#apparently calling in sick is counted the same as not saying anything and just not showing up so that's nice

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff 

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You’re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

x

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[thetreeturnedoff]

so uh, i'm like one sick day away from losing my job, so that's nice

#apparently calling in sick is counted the same as not saying anything and just not showing up so that's nice #like what's the fucking point of me calling in ahead of time to let you know i need to be replaced if you're gonna punish me as if i didn't #like. all this means is that i don't need to put the effort into warning you that i'll be out. i can just not show up and let you deal with #not knowing i wouldn't be there. like ???? #and doctor's notes don't affect this. so me being able to prove that i was out cause i literally couldn't work doesn't mean anything #i'm so angry #i've put so much effort into this job and it all means jack shit #it's not my fault i got sick. i got it from my dad. like am i just supposed to lock myself in my room when i'm at home? #i've been so weak and unable to breathe that i actually would have passed out at work had i gone in #i've had trouble walking up and down the stairs in my home #i work as a stocker in a grocery store so it's a lot of fast moving and carrying/pushing heavy things #and if i went in there's a chance i could have gotten my coworkers sick. which means they'd be out too #like what the fuck was i supposed to do here #my friend lost his job working here the same way. like you literally just have to miss 3 days in a 6 month period and you get fired #and most of the past week hasn't been counted against me. but two of the days were. which also makes no sense #idk man. i'm angry #so so fucking angry #but i'm also like super non-confrontational and i cry when i'm upset so ik i'm gonna look pathetic tomorrow when my manager questions me #and i probably won't be able to defend myself cause i dissociate when i'm stressed #especially in a situation like this with an authority figure #even if he's super gentle tomorrow i can already tell i'm gonna be crying in front of him and my coworkers and maybe even the customers too #which'll just make it worse #>:( #:'(

[missmonsters2]

Your Touch is My Shelter

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: 6 months later, Natasha returns from the dead. It's a tightly kept secret as it's unknown how she returned, but everyone claws and fights about who will keep watch over her like savages. You're far down the list of people who should protect her, but you find yourself unable to leave her be.

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort. undisclosed trauma. physical and mental signs of trauma. angst. somber assisted bath time. sad hair braiding. emphasis on hurt AND comfort.

Note: This takes place after endgame :-) the dates might be inaccurate idk i did my best 🥲 ha-ha enjoy 👁️👁️

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Count: 5.2k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You heard the news through Bruce. 

Well, it was through Bruce telling Pepper, and you just happened to be at the coffee machine getting shitty coffee. The quality drastically dropped since Tony was gone, and you've been putting off telling Pepper she needed to literally buy anything else. 

You didn't really know how long was the appropriate time for someone to grieve before you could ask if they could buy another brand of coffee.

Tony was gone. 

A part of you thinks you keep putting off telling Pepper because then you'd have to face—really face—he was gone. 

Steve was gone. 

What did it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Coffee was just coffee, and it'd probably taste fine if you just put a shitload of sugar and creamer in it. 

Vision was gone. 

Honestly, you only really noticed because it was the same brand as whatever was stocked up at the Avengers Compound. 

Natasha was gone. 

But perhaps the coffee always tasted bad at the Compound and it had nothing to do with Tony being gone. Natasha used to bring coffee into the office most days for people, and Clint filled in the other days. 

Maybe Tony Stark just liked shitty coffee, and you were only now just noticing it. 

Natasha was back. 

Your hand faltered at the coffee machine, spilling a little of it on your hand, and the burn stung immediately.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked as he noticed you inhale a sharp breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly at him before looking at Pepper. "Morgan's fine. She just has the flu and her fever's gone down. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and fluids. I'm going to set up a humidifier for her and help her settle into bed with a movie and wait for her to fall asleep before I head out."

Pepper let out a heavy breath, putting her hand over her chest in relief. "Oh, perfect. Thank you so much for coming suddenly. I just—Morgan doesn't really like going to the hospital, and suddenly she started throwing up and having a fever—"

"It's fine, Pepper," you waved off her ramblings after you wiped what you spilled on the counter. "You can always call me if you need me."

"Seriously, I think I might just employ you full-time as a live-in doctor if you say that," Pepper joked, and you laughed. 

"I am already your live-in doctor, just for one of your research labs. instead."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You don't think about Natasha—at least, you try not to. 

You heard things here and there about it through Pepper. Apparently, she's being held in a government facility similar to The Raft, detained like some criminal they needed to study instead of the war hero who sacrificed everything to save the world. 

It made you sick to your stomach. 

But you hear that Clint, Bruce, and Nick Fury have been fighting to get custody of her, so you don't think about it. There were people who knew Natasha far better than you did and were way closer to her than you were. 

She was in good hands. 

So, you continue on with your daily routine to pass your monotonous days, unaware you're waiting for some kind of update.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next time you heard about Natasha Romanoff, it was Clint and Bruce cornering you at your lab.

"What?" You panicked, tensing up. "Why me?"

"You're the only person Natasha ever sought out to treat her," Clint answered, and you felt even more lost at the fact he knew. "Natasha allows medical professionals onsite to help her, but there were times she left to go see you. That has to mean something."

But, of course, he knew. He was Natasha's...best friend. And Clint was an incredibly nosy person, even if Natasha didn't tell him. 

"I've only treated her a handful of times—literally only five times. I don't know her that well," you shook your head, trying to walk around them. "I didn't even know she had a sister until you told me."

"Please," Clint begged. "I'm fighting to get her out, and the doctors they have looking after her are shady and callous with her. I can only visit her with Nick's influence, but it's not enough to get her out of there."

"And what do you suppose I can do?"

"You're a renowned cellular biologist," Bruce cut in. "If they're holding her for research, we want someone on our side who will at least treat her like a human being. The faster we get answers, the faster we can get her out."

"Please," Clint begged again. "Natasha needs help. She's...different. And it's only going to get worse if she remains in there. She's not talking, and they won't let her go until they can find some answers."

It felt wrong. 

You don't want to study Natasha Romanoff like an animal. Despite being a scientist with an inquisitive mind, you don't care about how she returned.

But it sounded like Natasha would be researched whether you liked it or not. And if that was the case, you do wonder how the other doctors may be treating her.

"Fine, we're going first thing in the morning," you gritted out, unable to block out the handful of memories of times you've treated her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2012

"Oo, that looks painful," you hissed in sympathy as a redhead with a busted lip and nasty gash on her temple entered the med bay.

There was a snort that sounded like a half-grunt. "It looks worse than it feels. I hope I'm not intruding, but Tony said I should see you to be treated."

"Natasha, right?" You asked slowly, gesturing to a seat for her to take as you grabbed some medical supplies. 

"Yes," Natasha replied, equally slow with caution.

"Tony talks about you a lot," you tried to reassure her of whatever paranoia she might have. It probably didn't help that Natasha was still in her catsuit and probably would've preferred to be called by her alias.

"Well, don't believe everything he says," Natasha gives a light but somewhat tight smile. 

"Oh, so you aren't a unique woman with high intellect, sneaky, and rightfully smug?" You teased, and it was flattering that you could make a superhero laugh. 

You began treating Natasha's wound carefully. 

"You're pretty good at this, doc," Natasha commented as you blew on her brow, even if it didn't sting. "You're pretty gentle. Must be why Tony says you're his personal doctor."

You chuckled. "I'm actually a cellular biologist. Tony is funding my research and pretty much my lifestyle. With the money he's paying me, he can come crying about his boo-boos anytime. Although, he doesn't really come to me for serious stuff. It's usually if he has something ridiculous like a papercut."

"But you can treat wounds and other medical things?" 

"I was on my way to becoming a medical doctor before I decided to go into research instead."

"Huh," Natasha hummed, raising her brow at you. "Smart cookie."

"I'd like to think so," you finished cleaning Natasha's wound and putting a bandaid over it. "Feel free to come see me if you need any other basic medical aid. For a pretty redhead, it's free of charge."

"And if I come back blonde?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," you smiled, and Natasha smirked back at you.

"Smart and funny. Tony has it too good."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

April 2014

"This is the worst bandage job I've ever seen. Who did you go to see for this? A grocery clerk?"

Natasha grunted. "Hi, to you too, doc."

You looked at Natasha, noticing how different her hair is now. But it's been about two years since you have seen her. Despite your offer for her to come to you anytime she needed help, she never did. Or she rarely did, you supposed. 

You could only deduce that Natasha was used to caring for her wounds on her own. That, or she didn't trust you. 

"Alright, let's go to my office," you sighed. 

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, kind of hit a brick wall."

"Oh, me too."

You looked over at Natasha, who had a straight face, but you noticed the bruise on her temple outside the obvious gun wound on her shoulder.

You pursed your lips. "Will you hate me if I laugh?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I may like you less if you don't."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2015

"You know, when I told you that you could come for me for basic medical aid, I feel like you didn't understand the meaning of basic."

"Is this too complicated for you?"

"No."

"Then am I unwelcomed?"

You pursed your lips at the redhead, who stared at you with a tiny upward quirk on her lip. "No," you sighed. "Just not sure why you'd want to see me for such serious wounds. There are other more experienced doctors."

You lift Natasha's shirt up, looking at the long gash on the side of her stomach. "We're gonna need to stitch this up. I've been doing research with Dr. Cho, and we have a new machine that can help with cell tissue generation. It would be faster than me manually stitching—"

"It's fine," Natasha declined. "I'd prefer if you manually did it."

You frown lightly at the fact but relent to the redhead's wishes. Another year passes, and Natasha's hair has changed again. 

You worked silently on cleaning Natasha's wound, and she also declined the anesthetic. You focus on stitching up the wound with precision and care.

