki said snarkily.

“Yay!” Sumi swung around on the bed to face the nurse and Best Jeanist who was now beside her. “My Daddy and Papa are going to get married! And when Papa gets pregnant again, I'm going to have a little brother and maybe even a little sister! And Uncle Eiji is going to be Best Man, and oh! Uncle Tsu! You can be ring bearer! Wait, no! I'm going to be ring bearer, but you can walk with me!”

A thin blonde eyebrow rose, but Best Jeanist didn't say anything as Izuku and Katsuki began to splutter.

“Woah!” Katsuki croaked, pain thrumming through his neck, but he couldn't stop, “Who said I was gonna give you a brother, little monster? You're already enough. Just be happy with your cousins.”

As their banter continued between the three of them around and around, Katsuki couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed with Best Jeanist and the nurse's eyes on them. This was his family. This was his mate and his daughter. When their wedding day came, he was going to scream that truth from the rooftops.

He'd never been happier in his life.

#my hero academia #mha #bakudeku #dekubaku #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakugou-midoriya katsumi #omegaverse #omega!katsuki #alpha!izuku #deaf!katsuki #disabled!katsuki #my writing #coming home #two shot #christmas preemie

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

No one asked for this, but I can’t watch that latest 911 episode and NOT write for it.

Spoilers for 911 Season 3 Episode 15 (AKA, the “we are going to fuck up Eddie, and you are going to cry” episode).

It’s been three days since Eddie almost died, and the water inhalation, the cold rain, and the newly-formed nightmares interrupting his sleep are beginning to take a toll on his body despite receiving a clean bill of health from the hospital he had been transported to.

He wakes on the fourth day gasping and choking after physically pulling himself from a nightmare where he was trapped underwater and couldn’t break through the mud that was pressing in toward him. He presses a shaking hand to his bare, heaving chest, small coughs wheezing past his lips, and it takes a solid four minutes until the rapid patter of his heartbeat slows to a steady rhythm.

He taps his phone screen, frowning at the far-too-early time. He still has three hours until he needs to wake up, but the mere thought of going back to sleep to those dreams sends a chill down his spine.

He slips out of bed instead, shuffling quietly to the living room, arms crossed as the cool air seemingly assaults his bare skin. He slumps down on the couch, pulling a blanket that��s folded on the back of the couch around his shoulders, and he snags the remote, muting the TV as it turns on.

He flips through a few channels, finally stopping on an infomercial for a new vacuum since of all the infomercials playing at 3 a.m., the vacuum seems the most interesting, but he only lasts seven minutes until his eyelids grow too heavy to stay open.

*****

Nodding off without his phone beside him was certainly not planned, and though he feels as if he’s only been asleep for minutes, it’s far too bright when he gives in to Christopher’s near-constant patting at his knee.

“I’m up, bud,” he mutters, yawning wide and loud. “What time is it?”

For a few seconds, Christoper is silent, and Eddie’s eyes slip shut once more until Christopher mutters “7:23.”

“Shit!” He flies off the couch, head reeling at the sudden movement, and he swallows back a few coughs as he starts toward his room, Christopher following slowly behind.

“You said a swear word. I’m gonna tell Buck.”

“I know,” Eddie says, frowning as he digs through his dresser for a clean shirt. “I’m sorry, but maybe we can keep this from Buck, huh?” He grabs a navy blue, long-sleeve shirt he doesn’t recognize and slips it over his head before he starts looking for pants. “Keep it our little secret?”

“Maybe,” Christopher says with a shrug, and Eddie can only hope that “maybe” means Christopher will forget by the time they make it out the door.

“Have you brushed your teeth?” He asks, whipping a quick gaze back toward Christopher. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“We haven’t had breakfast,” Christopher reminds him, cocking his head slightly to the side, and Eddie sighs and turns away to cough a few times into his shoulder.

“Breakfast on the run today? We can get donuts.” He snags a pair of jeans and starts pulling them on as he stumbles to the bathroom.