"I like to go to you for some things because your touch is gentle," Natasha said quietly, but it felt so loud in the silent room. "It makes me feel human when I can feel your touch."

You looked over at her face briefly, but Natasha wasn't looking at you. You don't take any deeper meaning into it. She's someone who's probably felt dehumanized most of her life. The machines that can heal her twice as fast would be fine for life-threatening injuries, but it probably all feels clinical. 

You looked back down at the stitch. "Well, as long as you're a redhead, it's free of charge."

"Don't kid yourself, I would look perfect blonde."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

September 2016

"What are you doing here?" You hissed as you pulled Natasha in quickly, peering outside before shutting the door. 

"Why? Am I unwelcomed now?" Natasha's tone sounded a little hurt, and you scan her body. She didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere that required immediate attention, but you did notice crusted blood at the edge of her nostrils. 

"No, but you could get caught here," you shook your head at her. "They're looking for you and the rest of team cap everywhere."

Natasha shrugged. "I highly doubt Tony has your place under surveillance. We don't meet enough for anyone to consider looking for me through you."

You sighed, not sure what to feel about the statement. "I suppose. I don't work for Tony anymore, anyway."

Natasha's brows furrowed.

"Why?"

"I don't agree with what he's doing."

"So you're on Steve's side?"

"No, I think Steve was obstinate too. They're both stupid. Men are stupid."

Natasha laughed before wincing as she held her nose.

"What happened?" You brought her over to your couch before finding your first aid kit.

"I broke my nose," Natasha shrugged. "Can you believe breaking my nose saved millions of girls?"

"With you? Yes." You smirked as you tilted her head to look at the injury closer. "Lucky you. Looks like you don't need surgery. Do you always come here immediately after you save the world?"

"Yep."

"Couldn't even clean your nose before you did?"

"And deprive you of giving me care? I wouldn't dare."

You snorted, carefully cleaning the blood in and around her nose. It was silent again before Natasha spoke up.

"So, what happened with your research stuff now that Tony's not sponsoring your work?"

"Pepper is funding it, even though she knows I won't share anything with Stark Industries at the moment. She doesn't want me to sell my research or provide any data to other companies."

"Smart cookie."

"And a really hot blonde."

"This feels targeted. It's like you know I might dye my hair blonde soon."

"You're still a redhead; I have no idea what you mean. I like your hair, though. Braids look good on you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2018

Natasha showed up at your front step, holding her rib. There's a look of genuine relief at seeing you.

"You're still here," her voice sounds empty and hollow. "You're still here."

You pulled her inside gently. You're still in shock yourself. You were on a walk when people started disappearing left and right. The sheer panic on the streets was chaos as you were dialing Pepper frantically, almost crying when she picked up the phone. Then there were actual tears when you called other people in your life, and half of them didn't pick up...and they weren't going to. 

"I'm here," you swallowed. "What happened to your rib?"

"I don't know." Natasha looked so lost. There was the look of failure and self-blame all over her face. 

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't know."

You grasp her wrist, carefully moving her hand away from her rib before gently putting your fingertips against them. Your fingers trail up, down, and around. 

Suddenly, Natasha broke into tears. 

"Does it hurt?" You asked, panicked.

"You're still here," was all Natasha choked through her tears.

You didn't know what to do other than treat her wounds more gently than ever before while reassuring her you hadn't disappeared. You were one of the many people on this planet still here. And when she was better, she'd get the rest of them back. 

It was a long and exhausting night, and Natasha fell asleep in your bed, and you made sure she was comfortable before leaving to sleep on the couch.

Natasha's hair has changed again.

"You look good blonde."

That was the last time you saw her. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha's hair has changed again. She's gone back to being a redhead with blonde tips. Her hair was a mess, barely brushed, and looked knotted. 

The room was big and had padded walls, a singular bed in one corner, and a toilet and sink in another. There were lights in parts of the cell but also areas of darkness. It looked like a fucking prison cell. 

You were looking through an unbreakable glass window, the middle holding up a microphone you assumed was linked to the speaker in the room.

Natasha stood in the middle of the room under the light in a hospital gown falling off her shoulder. Her hands were covered in scars, and her lips were so chapped, you were sure they'd split even if Natasha breathed the wrong way. 

Natasha was only a few feet away from you, but it felt like she was a million miles away.

They let you see her alone under the guise of privacy as you saw her.

You felt you weren't supposed to see this—see her like this. 

A sense of dread filled you at the blank expression on Natasha's face at what she'd gone through—what she was still going through. 

She was a hero, and this was how they were treating her? This was someone who had fought wars repeatedly for this stupid country and the rest of the world, and they had her locked up like a mental ward patient from the 1600s.

You thought the government had gotten better. There were reforms and peace after people came back from the snap. This wasn't how they were supposed to treat someone who'd given up their life to ensure everyone got theirs. 

It shouldn't matter that she came back; she had still given it up in the first place for them. 

Natasha didn't even seem to recognize you through the glass as you stepped closer to the microphone. She looked past you as if she could tell the exit was somewhere behind you. 

"Natasha?" You said into the mic, and it bellowed into the room.

Nothing. 

"Nat?" 

Natasha's eyes were listless. She was a broken, empty shell that seemed more like an animated corpse than actually being alive.

You swallowed, trying one more time. "You're still a redhead. Looks like it's still free of charge."

Natasha's eyes flickered this time, her head tilts towards you as she blinked with focus. It was just a spark, but it was something, and relief spreads through you. 

"Not completely." You could barely hear her voice, but it was coarse. Cold.

There should've been a joke about some kind of discount, but Natasha didn't make it. You were speechless.

You didn't know what to say. Don't worry, you're trapped in here, but I'm going to help with the research, and hopefully, we'll get you out soon?

It was like prolonging a death sentence. You were horrified.

"Just—wait for me," the words flew out of your mouth so fast but you meant them with every ounce of your being. "You're gonna go home with me today."

Natasha's eyes sparked at the words but just as quick as you saw it, they died out, falling back into listlessness. She turned, stepping into a darkened corner away from your view and prying eyes of the cameras as she said, "No, I'm not."

You realized she's probably spent weeks watching Clint, Bruce, and Fury try to get her out unsuccessfully.

The resignation made something lurch in your throat and eyes sting with desperation and rage. 

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"So, we can send you a contract—"

"You're going to release her to my custody," you cut off some government official. He was old, wearing some kind of toupee that was slicked back to hide his balding head. 

He looked at you in disbelief, almost laughing like you were some stupid, naive young girl. 

He looks at Clint and Bruce, who are also just looking at you in shock.

"As I've told your friends and Nick Fury, this is out of their hands. The Accords are still intact as of right now, therefore—"

"I don't care about the Accords. You will release her into my care. I'm more than qualified and I have the resources to find the inane answers you're looking for while rehabilitating Agent Romanoff," you cut him off again, able to tell that it was irking him. 

"That won't be necessary as you can see we have the resources here," the government official raised his brow at you.

"Your resources can't compete with Stark's resources."

It was no secret that Tony had left a very sizable fortune to you in his will, outside of everything he gave to Pepper and Morgan. And it was also no secret how close you were with the surviving Starks. 

"Doctor," the government official sighed, obviously making it sound like you were a nuisance. "If you're not here to join our research team, I suggest you go on your way and remember the NDA you signed."

You glared at him even more. "I'm not leaving without Agent Romanoff. You will hand her over to me, or you will regret it."

"And exactly how will I regret it?" The government official looked smug, and you smirked back at him.

"I'm still in talks with the government regarding my research, and I will pull out and sell that information outside of this country as I'm free to do so. I know Dr. Cho is in talks between the US and South Korea about her nano-technology. One word from me, and America can fall behind on those advancements as well." You pulled out your cell phone in a threatening manner. "Pepper and I will pull out all of our money from the very same banks and company investments that you're supporting and make you watch as they collapse one after another."

"You'd ruin our entire economy—our country by doing so!" The official was red in the face. "You'd put your entire country into chaos?" He sneered at you.

"I will if you don't give me Agent Romanoff!" You sneered back at him. "It's not like you won't eventually get your research and answers if she's in my custody. It works in both our favor."

The official is staring at you, glaring and seething.

"I imagine your colleagues and superiors will pin the blame on you if this entire economy and country goes into ruin because if I have to do that, I will say that it's the government's fault. The NDA said I can't specifically talk about Natasha and this place, which I won't. But I'm sure some journalist will discover the truth and plaster all over the news what you're doing to a war hero," your voice was so vindictive; you're not sure if you've ever been so cold before. 

"So," your voice was flat, devoid of emotion now. "What will it be?"

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It was agreed that Natasha would stay in a cabin that Pepper owned out in the countryside. You were to provide monthly updates on your research and rehabilitation progress. And while this was in headway, neither you nor Natasha was free to leave the country or this planet. 

Clint initially wanted you and Natasha to stay with him and his family, but you declined. You pointed out that it would be hard for him and his family—his children, especially—to see Natasha like this. 

Pepper had everything prepared while you gingerly collected Natasha.

"We're going home, Natasha," you said softly, shrugging off your jacket to wrap around her shoulders. But Natasha still didn't react, even if she let you take her hand and drag her out of the facility. 

During the car ride, you mentally planned what you needed to do. Natasha needed to eat, take a bath, and rest. 

"Have you eaten yet?" You asked the redhead, sitting stoically in the car, straight as a rod. 

There was no answer. Natasha was peering out the windshield, her hands perfectly on both thighs. Clint looked worried as he looked at you.

"Natasha?" You gently placed her hand over hers. You could feel the bumps of the white scars over her hand. A part of you is too frightened to ask where she got these from. 

Natasha looked down at your hand over hers before looking at you. Her eyes were so empty. Such a dull green like dying grass.

"Did you eat?" 

Natasha nodded once before looking back outside the windshield. 

You looked at Clint, trying to give him a reassuring smile, but deep down, you were afraid you had no idea what the fuck you were doing. 

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"Pepper says you've been here before, but let me know if you need help finding anything," you brought her into the house where Natasha just stood, looking at nothing in particular. 

"Um," you took a shaky breath. "How about a bath? I'm sure it'll be good to get the grime and stale air off of you." 

Natasha didn't move on her own, so you began to lead her up the stairs to the bathroom. 

It was a detached tub near the high window to get plenty of sunlight without anyone being able to peer in. 

"I'll just get this started for you," you offered. Turning on the tap and pouring in a liquid that formed into bubbles. "Just make sure to check the temperature and adjust. Pepper says that sometimes that faucet can be a little finicky."

You turned to Natasha, who stood there, staring at the wall. She was unmoving, making no gesture if she was waiting for you to get out or to start undressing.

"Do you, um, need help?" You asked, but there was no answer. 

Maybe it would wake her up a little once she was in the water. 

"I'm—" you took a long breath in. "I'm gonna help you undress and get into the tub. If you get uncomfortable at any point, let me know and I can stop or do something else."

It wasn't like you've never seen a naked body before. You've seen plenty both in your sex life and field of work. You've even seen parts of Natasha's body when you've treated her. You just never thought you'd see Natasha fully naked. 

You slid your jacket off her shoulders, letting out a puff of breath. You looked past her as you undid the string of her hospital gown. You looked up when you slid down her underwear before guiding her towards the tub. Your gentle guiding seemed to spark Natasha into mechanically climbing into it herself the rest of the way. 

"Okay, cool. Um," you stuttered. "I'm sure you've been through a lot. Once you're done, we can get you into bed and if you're hungry later, I can make you something."

You were getting used to the lack of answers, but it didn't make your stomach drop any less. "Just let me know if you need anything."

You don't wait for a response this time, leaving without shutting the door fully. Down the hall, you leaned against the wall, swallowing harshly. 

It feels like you brought a lifeless shell home. A part of you wonders if Natasha really did return or if this was just some lifeless doll. 

You didn't want to think about it anymore, so you pushed yourself off the wall and into a bedroom with a suitcase and unzipped it open to grab some clothes.

When you were heading back, you heard the water still running and frowned. 

"Natasha?" You called as you opened the door. The tub was overfilling, and you rushed to turn off the faucet, trying to not slip.

Natasha was sitting how you left her, staring ahead at the running water but not really looking at it.

You sighed, relieved that the bathroom floor was designed with wood and curved so that any water would naturally run towards a drain in the floor. 

You go to check the temperature of the water and find that while it was initially fine when you turned it on, Natasha hadn't attempted to adjust it, and the finicky faucet ran nearly scalding water. 

"Jesus, Natasha, you're going to hurt yourself," you yelped. You braced through it and stuck your hand in to drain the tub halfway.

You inwardly sighed, knowing you would have to help Natasha through the entire process. You began to refill the tub, monitoring the temperature and shut it off when it was filled adequately. 

"I'm going to help wash you if that's okay," you muttered. "Just let me know if you prefer to do it yourself at any point."

You grabbed a nearby stool and sat on it before grabbing the loofa. You began with Natasha's shoulders and arms, trying to wash parts of her that were easy to access.

Natasha tensed as you washed her, so you tried to be more slow and careful. 

"It's just me," you said softly, trying to reassure the redhead. "I've always taken care of you."

Natasha said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed slightly as you continued. There wasn't much dirt on her, but the stale air that was surrounding her began to fade away. 

Her knees were propped up, folded to her chest, and you washed down her thighs and legs, trying to not think of anything too much as you did it. You tried not to think about the scars on her hands and feet. 

Readjusting your stool, you went to sit behind her. You used a cup to wet Natasha's hair, trying to detangle some of it gently first. It was then you discovered a shaven spot in the back of her head, where there was a large scar. You realized that was where Natasha's head hit the ground when she—

You swallowed, trying to suppress the anger that they shaved her head to get a look at something so private. 

You squeezed a considerable amount of shampoo in your hands and gently rubbed it into her scalp. Natasha tensed at first before your fingers massaging her scalp made her relax, her body leaning back against the tub and her head into your hands. 

It was quiet as you did this. You shampooed her hair twice before slathering it up in conditioner and finally getting out the rest of the knots. You drained the tub, grabbing the shower head to rinse her down once more before you grabbed a towel and helped her out. 

You helped put a bathrobe around her to help dry her as you didn't think you had the gall to fully dry every part of her by hand. Grabbing her clothes, you led her to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed. 

Natasha sat silently as you towel-dried her hair with gentle hands. Her eyes fell closed as you began to blow dry it. Your soft fingers tousling her hair. 

So delicate. 

When it was dry, you set the blow dryer aside. 

"Hm, your hair is pretty sensitive and might be for the next week. It might be better to braid it so it doesn't tangle and break when you're sleeping," you commented, mostly to yourself. 

You took sections of her hair, delicately beginning to put her hair into a french braid. 

"You've always had beautiful hair, red or blonde," you complimented Natasha as you finished. You moved to sit in front of her to check if you did okay from the front. There wasn't a response, but Natasha opened her eyes. They focused on you, looking at you as they traced over the features of your face. She was studying you apprehensively. 

Natasha lifted a hand, slowly reaching up as her fingers brushed the side of your face. It felt bumpy from the scars, but it made the back of your throat burn. 

"Am I really here?" Natasha mumbled as she then traced your cheek before your lips. "Am I really here with you?"

Your eyes were burning now. You couldn't even answer right away because you were afraid your lips would start trembling. 

You lifted your hand, hesitating at first, before you held her hand against your face. "Yeah, you're really here."

The edges of Natasha's eyes began to brim with tears. 

"When I jumped, I didn't die right away," Natasha whispered. "There was a feeling that something bad was going to happen. It didn't get me yet, but it was going to."

You couldn't help the tears that began to fall over the edge of your eyes when they overfilled. 

"Something bad happened to me," Natasha's lip trembled. "It's still happening to me."

You gripped her hand tighter unintentionally, but it was like it grounded Natasha. 

"I was scared," Natasha admitted. "I was scared that even if you came to me, it wouldn't go away."

Then, Natasha grabbed your hand and placed it against her cheek. It was still warm from the bath and blow dryer. 

"But I can feel your touch," Natasha sighed like it was a relief. "It's gentle and I feel human. I'm scared I'm not really here."

"You are."

Your throat felt clogged with raw emotions, and you didn't know what to do with it. You've only seen Natasha a handful of times, and maybe it's because the more you do, the more emotionally charged you both feel. 

"You're really here," you told Natasha, using your thumb to caress her cheek. You didn't know what else to say. 

All you can do is offer her shelter under your touch.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanov x reader #avengers imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha x you #mm: my fics

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Eleven: [The Man]

Summary: When Jake and Jensen go head to head over who means what yo you, things escalate to new heights, so much so that Jake lashes out and says something that may not be forgiven.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Mentions of religion. JEALOUS JAKE!

Word Count: 5.6K

Author Note: This chapter brings the total word count of this series to 50k....I cannot believe that an idea that began as a one-shot has turned into this. Thank you all so much for your support on this one. xxx

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

There was a brief moment right before your shower where Jake was able to step out into the hall to call his sister Jasmine. He knew the call he was about to make was going to be neither short, nor pleasant. But he also knew that deep down, you weren’t mentally prepared to tell your children you were sick. But the pair of you had to start somewhere. And that somewhere was Jake’s sister. 

“What the FUCK is going on!” One single ring. One dial. That's how long it took Jake's sister to answer, hell, Jake thought it would have been sooner but he gave her a little good grace for potentially having to step out of whatever family dynamic she found herself in. “Mum said Y/n’s sick?” 

“Did she say it like that?” Jake replied unamused as he found an empty chair to sit on in the waiting room area down the hall. He didn't want to stray too far away from your room. Although he knew that you were with the nurses, he couldn't find it inside himself to leave. If Jake tried hard enough, he could still see your bed socks at the end of your hospital bed. 

“Uh–” Jasmine's apprehensive silence confirmed all Jake needed to know. “She may have said it with a little hope in her chest, mentioned the words dropped and dead in the same sentence of wishful thinking.” Jake couldn’t say he was surprised after the way Janeen had spoken so poorly about you directly to his face. He couldn't really imagine what she’d been saying to other members of the Seresin family. “But what's going on? I'm keeping an eye on the kids as much as I can but holy shit mum's just on a warpath–” 

Fuck: Jake knew leaving the kids behind was a bad idea on his behalf. The guilt of running off on his children in the middle of the night was beginning to eat him alive. The idea of lying to them about your condition only made that guilt harder to rationalise. 

“Okay, can you just promise me you won’t tell the kids?” Jake groaned into the phone. “Y/n doesn't want them to worry so she doesn't want to say too much.” 

“Jake–” Jasmine's voice changed, the serious nature of the conversation at hand was beginning to shine through with ease. “She's alright, isn't she?” Jasmine asked as Jake let his elbows rest on top of his thighs. This whole situation, the newly found world of which you were living in was begging to give Jake the head spins. Keeping up was exhausting, but this wasn't about Jake now was it. “This is Y/n we’re talking about, she has to be alright.”

Unbeknownst to you, Jake had been reading all your files, all your reports, everything and anything he could get his hands on about your diagnosis. After all, he had been named your emergency contact not long after showing up. He’d made a convincing case. Jake knew a lot about your current situation. He knew the odds, chances, risks and possibilities. 