“Donuts!”

Eddie pokes his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush hanging from his mouth. “Only if you hustle those muscles.” He nods toward Christoper’s room, and Christopher squeals through a laugh as he starts his way back to his own room.

Somehow, he and Christopher make it out the door six minutes later, and Eddie’s about to race toward the closest donut shop, only hesitating when Christopher reminds him of Buck.

“You said you were driving him to work today.”

“I did,” Eddie sighs, briefly pinching the bridge of his nose to try and squeeze away this growing headache, but then his phone chimes off and, of course, it’s Buck asking where he is, so he blinks a few times, rubbing at his eyes, before he slips his truck into drive and starts toward Buck’s.

*****

Despite making it in the typical ten minutes, he’s still fifteen minutes later than he usually is, and Buck’s frowning when he opens the passenger door.

“Took you long... Is that my shirt?”

“What?” Eddie glances down, frown curling at his lips as Buck hops into the truck, dropping his bag at his feet.

“That’s definitely my shirt.”

“Hi, Buck!”

Buck whips around to chat with Christopher, smile wide enough to blind, but all Eddie can focus on, for the moment, is the shirt. He tugs at it, confusion playing across his face.

“Anyway, Buck draws out, still smiling, as he turns back to the front. “You’re late.”

“I overslept,” Eddie grumbles as he puts his truck back into drive.

“First you steal my shirt, and now you’re stealing my excuses?” Buck asks, head tilting slightly to the left.

“And he said a swear word in front of me today!”

“You did what?” Buck shouts, playing up the over-dramatics, at the same time Eddie yells “Christopher!”

“He said s,h,i,t,” Christopher spells out, and Eddie grips the steering wheel a little harder when Buck gapes at him.

“No one is getting donuts if you both don’t stop ganging up on me,” Eddie spits out, and the loud screams that follow has him cracking a smile as he navigates to the nearest donut shop.

*****

“Are you okay?” Buck asks, voice considerably softer, when Eddie pulls into a parking spot at the station, and Eddie sighs for the umpteenth time that morning alone, shoulders sagging slightly.

He drags a tired gaze to meet Buck’s worried eyes. “Yeah,” he lies, cocking his head to the side, “why?”

“Oversleeping,” Buck starts, “cursing in front of Christopher, and, no offense, but your normally perfectly golden tan skin is looking a little washed out.” His lips curl into a half-smile when Eddie’s face falls flat.

“And your normally chiseled jawline is about to meet my fist,” Eddie spits out, opening his door and slipping from his truck.

Buck’s quick to follow, snagging his bag and hopping out of the truck quickly to catch up with Eddie, who’s already grabbed his bag from the backseat and walked away from the truck.

“Seriously, Eddie!” Buck calls out, jogging toward Eddie until they’re falling into step. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine--”

“--and you’ve been through a lot this week--”

Shaking his head, Eddie stops and spins toward Buck, ignoring the slight sway in his vision from the quick movement. “Buck,” he presses, tugging on Buck’s arm until Buck’s turning to face him, “I’m fine.”

Buck’s eyes narrow as if trying to physically read through the lines, and his face is still pinched in concern, but he eventually nods slowly. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

*****

While Eddie knew that he wasn’t actually as “fine” as he insisted he was, if his headache and occasional coughing was anything to go by, he didn’t expect his legs to give out in the locker room after returning from their third call.

He falls onto the bench with a low thud, eyes blurring, face burning despite his muscles trembling. His head is throbbing, a hammer knocking repeatedly at his temples, and his lungs are tight with a need to cough, something he’s been swallowing back more and more as they day’s progressed.

He’s not surprised when Buck walks in after him just seconds later, still calling out to Hen over his shoulder, but his words trickle off toward a softer, hesitant tone that’s laced with concern.

“Eddie?”

Eddie can’t seem to get himself to sit upright. The fatigue coating his bones has him hunched forward, elbows braced against his knees and face dropped into his cupped hands.