“She's been diagnosed with Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma.” Jake explained to his sister who on the other end of the call, sat watching his youngest try to eat the sand from the sandpit Jake himself used to shit in as a child. “The oral chemo they had her started on caused a stroke, apparently it's a common side effect, to me they shouldn't be pumping people full of that crap if its gonna cause a fucking stroke forty percent of the time.” 

Jake knew the silence on the other end of the line was due to an overload of information getting caught in his sister's cerebellum. It was a lot to take in, hell Jake still hadn’t really been given an opportunity to take it all in. since he found out he’d been go go go. He knew an impending moment of weakness mixed with overall exhaustion was coming. When that moment would come he wasn't sure. 

“You’re lying–” Was all Jasmine said. Jake wished more than anything he could say he was. 

“Fucked up thing to lie about Jas–” Jake responded softly as he listened to the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing his sat in. “She hadn’t been feeling well for a few months, Doctors say it's aggressive, feeds off her hormones and stuff.” Jake didn't understand a lot of it, but he was trying his best to navigate a field he wasn't an excerpt in. “She's in for a preventative double mastectomy on Christmas Eve. It would've been earlier but the strokes kinda set her back a few days.” 

“Jake– I don't believe you, the kids–what about the kids, what do I tell them?” Jasmine couldn't comprehend the devastation this would cause on the already struggling family dynamic. You and Jake were meant to be, everyone knew that. But this whole separation, the miscommunication and overall fractures within your marriage were all major contributing factors as to why love just couldn’t be enough.

“Don't tell them anything, please, for the love of God Jas don't tell them anything, I just–” Jake let out a sigh of frustration as he ran his hand free hand through his hair. God he needed a haircut. “We just need a little time to process what's going on and Y/n–she's been doing this for too long on her own, I can’t keep letting her down so just, take a moment to breathe for me.” 

“Holy fuck you aren’t kidding about any of this are you?” Jasmine with all her good graces and problematic marital issues of her own, looked over at where her husband sat with hers and Jake's father. The sight was enough to send a shiver down her spine. The man who raised her was not someone who Jasmine ever wanted her brother to become. Losing your wife to such a disease that was as unforgiving as it was inhumane could potentially be an origin story bubbling under the surface of Jake's skin. 

“Jake–You don't get to turn into dad if this ends anything less than Y/n walking away from this cancer free Jake, your kids deserve to have a dad that won't treat them like burdens and mistakes.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Watch your step alright?” Our skulls are designed to cushion our brains. Our rib cages are specifically moulded to guard our hearts. The human body is built to protect our most vulnerable parts. At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work. 

The way in which Jake helped to guide you out of the bathroom with his hand pressed firmly against the small of your back made your heart skip a beat. You held tightly onto his forearm with one hand and in the other? Was your IV poll, still pumping you full of antibiotics and fluids. 

“I got it.” You tried to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other. That's what this whole thing was about right? This battle, this fight. It was all about putting one foot in front of the other. With Jake by your side, albeit with some underlying resentment still to be discussed, you felt as though those steps, small but meaningful in their own right, were made with intent and purpose to keep fighting. “Shit the air-con feels so weird on my head.” You chuckled to yourself as Jake shut the bathroom door behind the both of you. 

“Yeah holy shit it's like–” As Jake's eyeline faltered from you to the figure standing over near the door, his heart sunk into his stomach. His face turned to stone as the green in his eyes, usually an emerald colour, darkened to something more pine-like. The half finished sentence that left your husband's mouth and tailed off into complete and utter silence was what got your attention the most. It wasn't like Jake to not say what was on his mind. 

“What's up?” As you turned your head slowly, you saw the man who had been nothing but a pillar of support for you to lean on since your diagnosis. It was the man who had kept you above water when you felt like you’d been drowning in a sea of unprecedented mortality. “Jensen–” The shock and excitement in your tone was something Jake couldn't miss no matter how much he wanted to. “You came?” 

Jake made no attempt to move as you shuffled forward, he stood still with his heart hammering inside his chest. He stood completely still as his thoughts carried him away into a world where nothing made sense to anyone. Into a world where he didn't have you, a world where for the last year he’d tasted of that very misery and hated every last second of it. 

“I uh–” Jensen held out the bouquet of sweet peas, peonies and pansies he’d brought for you. The overwhelming colours and signature scents captivated the entire room with their freshness. “I wanted to stop by, see how you were doing, hope I'm not intruding?” 

The body tends to adapt quickly to new circumstances and pressures it’s put under. It knows how to protect itself. But it can’t close off completely, or well—we’re not really living are we? Biology tends to override our fears, so we leave the door open, just a little…hoping like hell that it's worth the risk. 

“Oh no, no we just finished up some DIY haircuts.” You beamed, the smile that ignited across your face was a smile Jake hadn't seen in years. A smile so pure and full of love that it couldn't ever be faked. “Jake, this is Jensen.” You introduced the two men who had played significant roles in your life, having no clue that they had both already met one another in the hall. “We met at the doctors office, as unfortunate as that sounds, it's been really nice to have someone who just, knows.” Jake slowly but surely aided you over to your bed before he made his way over to where Jensen stood watching idly. Assessing the situation unfolding before him. “Jensen convinced me to go to a few of those CCA meetings, although not my cup of tea–it's nice to know that that support system is there.” 

Jake eyed Jensen and his bouquet of flowers off as he stepped closer and closer with a look Jensen couldn't quite read in his pine green eyes. The betrayal of love often has boundaries that people end up living with for the rest of their lives. For Jake, his betrayal and the consequences of his emotional ineptitude inside his marriage was starting to play out right before his very eyes. 

He saw the potential that there was in fact another man. And oh boy did he hate it. 

“And Jensen, this is Jake, my husband.” Jensen took subtle notice of the way you introduced Jake to him as your husband, not your ex-husband like you'd been referring to him as since the two of you first met. Something had changed, Jensen could sense it. But for as much as Jensen could sense the chemistry between you and Jake, Jake could see the way your eyes lit up with overjoyous surprise when you realised that the flowers Jensen held in his hand were in fact for you. “Are those, are those for me?” 

“Oh–yeah.” Jensen beamed as he walked a little further into your room. “I thought they might bring a little light into your room but it seems that you have it pretty well decorated.” It was the small nod to the Christmas lights that hung around your room that made you smile even brighter as Jake made his way back over and helped you into bed. You could tell there was tension brewing just from his quietness alone. “And the new haircut suits you, good thing you don't have a weird ass head huh?”

“Hey Jarred–” Jake interrupted before you had a chance to reply, the way he intentionally called Jensen by a different name rubbed you the wrong way. The frown that cast itself across your face left little to Jake's imagination, but as he made sure you were as comfortable as could be in your bed, he kept going. “Nows, probably not a good time–” 

Jensen looked around your room carefully, he knew the system well and what times were more common than not for nurses to do their daily rounds and check-ins. He knew that by the looks of things you had just showered and were probably settling in for the afternoon. If Jensen was correct in his assumption as he looked back towards where Jake stood at your bedside, he would assume that he couldn't have picked a better time to drop by. 

“Seems like a pretty good time to me man, besides, why don't we let Y/n here make that call.” Jensen replied calmly as he went about finding a place for your flowers to go. Jensen could have played the safe card, he could have chosen to be the bigger person and not mention it, but he didn't really have a hell of alot to lose. After all, he was a dead man walking. What was the harm in stirring the pot a little where he still could. “Honestly, I didn't expect you to be here if I'm being completely honest.” Jensen smirked as he turned back to face Jake. You felt like your heart was about to explode right through your chest as you looked back and forth between the two men who had seemingly gotten into a mines bigger than yours contest on either side of your bedside. “Didn't think you knew your wife was sick–” 

The silence was deafening as Jake thought about all the ways he could kill a man in one single motion. The rage he felt inside his chest was red hot jealousy. Jensen could practically see the steam spewing out of Jake's years. 

“What my wife decides to share with me has nothing to do with you–” Jake growled, you could just see the way he was grinding his teeth. Jake's jawline had never seemed more profound. His knuckles were almost entirely white as he leaned against the railing of your hospital bed. Lowered down for convenience of getting in and out. 

“It does when I’ve been the one listening to how much she wishes you loved her the same way she loves you.” Jensen shrugged. “Come on man, don't play this game, don't pretend that I don't know what been going on–” 

“Enough!” You couldn't have shouted it slider if you tried. “Both of you, my god we’re all supposed to be adults here?” You sighed as you looked at Jake and then over to Jensen. Something was off with him, this wasn't the Jensen you knew. He seemed off, very off. “Can you two just back up, let's start over.” However, it was a plea that fell on deaf ears.

Remember that impending moment of weakness mixed with overall exhaustion Jake mentioned earlier? Yeah– about that. Guess it was coming around the corner sooner rather than later. 

“Nah–” Jake shook his head as he let out a sigh. This was bullshit, you really had him fooled. He really did think that there was a possibility here that maybe, just maybe, the two of you could fix what he had unintentionally broken while focusing on your health. “Nah, I'm not gonna put up with this dickhead.” Jake hissed as unclenched his hands from the railing on your bed. “I'm gonna go get a coffee, try not to catch each other's cancer cells while I'm gone.” 

“Jake, don't leave!” You begged as you sat up a little straighter in your bed. “Please—“ The panic that followed was something otherworldly as you watched Jake round out of the hospital room that had become your home away from home. “Please!” 

Jensen was if anything, enraged. He hadn’t helped the situation but he never would have left your side after making a remark so thickly lacquered with jealousy. He didn't think Jake would react the way he did, so quick to make assumptions. The small gift Jensen still held in his hand was quickly placed on your bedside table. 

“I’ll go talk to him—“ Jensen pressed his lips together as he let his hand fall gently to your shoulder. “My fault, I shouldn't have said what I did, I'm sorry.” Jensen didn't pretend to not see how upset you truly were. He understood what it was like to feel the weight of the world crushing your spirit. “He didn't mean what he said Y/n.” 

“He did–” You sighed as you wiped away your tears. “He asked me when he came to take the kids to his mum's house if I was seeing anyone–” 

Ah, Jensen thought to himself as he stood by your bedside and listened. 

“He wants to get back together, fix what's broken, change.” You sighed as you looked over to the open door that Jake hadn't long before walked out of. “He probably thinks you're more than a friend.” In another life, perhaps Jensen could have been more than just a good friend. In another universe somewhere he hoped that maybe you never had this unforgiving disease. But this wasn't another reality, this was right now. 

“All the more reason to fight for his girl.” Jensen cooed as he leaned in to kiss the top of your now very smooth head. “I'll go talk to your husband.” 

You caught onto the not so subtle subtlety of the way Jensen teased that title. Husband. Jake Seresin was still very much your husband. He was the very definition of a man who was supposed to be at your side through thick and thin. But right now? You were doubting his ability to fully comprehend what was happening to you. Jake’s focus shouldn’t have been on Jensen and who he was to you. But yet you couldn’t not defend him. 

“He’s not a bad guy, he’s really not—“ There was an awkward silence that lingered in the room as Jensen chose to take in what you’d said. “This is all just so much for him to take in.” 

“You don’t need to explain your relationship to me.” Jensen wanted to say that if Jake was such an alright guy, then you wouldn’t have left. He wanted to remind you of all the conversations the two of you had had over the past few months. All the times you’d cried about the man who didn’t value your time, your energy, your love. “But a woman like you should never have to beg a man to stay.” 

“I left him.” You felt the need to remind the man who stood at your bedside with an ora surrounding him you didn’t recognise. “I stopped begging him to love me a long time ago and you know that.” 

Jensen could have thrown the fact you just called out after Jake back in your face, that you’d begged your husband not to leave. But he wasn’t that mean. He was just looking out for you. Someone had to. Someone had to make sure this Jake guy had his priorities in check and that you were at the very top of that list where you belonged. 

“I know—“ Jensen pressed his lips together into a fine line. “But that guy just walked out the second things got a little more complicated, what’s gonna stop him from throwing in the towel if your health declines more than it already has?” Jensen shrugged his shoulders like he wasn’t being nasty. It was his version of tough love. 

“I’m sorry—“ You scoffed as your face contorted into that of a frown mixed with frustration. “Are you, are you testing Jake?” 

“Cancer is one of the world's most leading causes of divorce.” Jensen added like it was a statistic you should have known. He knew you knew it. “I just wanted to see how well he handled a little external pressure.” 

“You’re—“ Before you could finish your sentence, Jensen was smiling down at you from ear to ear. 

“A menace, I know, but I’m a menace that only has your best interest at heart.” Jensen explained as he sat down beside you for only a brief moment. “Your fight isn’t with Jake right now, he shouldn’t be fighting you or anyone else in your life that may come and go.” 

“Jensen—“ You knew Jensen hadn’t been well, but he hadn’t explicitly told you how bad it was. There was something in his eyes though, the way he looked at you like he was looking at you for the last time that had you worried. “What’s going on with you?” 

“I’m just making sure if you’re letting that man back into your life that he’s gonna stick around when things don’t go the way he wants them to.” Jensen smiled softly as he picked up your hand to bring towards his lips. He left a fleeting kiss upon the palm of your hand and let out a sigh he wasn’t aware he was holding in. “I’ll go track down your sook of a husband, make sure he’s aware that you’re hopelessly devoted or whatever you wanna call it.” 

“Please be nice—“ You pleaded gently as Jensen stood from your bedside. “Please.” 

“Anything for you Y/n.” Jensen replied, he knew that this would be the last time he ever saw you apart from in his own version of heaven. “Anything for you.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~*

Jake Seresin had never been a fan of hospitals. That mentality first started when he broke his leg in kindergarten and needed a full cast, but it grew with him well into adulthood. Jake had never liked hospitals, even when all three of his children were born he still hated them. Not even the love he had for his children could override the hate he felt towards the sterile environment that gave far too many infections to people to be considered ‘normal’ 

“Seresin.” But Jake had never hated hospitals more than he did the second he heard his last name being called from just a short distance down the hall. Called by a man who Jake would happily like to never see again. “The hell is your problem?” Jake caught the sight of the man who’d brought you flowers coming right towards him with a fire burning in his eyes. The man you had kept somewhat a secret from Jake. Much like your diagnosis. 

“My problem is asking me what my problem is.” Jake groaned as he took a sip of his shitty ass hospital coffee. “Don’t you and my wife have things to talk about?” Jake asked as he took a few steps away from where Jensen had stopped in his tracks. “Things I’m not privy to as it seems? Like her health or new love life?” 

“You don’t even know who I am to your wife!” Jensen barked loud enough to have Jake stopping in the middle of the hall. The six foot something aviator turned slowly on his heels to give the almost matching in height bald dude the time of day he seemed to crave. “But I know all about you, because I’ve been there for Y/n while you’ve been busy playing part time parent across the country.” Jensen had nothing to lose, he was just a dying man who had no time left to cherish. 

Jake wasn’t about to stand here and take this. He didn’t need some guy who’d stepped into your life to tell him what to do. You were the mother of Jake’s children, you’d always be that to him regardless if he could fix what he broke. 

“Get out of my face before you need a plastics consult.” Jake growled through gritted teeth all the while Jensen grinned. He was standing his ground as Jake continued on his defensive. “Because so help me god, you may feel like god right now with your self-righteous heart and knight in shining armour attitude, but you sure as hell won’t feel all high and mighty when you meet him.” 

Jensen didn't want to fight with your husband, but he did want to make it known that time was forever fleeting, and if Jake kept going the way he was there would be no time left to fix what he broke. You needed someone to be there for you, Jake had to be that person. 

Because Jensen couldn’t be that guy for you anymore, he had no fight left to give you. He had no fight left in himself. 

“You know I sympathise with you Jake, I do, it must be hard being the guy who broke your own marriage to a woman who loves so fiercely and so much.” Jensen started as he let his elbows rest atop his sweatpants clad knees. “And now having to deal with the fact that said wife is dying must be a lot to work through.” 

Jake remained speechless as his eyes lingered down to the man who was almost out of breath from his walk through the halls. He held his half drunk coffee cup in his hand with enough rage coursing through his veins that Jake was actually surprised he hadn’t crushed the flimsy cardboard vessel. 

“But you know what the worst part of all that is? Is that your priority isn’t your wife, or fixing your marriage—“ Jensen continued on. “No, it’s on the guy who your wife chose to confide in when you were nowhere to be found.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jake replied with a hiss in his tone that mimicked the deadliest of snakes. “I couldn’t give a shit who you are to her or what you want, because she’s my fucking wife—mine!” 

“And yet here you are arguing that point with me in the hall when you could be at her bedside appreciating all the small moments you’ll be lucky to look back on one day.” Jensen grew more heated as Jake took a few strides his way, towering over where Jensen sat. “You threw a fit the second I stepped into that room without using any critical thinking skills you aviators claim to have in the heat of the moment.” 

“She told me she wasn’t seeing anyone! Come to find out that that’s—“ Jake didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Jensen intervened that train of thought. 

“She’s not! You’re wife fucking love’s you!! She kept her prognosis from you because she was so scared you didn’t love her back enough to fucking care! And you’re hung up on the idea she’s seeing someone? Me!?” Jensen scoffed as he stood, the few strides he took towards Jake were made with intent behind every single one. Enough to have Jake stumbling back every so slightly. “Here’s a concept for you man.” Jensen pressed his index finger into Jake’s sternum. “Maybe, just maybe, if I was sleeping with your wife, she’d remember her worth.” 

“You really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jake sighed, there was no way he was entertaining this delusion any more than he already had. “I think you should leave.” The idea of you being with another man sent Jake into a blind rage of jealousy that saw no reason. But at the end of the day, he was the one who walked out on you. He’d strayed too far from your hospital room and couldn’t see your bed socks anymore. 

Fuck….

“Maybe, maybe I should—“ Jensen agreed. “And hell I don’t even know you at all, but from what I’ve managed to piece together? it’s that you're a crap husband who doesn’t have the emotional capacity to handle the fact his wife could lose this battle.” Jensen retaliated with a stone cold expression. “But something I do know is that no amount of prayer or candles or begging will reverse time, so put your ego side and focus on the fact your wife needs you now more than ever before and if you leave her side the way you did today ever again, trust me when I say you’ll regret it every day of your life.” 

“Y/n isn’t dying—“ Much like Jensen was taking his fear of the unknown out on Jake, Jake was just about ready to let loose on the guy who was picking apart his very character. Sure, Jake recognised he wasn’t the best husband, but he also knew you weren’t dying. Not right now, not while he wasn’t by your side. 

“I wasn’t either, but as it turns out we all have an expiry date.” Jensen replied. The atmosphere and energy surrounding the two men who were going head to head suddenly shifted. “Some sooner than others, but we all have one, and when yours is up yours is up and there ain't nothing you can do you extend it.” 

“You’re—“ Jake couldn’t bring himself to say it. 

“A walking corpse.” Jensen finished the sentence he knew Jake was trying to speak into existence. Although he didn’t care to beat around the bush. “So trust me when I tell you that wishful thinking does shit when your body decides it’s had enough.” 

“Does Y/n know?” Jake's first worry was how this news, how this detrimental turn of events, would affect you. His heart forgot how to beat inside his chest when he watched Jensen shake his head in response. 