“Um, Eddie?” Buck repeats, padding quietly across the room until he’s standing over Eddie, frown painted across his lips. “What’s wrong? Did you get hurt on that last call?

Eddie shakes his head slowly, the small movement alone bringing forth more pain to his head, and he keeps his face tucked against his palms.

Buck’s mind flicks through possible scenarios, pausing on one that has the blood draining from his face.

“Is it Christopher?”

“No, Eddie mutters. He desperately wants to curl up on the floor, press his hot cheek to the cold tile.

“Then, what’s wrong?” Buck asks, dropping to the bench beside Eddie. He reaches out toward Eddie, cupping his hand over the back of Eddie’s neck, but the second he feels the alarming heat, he jerks his hand back, slips off the bench, and drops to a crouch in front of Eddie.

“Hey, Eddie,” he starts, voice quick, as he tugs on Eddie’s wrists lightly. “Can you look at me?”

Eddie’s slow to oblige, his muscles moving as if fighting against the same, thick, wet mud he was trapped in. He lifts his head, and Buck sucks in a sharp gasp and presses the back of his hand to his forehead.

“Shit,” he mutters, standing upright, “you’re burning up.” He glances toward the door. “I’m getting Bobby,” and Eddie can’t find it in him to argue, not as Buck runs out of the room, and not even when Buck comes back with Bobby, Hen, and Chimney hot on his heels.

He can only cough harshly over and over into the crook of his arm when the others crowd around him, with Buck dropping back onto the bench beside him and Bobby crouching in front of him.

Bobby’s quick to smooth a palm over his forehead when his coughing finally tampers off, and he whistles low, concern coloring his eyes.

“That’s a hell of a fever you’re sporting, Eddie.”

Nodding, Eddie tilts to the right until his head’s dropping against Buck’s shoulder, and Buck’s quick to wrap a steady arm around his waist.

“I’m not surprised after the well,” Bobby adds. “You’ve gone through quite a bit this week.”

“You probably inhaled a lot of water,” Hen starts, frowning, arms crossed. “We should make sure this doesn’t develop into pneumonia.” She looks to Bobby, and the two share a silent conversation before he steps aside to let Hen assess Eddie. She counts his pulse, gauges his fever by touch alone.

“I think you should be okay with a week or so of rest.”

That clicks in Eddie’s head-- the first thing since everyone walked in. He shoots up to his feet, swaying, hand coming to his forehead. “A week?” he spits out, leaning a little too heavily against Buck when Buck stands up beside him and places a steady hand to the small of his back.

“That seems a bit excessive.”

“It’s really not,” Chimney says. “You should probably stay out longer, but we know how you are.”

“How I am?” Eddie parrots back, brows furrowed, and his frown deepens when Hen and Chimney both call him reckless with worried smiles.

“You know,” Chimney adds, “that whole hero act that’s got you in this situation in the first place.”

“I saved a kid,” Eddie fires back, chest suddenly burning as hot as his cheeks.

“Yeah,” Buck nods, “but you cut the line--”

“--you would have done the same!” The shout has Eddie doubling over into a coughing fit, and Bobby calls everyone to order as Buck eases Eddie back down onto the bench.

“That’s enough. Hen, go call in two support members who can come in for the next week.”

“Two?”

“Buck’s going to make sure this doesn’t turn into something worse,” Bobby says, eyes finding Buck’s, and Buck nods quickly, silent understanding.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Eddie mutters, and Buck leans more toward him, hand gentle at his back.

“Don’t fight this, Eddie. We’re all just worried about you.”

It takes a few minutes, but Eddie finally concedes, knowing he’s facing a losing battle, and feeling utterly drained after his small outburst. He waits as Buck gets instructions from Hen and Chimney: what signs to look for, how much liquids, how often he should get a reading on the fever.

And, Eddie’s hesitant to hand over his truck keys when Buck insists he’s not well enough to drive, but then fever chills start to slip up his spine, and Buck drapes his jacket over his shoulders. He gives in then, reluctantly dropping the keys into Buck’s outstretched palm, and trying to ignore the excited smile that briefly pulls at Buck’s lips.