“She needs to focus on her own journey, and before I go I need to make sure she has a support system because for a while there I was all she seemed to have.” Jensen explained. There it was, the truth of the matter. 

Jake saw it clear as day, the care, the worry, the intention to make sure you had someone there for you because Jensen wasn’t going to be there anymore. You may not have slept with the guy standing before Jake but if Jake knew anything, it was the look of a man who was unequivocally in love with you. He saw his own reflection of Jensen's eyes. 

“Go back, apologies, and you fix your marriage man because that woman? That electrifying woman who sees the good in everything doesn’t deserve to go through this alone—and you turning your back on her the second someone made things a little difficult for you isn’t a good representation of the husband she deserves.” 

“You love her, don’t you?” Jake asked as he took a second to truly take in Jensens whole argument. The world seemed to go on around them, with doctors and nurses carrying out their daily duties and rounds. Family members walking to and from rooms visiting loved ones. But for Jake and Jensen? The world stopped when it came to you. “You’re in love with my wife, say it.” Jake couldn’t hide the pain in his voice. “Tell me you love her, then this all makes sense.” 

“Maybe—“ Jensen tried to play his love for you down into something that was just a social construct. “Maybe I love her, but I don’t get a chance to explore that, you do though.” Jensen was truly trying to hide the pain in his eyes, but Jake could see it all too easily. Jensen knew that. “So if not for yourself, for her, pull your head out of your ass man—“

“I never stopped loving her though.” Jake sighed out in frustration as he sat down on one of the plastic hospital chairs that lined the hallway. Jensen followed soon after, both men decided that the heat of the argument was settling into something more valuable. “I just—I lost sight of what I had.” 

“That’s just not a good enough excuse.” Jensen replied as he let his head fall back against the wall. “Listen, I don’t plan on coming back after I leave today.” 

Jake didn’t respond, he simply waited for Jensen to explain. But the explanation never came and Jake never pressed. If anything he was kind of relieved in a selfish way. 

“If you truly want to fix what’s broken, if you really want to fight for her and be by her side when she needs you the most, you’ll get up and you’ll go back in there and you’ll be the guy who gets to hold her like no one else does.” Jensen pauses momentarily before he continued on. “Because there’s better guys out there Jake, and she shouldn’t have to settle for one who doesn’t appreciate what’s right under his damn nose.” 

“Is this your way of telling me you’re a better man than me?” Jake asked cautiously, a part of him didn’t want the answer to be yes. But Jake needed to know what the man sitting beside him truly thought. You saw something good inside him, inside both of them.

“I’m not a better man than you Jake—“ Jensen sighed as he stood from his chair. It was getting late, he had said his peace, he had put the fear for a dying man inside Jake Seresin. There wasn’t much more Jensen could contribute to your life besides what he had already given. 

The body tends to adapt quickly to new circumstances and pressures it’s put under. It knows how to protect itself. But it can’t close off completely, or well—we’re not really living are we? Biology tends to override our fears, so we leave the door open, just a little…hoping like hell that it's worth the risk. But for Jensen….He was ready to close the door and lock it shut. 

“I’m just a man who’s run out of time and has nothing left to lose.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Tags: @blindedbythelightt @starset21 @tayl0rhuynh @mamachasesmayhem @marvelogic @itsmytimetoodream @maverick-wingman @kodzukenmaaa @eternalsams @seitmai @nota-professional @jessicab1991 @hardballoonlove @senawashere @fanficfandomlove @withahappyrefrain @dizzybee03 @maisie-rebloging-blog

@goldenseresinretriever @a-reader-and-a-writer @sunlightmurdock @shelbycillian @memoriesat30 @accioprocrastination @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @athenabarnes @eternallyvenus @emma8895eb @kmc1989

#was it over? // jake seresin #tw: cancer #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin imagine

[buckyarchives]

Day After Tomorrow

pairing: bucky barnes x sick!neighbor!reader

summary: enhanced hearing is both a blessing and a curse. eavesdropping, loud music, footsteps and when your sweet neighbor has been coughing her pretty head off all day.

author note: i’m sick and binging twilight so blame that for this being created.

w.c: 3.6k

The last time Bucky remembers living on his own was – well never. Romanian doesn't really count in his mind because he definitely was not mentally aware then, not himself, on autopilot, whatever you want to say. Even before hydra and before the army, it was him living under his mom's roof and then a small apartment with Steve before he got shipped off to sleep like sardines in camps.

Then we all know what happened next. Pretty much getting coddled by Captain America, on a leash by the government, or asleep in a cryo chamber in princess Shuri’s lab.

So when Bucky finally got snapped back, a pardon on behalf of Steve Rogers – before he quite literally abandoned him. Sam was there at least, Sam didn't make him feel shitty for not being the old Bucky because Sam first met him when he was literally trying to shoot him in the head. So you can only go up from here.

Sam helped him find an apartment, Brooklyn was the only requirement, and he delivered. They went to IKEA, which is amazing by the way. Bucky thinks it's the best thing to come from the continent of Europe. They bought the necessities, a couch, a bed (it's been 6 months and bucky still hasn't touched it but doesn’t matter), a coffee pot, and one plant. It was a succulent and apparently impossible to kill, Sam said it would liven up his apartment. But it was hard to do that when his curtains were always shut.

The best thing about the apartment complex was it was mostly filled with old people, Bucky got along with old people well. And they were all pretty quiet and nice. There were a few other college students that lived there. Bucky heard they were all medical students and probably picked the cheapest place to live close enough to campus. Their music was loud sometimes and they stayed up late but minded their business for the most part.

Then there was the girl across the hall. He only saw you a few times, the first time he thought you were one of those beautiful girls he'd see in the magazines they smuggled on camp. You left your apartment at the same time as Bucky did, you had a bag slung over your shoulder like you were going to work or school. Bucky watches you intently, Sam would probably call him creepy for staring, but Bucky couldn't shake the fact you were the most beautiful woman he's seen.

And as you turned and gave him a small pursed smile, Bucky tugged his sleeve down. A habit from his anxieties, also the paranoia that everyone knew. “You just moved in?” you asked him, Bucky wasn't expecting a conversation now. But that was part of being a functioning human, so he gulped down the lump in his throat and curled into himself. Making him as small and less intimidating as possible.

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded, god this was awkward but he couldn’t even fathom anything else to say to you. He was horrible at this.

But you were a godsend of a human and gave him the warmest smile, “I'm surprised more people haven't moved in since everyone came back. We’re you– uh, blipped? Is that what people are calling it?”

Bucky wanted to smile, but it just didn’t translate from his brain to his body and he was scared it would look creepy. “Yeah, I was blipped. Were you?”

“No, I wasn't. But I’m sorry that happened to you, if you need any help re-adjusting I’m right here.” you offered, gesturing to your door. Bucky sucked in a hard breath, it was weird being offered help. Weirder for a total stranger to pity him for what happened, if only you knew the full picture. It didn’t stop from pulling at his heartstrings as he stood absolutely dumbfounded in front of you.

You weren't scared off though, despite how utterly awkward and creepy Bucky felt standing in there, shifting on his feet and not responding. He had to rack his brain for the words of gratitude.

“Thank you.” he choked out, and you just fucking smiled again and Bucky felt like he was going to cry. “And I'm uh- I’m James, by the way.”

“Y/N, Don't be a stranger,” you said, before bidding him goodbye and waving him off as you disappeared down the stairs.

Bucky probably stood there for another minute or two just kicking himself for how horrible he was at talking to girls.

Bucky only saw you a few more times after that, some stuck out for than others.

It was way too late to be up, but Bucky was practically nocturnal at this point, a fucking vampire that winced when Sam barged into his apartment to pull back the blinds so he’d get an ounce of vitamin D.

Bucky had a basket of all blacks on his hip, the complex has a laundry room since none of the apartments had one. You would put money in a little machine and it would give coins you could only use on another machine, not to mention they got jammed half the time and stole your money. Bucky thought it was stupid.

He stopped dead in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs. The familiar head of hair threw clothes into the dryer and slotted the coins into the machine, they didn’t get jammed. Bucky tried to ignore your presence, maybe it would have been more polite to greet you.

Throwing his clothes in the machine and followed the usual routine, except Bucky heard the coins trickle down and get stuck. Fuck. Bucky pressed the button with his gloved hand, mostly out of frustration. Nothing happened.

“Hey, let me.” a soft voice spoke from behind him, a light pressure on his shoulder as you touched him. Bucky tensed at the touch, you didn't notice but Bucky moved away from you. “These old things barely work anymore, you just got to give them some tough love.”

Bucky just watched as you banged on the machine, if Bucky did this he might have broken it. He heard the metal clink down and you pushed the start cycle and it began to work just fine.

“That's easy, huh? Lost probably a total of 10 dollars and I just needed to punch it.”

You laughed and it felt like heaven in his chest, “you just have to outsmart the machine.” you snarked, lifting yourself onto one of the vacant machines and waiting for your cycle to be done. You wore a small shirt and a small pair of sleep shorts. Bucky felt hot by the amount of skin you were showing. Fuck, what was he? 16 again?

“I’ve had a lot of doing that recently.” Bucky said, almost murmuring to himself but you listened.

“I bet, catching up on what? 90 years of technology – must be hard,” you said so plainly like it didn't make Bucky’s head stop. Popping his head up with a panicked face.

You did know… and you didn't run. Weird.

“You know me?”

You swung your feet innocently, a small grin on your face as you pushed your hair away from your face. Cute. “James, I had to do a paper on the howling commandos in middle school.”

“Really?” he asked, genuinely surprised. He sometimes forgets he’s famous for other reasons than being a world-renowned assassin.

“Yeah, and I keep hearing the two girls that live down on floor 2 gossiping about you.”

Bucky’s face dropped. “Gossip, huh? Bad or good.”

Probably bad, it’s always bad.

You bit your cheek, wondering if you should lie and spare him the horrid memories. “Mostly they were devising a plan to get the falcon– caps number from you. They also think you look like James Dean.”

Bucky knew James Dean. Pop culture wise he started in the 50s, so he knew him enough.

“I think that's the best compliment I've ever gotten,” Bucky said, a slight quirk on his lips. You hadn't realized how blue his eyes were until you started to get trapped in them, only being ripped away when the ding of the machine made you flinch.

“Well, I’ll make sure to relay your gratitude,” you said, throwing the rest of your clothes into the hamper.

Bucky wanted so painfully for you to linger and wait till his cycle was done, to talk to him about your day so he could know more about the mysterious, beautiful girl across the hall. Maybe you could walk back together, Bucky would offer to carry your basket because he does still remember to be a gentleman.

Maybe Bucky was just grasping onto the thought of not being alone.

but you smiled at him so warmly, waved, and turned your back but god- he just wanted to keep you in place. to stay. He wasn’t sure what came over him but he felt empty when you left. so weird.

Bucky finished his laundry in silence and made sure to lightly (light for him) bang on the dryer after he put the coins in.

it surprisingly didn’t take long for you to run into him again, in the lobby. laundry room, again. the halls and weirdly, he saw you ordering an iced americano at the coffee shop across the street.

you two became… acquaintances. That's how Bucky would describe it.

Bucky was not a creep, or a stalker. He was just caring and very curious. it was also kinda unavoidable with his super soldier hearing, but he heard everything. He's pretty much got a pretty good idea of your music taste, always some indie or punk rock playing during the day, softer music during the night. He heard 40s music once and almost went feral trying to hold himself back from knocking on your door.

He heard the television when you watch shows, or when you get into heated conversations with people over the phone (those get very interesting at times). Bucky had heard you having a life crisis as you shoved all your furniture around at 2 am and decorated the walls. He also hears when you have people over, oh how shitty he felt with himself when he realized you had a boy - a date over. jealousy was a newer emotion, maybe it was even envy.

and now as the winter season rolls around and the city gets colder, Bucky sometimes forgot about people getting colds or head flu. serum and all. Recently, Bucky's heard nothing but sneezing and coughing from his next-door neighbor. He was worried, is that creepy?

So much so that he ran down to the local Thai place, and he went there often. They had really good food. Bucky passed the bright red and green lights for Christmas, the snow coated the ground and he gained a few odd looks from passersby at the little amount of clothing he wore.

Bucky Barnes had a plan, you knew he was… enhanced. So the whole hearing you thing wouldn’t be that creepy? maybe. Either way, he was going to “coincidentally bring home leftover food that he will oh-so-graciously let you have while he makes sure you're not dying of a head cold.” because he worries

his hand hovered over the wooden door, a moment contemplating if this was a bad idea. but before he knew it the echoed sound of knocking filled his ears and he heard you padding your feet toward him.

Yeah, you looked horrible. red nose, bedhead, and dark eyes m. you looked incredibly pale too, there looked to be no life in you.

“hey, James!” your voice was raspy but you tried to sound cheery and happy despite how much you felt like dying as you stood up. “what are you doing?”

“I’ve been hearing you cough your head off for the past day, and I brought home some leftovers for you. Can I come in?”

you looked utterly astonished. your eyes glanced up and down and back at the bag of food. Bucky noticed the way you were swaying on your feet and grasping at the door frame. you needed to sit down.

“uh, yeah. I just- I don't want to get you sick.” you worried, but still moved out of the way slightly for Bucky.

“Don’t worry, doll. perks of that serum.” Bucky chuckled, your face relaxed and you showed him to your kitchen.

“Oh, right.”

Bucky followed and set the plastic bag on the counter, going through and grabbing the two containers of soup. He noticed the photos stuck to the fridge, pictures of you with friends and smiling wildly. his heart warmed. Bucky also didn’t miss the messy couch, from the fleece blankets, stray tissues and glass of sprite. you’d been officially camping out there for the last few days.

“Do you want something? tea, water, alcohol if you're in the mood.” Bucky turned around to see you reaching on your tippy toes for the cups. He jumped to grab it out of your hands and push you away.

“Hey, you’re sick. go sit down.” Bucky said, you frowned slightly.

“I don't want to be rude,” you whine.

“you’re not rude, you're sick.” Bucky pressed his hands to your shoulder and sat you down on the island's barstool.

“The lady at the Thai place said this could help with a head cold.” Bucky explained, pushing the soup towards you. He found the silverware drawer on his third guess. “supposably it’s jacked up on chili peppers and ginger, so it’s spicy.”

your hand shakes slightly as you bring it to your lips, “mhmm, good. you try.”

“no, it’s for you.”

“James, grab a spoon and try it,” you state, sliding the bowl over to the brunette.

Reluctantly, Bucky takes another spoon and brings the liquid to his lips. you laugh loudly at his reaction, he winced as the soup goes down his throat. coughing wildly at the spice.

“It’s not that bad!”

Bucky speaks through coughs, “I don't like spice.”

“more like can’t handle it obviously.” you snark, snatching the bowl back from him.

“poor kids in the 40s didn’t have much more than salt and pepper, doll.” Bucky says as if it's the most obvious thing ever. but it was hard to remember when he still looked like an attractive 30-something-year-old. You chuckle under your breath.

“Well, it’s time to build up to your tolerance, Barnes.” you bring the spoon up to his lips, and Bucky flushes a light pink. he hopes - prays that you think it’s just from the chili pepper.

Bucky shakes his head, “I'm not a masochist, eat your food. I spend the army’s good money on that.”

you smile at the light jab, letting the liquid run down your throat. a satisfied hum leaves you, Bucky makes a mental note to get you the dish again.

Bucky let you eat in peace, finding his way around your kitchen after having to reject your offer second to host him, again. he found the tea bags and kettle and started boiling water, as his hand grasped around the handle to pour the water into a “Ohio is for lovers” cup Bucky was hit with a weird distant yet familiar feeling. the feeling of normalcy and comfort he’s so avoided for decades.

it was the closest thing to how he felt in Wakanda, but better. because he was a charity case in Wakanda, this was normal. in a small New York apartment, caring for a sick girl by feeding her Thai food.

Bucky had to snap himself out of it before you started to get creeped by him staring daggers into your tea. his eyes shot up to you, your hand massaging your shoulder with a twisted face.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. just a knot in my shoulder from playing dead on the couch.” you laugh and wave it off, but bucky’s already rounding the island towards you. He motions to your right shoulder, tapping at your fingers where they dig into your skin. “oh no, it’s okay.”

“Just let me. I used to have to get the knots out of a young pre-serum Captain America once." Bucky says, digging his thumb into your shoulder. you instantly tense, Bucky lets off the pressure as you relax into him. slowly building it up. “Little punk had horrible posture, he’d sit on this bench in bridge park and just draw for hours while I did laps.”

Bucky laughs to himself in reference to the distant memory, he left out the part where he hid the fact he was exercising for the army — and hiding it from Steve. you smile warmly with him, “I can't imagine the shock of seeing your 5 '4 childhood best friends look like — like, uhh.”

“like Captain America?”

“yeah, like Captain America.”

Bucky hums, “well, I first saw him like that when he rescued me from the POW camp. was jacked up on hydra drugs and thought I was hallucinating,”

a soft mewl comes from your lips as Bucky gets his thumb around the knot in your shoulder, your head falls down onto his chest lightly and another moan leaves you. Bucky tugged at his bottom lip as he glanced down at you, gulping down his nerves and having to physically tear his eyes from you before he started to get the wrong idea.

too late though. you made a soft noise again and Bucky thought about what it would feel like to have you make more of these noises, but with Bucky's hands elsewhere. anywhere else.

“There, you got it. thank you.” you breathed a harsh breath and push away the half-empty soup.

“done?” Bucky pushed himself away from you.

“mhm.”

Bucky feels a weird sense of deja vu while taking care of you, it’s nice - deja vu - it means he remembers. remembers taking care of Steve like this. Bucky puts the dishes away, he’ll offer to clean them later. you're sipping at the tea he made, bucky's eyes glance to the living room. the television was paused in the middle of a movie, and your shoulder began to sag again.

“What movie were you watching?” Bucky asks.

“uhh,” you smile shyly, glancing from the screen to Bucky. “Twilight.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, showing no recognition of the name. Once again you forget you’re technically talking to a 100-year-old man that probably was too busy being brainwashed to watch Twilight at the peak of its fame.

“oh! it’s some stupid vampire-werewolf movie, it was really popular like 10-15 years ago. kind of iconic.” you laugh quietly.

“perfect. you need rest and I need to catch up on the 20th century, yeah?”

-

“Where the hell have you been, loca?” you whisper under your breath, laughing to yourself at the stupid line.

Your head lay comfortably on the armrest of your couch, Bucky sat across from you and was currently being used as a footrest. He took the position proudly and traced circles into your calves, you tried to ignore the blush and goosebumps on your skin when he did.

“do you know every line?”

“My niece was obsessed with these movies when she was little, every weekend we had to rewatch one of them.” you scoff, “so yeah, kind of.”

Bucky snorts, scrunching his face up when Jacob shrugs off his t-shirt. “Also, why doesn't Bella just get over Edward and get with Jacob?”

The only women Bucky has genuinely feared in his life were his mother, Steve’s mother, and Natasha. you were suddenly added to the list when your gaze turned to him, mouth gaped open lightly as you looked at Bucky as if you were going to kill him.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks innocently.