He’s frustrated when he finds he can’t walk on his own to his truck, and Buck can feel the quiet tension and tries his best to pierce it with light comments that Eddie can’t focus on around the pounding in his head. The second he’s settled into the passenger seat, with Buck’s jacket tucked over him, he drops his head against the window and drifts off almost immediately.

*****

He comes to when, in his dream, he loses his last breath against dark, thick water, jolting awake with a strangled shout that falls away to a coughing fit. He clutches at his neck, coughing over and over, but then a glass of water is being pressed into his other hand, and he sucks it down, ignoring the voice beside him telling him to go easy.

The water helps. His coughing tampers off, and he blinks past tears pricking at his eyes to see that he’s in his bedroom, and it’s dark.

“What the hell,” he rasps out, eyes dragging across his room until they fall on Buck, who’s perched on the edge of the bed, normally bright blue eyes clouded with concern.

“Yeah,” Buck spits out, “what the hell-- how long have you been having nightmares?”

“I’m not,” Eddie tries, but Buck doesn’t back down.

“You woke up screaming.”

Eddie hands Buck the glass of water and sinks back against his pillows, one arm draping over his eyes. “Since then,” he sighs.

“When?”

“You know when.”

Face falling, Buck sets the glass of water on the bedside table and drops one hand to Eddie’s thigh.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I shouldn’t be having nightmares,” Eddie mutters around a few coughs. “I saved the kid.”

“You also almost died too.”

The words hit him in a weird way, like a bucket of ice water being slowly poured over him. “Thanks for reminding me,” he says flatly, and Buck sighs, thumb tracing mindless circles on Eddie’s thigh.

“You know what I mean. I think what happened to you warrants nightmares. You think I didn’t have my fair share of nightmares after my leg? After the tsunami? It’s normal to have them after a traumatic experience.”

“What are you,” Eddie mutters, lifting his arm and arching one brow, “a psychologist now?”

“Oh thank God,” Buck draws out, getting to his feet, “I thought I was going to have to keep up the act for the entire week.”

Eddie cracks a smile, a few small laughs slipping past his lips, but then his groggy mind catches up to his headache, and he groans, massaging his temples.

“Where’s my kid?”

“The living room,” Buck says, walking into Eddie’s bathroom to snag the medicine he bought earlier per Hen’s instructions. “Playing Mario Kart.”

Frowning, Eddie rolls his head to the side to see Buck. “Did you pick him up from school?”

“Yep. I told him you’re busy being a hero and fighting off a really bad monster right now, so we will have to be extra quiet for a while so you can focus.”

Eddie drags his gaze back to the ceiling, chest bursting with a warmth that’s different from the stifling heat of his fever. “Did you feed him?” he asks, smile creeping at his lips.

“Yep.”

“Something other than takeout pizza?”

“I cooked fettuccine,” Buck says, smiling, an air of pride surrounding him as he hands Eddie two pills and helps him sit back up. “And he told me I cook way better than you, which basically translates to ‘Buck, you are superior.’”

Eddie almost chokes on the water he sips at to swallow the medicine, and he coughs lightly around the glass, both brows arching.

“Oh, is that so?”

Buck nods, taking the glass back from Eddie. “Yeah, sorry, man. I don’t make the rules.” He helps Eddie back against the pillows and pulls his blanket back to his chin when Eddie starts shivering.

“You know I’ve got you, right?” he asks quietly, hand brushing against Eddie’s forehead, and Eddie smiles lazily, sleep pulling at him, beckoning to him.

“I know.”

#911 #9-1-1 #9-1-1 season 3 #9-1-1 spoilers #Buddie #Eddie Diaz #evan buckley #sickfic #whump #whumpfic #911 spoilers #my writing #my 911 writing #fox 911 #911 fox #9 1 1 #9 1 1 spoilers #eddie/buck

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