“Please don’t tell me you’re team Jacob.”

“Team Jacob?” Bucky wears his confused face again.

“Team Jacob and Team Edward. Which one are you on?” your eyes shoot daggers at him as he scrambles for an answer.

“I think Jacob.”

you open your mouth wide to argue, explain that their entire relationship dynamic and why Bucky is wrong. but you don’t, you just give him a death glare and slowly gaze back to the television. “you’ll change your mind.”

Bucky smiles. He thinks you’re cute, too cute. “Okay, who would you date?”

without skipping a beat. “easy. Carlisle.”

“Really?”

“mhm, but Jacob with the long hair is really hot.” you smile, “shame he cut it.”

“So you like a guy with long hair?” Bucky teases, ready to exaggeratedly brush his hair behind his ears to tease you more. then remembering he cut it. shame.

“Maybe,” you smile. “didn’t you have long hair?”

“used to.”

you look at him intently, like you were imagining him with the grown-out brunette hair. other than the fleet pictures and videos you saw of him on the news back in 2014, when he wore a dark mask and even darker eye makeup.

you hum contently, like the image pleased you. “You should grow it out again.”

Bucky felt dizzy when his eyes met yours, he couldn’t pull away even if he tried. “maybe.”

nodding, you were content with that answer and gazed back to the screen. by the end of the movie you were dead and passed out and those plans to get him caught up on Twilight would have to resume later.

Bucky thought for a moment. If the first person he grows a normal, non-superhero, 21st-century relationship with was you. He'd be happy ending up here, not grief and trauma filled with Steve leaving and what hydra did. no — maybe, grateful even if it was just moments like this with you.

Gently, Bucky laid another fleece blanket over you and did your dishes, put away the leftovers, and turned the screen off. it was weirdly domestic, it warmed his chest.

if Bucky wanted to be hopeful for once, maybe he would try for something more than just neighbors or acquaintances.

-

feedback and notes make the world go round, thank you for reading <3

tag list: @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief @silverfire475

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #sebastian stan #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader

[oddballwriter]

Personal Nurses

Summary: You get sick with something and need to stay home, and so your lovely boyfriends take up the job of nursing you back to health.

Warnings: Mentions of being sick (sore throat, stuffy nose, and fever). Taking medicine. Half Google translated Spanish, my high school Spanish is really rusty the grammar may be weird. Other wise a nice wholesome sick comfort fic.

Author’s Snip: Fun fact, this was originally going to be a fic where it was about Abi (the reader and system’s daughter that have a bit of an unofficial series with) getting sick. But I decided to make it about the boys taking care of you because I got a nasty cold a while ago and wanted to see this.

Notes: Again, the grammar in Jake’s Spanish speaking might be not so good because my Spanish is rusty as hell.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 692

Being sick wasn’t that great. Sure, it got you out of needing to do things, but you also had to deal with actually being sick. And that’s never great.

You went to bed last night with a tickle in your throat and runny nose that you thought would pass in the morning, but then you woke up dying for water, barely able to breathe through your nose, and now you were burning up like a whore in church.

When Steven eventually woke up and found you in the kitchen you could tell he knew. You made an attempt to brush it off by saying “I’ll just drink some tea and sit under an air conditioner today.” but you could see Steven and the rest of them in that brain vote no on even letting you get out into your work clothes.

So now you get to wallow in bed and have three personal nurses.

Since Steven was the one who woke up with the body, so he was the one who set everything up. He politely shooed you back into bed, placed extra pillows, called your work for you, made you your tea and breakfast, and brought all that to you in bed with a cold rag and medicine. He also checked your temperature which, of course earned an “Oh, love. That’s no good.” that seemed more like him thinking out loud.

Steven was the one mostly in charge of your comfort and doing things for you when you’re sick. If you wanted an extra blanket, you got one. If your fever rag got lukewarm, he made it cool again. Do you want more water or tea? You got it. Is it too bright? He’ll draw the curtains for you. If anything he was more of a bell boy than a nurse. But it still made him blush a little when you called him that.

Marc was the one in charge of making sure you got your medicine in, and he was on top of it. Apparently, when you were taking a nap after eating breakfast, Marc took the body to go to the pharmacy and get new medicine and vitamins because “The one we have isn’t strong enough.” as if he was able to tell just by looking at you. When he came back, he had you eat some bread, saying “So that it doesn’t mess with your stomach if it's empty already.” and also “It helps it stay down. It has something to stick to.”.

“How do you know all this?” you questioned, to which Marc simply said “Trial and error,”, “Now take the vitamins. It helps your immune system fight it off.” Marc orders. You just shrug and comment “Whatever you say, Nurse Spector.”.

Jake was dead set on making food for you, making Marc go to a whole different market while he was out, just to buy ingredients for the soup he wanted to make you.

“Qué no, Marc. No puedes compras los sopas enlatadas.” Jake said to himself with a laugh. “Mind letting me in on the joke?” Marc asked as he watched Jake cut up the ingredients from the reflection in the soup. “You couldn’t buy them canned soup, Marc. Canned soup doesn’t do it. You gotta make it.” Jake explained, clearly referring to the whole ‘make it with love’ thing. “Well, that’s what we would have,” Marc mentioned. “Because that’s all we got.” Jake said back, “But not for them.” he added as to pointed to where you were resting. “They’d do the same for us.” Jake stated confidently.

When the soup was settled and done, and cooled down enough, Jake brought the bowl straight to you in bed. You thought he was going to bring a little table like Steven and Marc did, but it was clear when Jake kept holding the bowl and took up a spoonful of it and held it towards your mouth. You say his name with a scoff and he smiles. “Come on, mi amor. Steven and Marc got to play nurse today.” Jake teased. You roll your eyes and decide to humor him and let him feed you.

#moon knight #moonknight #moon knight x reader #moonknight x reader #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Go For What You Want

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: mentions of violence but nothing too serious

Genre: fluff & minor angst

Summary: apparently kissing your shy neighbor wasn't enough of a hint for him, time to be even more direct. Somehow...

A/N: This is Part 2 of Secrets That Whisper & Shout, I'm officially making it an anthology :))

***

That kiss was almost two weeks ago now and nothing has happened. You didn't even get to have a proper conversation that day because you got a frantic call from one of your girlfriends before you could address the situation and Steven politely excused himself to let you take care of her situation. And since then, you wouldn't say Steven's been avoiding you exactly but he certainly hasn't been doing much in the way of conversing. You've mostly been seeing him in passing and if you try to hold him for more than a few minutes either Marc takes over or one of them makes an excuse to leave. All in all, things have been weird and you're sick of it so today you're absolutely over it.

You knock on his door firmly with a whole bulleted list of points in your mind. You hear shuffling on the other side and two whole minutes go by before the door swings open.

"Y/n! Hi. What brings you over? Is everything alright? I was in the middle of-" You know Steven's about to give you an excuse to keep things short so you stop him with a raised hand.

"This won't take long, I have somewhere to be but quite frankly I'm sick of you half avoiding me and I'm only here to tell you that it has to stop. If kissing made you that uncomfortable you should just say so, you are an adult and I can take care of myself there's no need to dance around it like you're scared to hurt my feelings or something."

"What?" He blinks at you.

"Things are weird and I don't like it. If you don't want to talk to me then say so but this thing where you act like things are normal while acting very NOT normal has to end." 

"It's not that I don't want to talk to you! I talk to you almost every day."

"Asking me how my day was when I catch you in the elevator is not the same Steven and you know it. What is going on with you?"

"I- well to be fair it's not like this has exactly gone in the right order I- I don't know what I'm supposed to do here."

"Right order? Steven we kissed each other it's not like we eloped in Vegas and the next step regardless would be taking me on a date or asking me to be your girlfriend or anything that indicates you actually want something with me." You huff.

"What?" His eyes widen.

"A date, Steven, most people would ask the girl they like on a date."

"You want to go on a date with me?"

"I've been waiting for you to ask me since we kissed."

"Oh. Oh! I- I'm an idiot." Steven palms his face in embarrassment.

"Well, I won't disagree with you." You shrug.

"A date. It would be an honor to take you on a date."

"Well, then get planning. I have to go, but you have until the weekend."

"Wait do you mean we're going on the date this weekend or that I have until this weekend to have a plan?"

"If you can make it this weekend I would be... surprised, impressed- but a plan will do just fine." You tell him.

"Okay." He nods.

"Okay. See you soon." You say and pivot on your heel to head down the hall. You do actually have somewhere to be. Steven may not be quick to take the lead but he is certainly quick to move when prompted because he does in fact make your date that weekend. Saturday afternoon you're on the couch reading when there's a knock on your door. The first set of knocks is shaky but before you manage to get up there's a second set of much sharper more assured knocks. When you pull the door open Steven stands there with a set of flowers.

"Steven. Hi. You know you- could've just texted me with what our plans would be?" You smile.

"Well yeah, I know but I was hoping you were free now."

"Now?"

"For our date."

"You wanna go now?"

"No time like the present!"

"Alright, give me like 10 minutes to change."

"You look fine."

"Steven I'll freeze once the sun goes down if I go out in this tank top." You chuckle.

"Fair."

"Where are we going?"

"I can't tell you."

"Well how am I supposed to dress then?"

"Casually is fine."

"Alright. You can sit on the couch and wait." You say leaving him in your doorway to go swap your loungewear for something more date-appropriate. A cropped sweater and a skater skirt with a pair of boots. Ten minutes later you practically skip out to the living room again and Steven stands before you've even reached the couch.

"I- forgot to actually hand these to you when you opened the door." He says holding out the flowers he brought.

"Thank you Steven. I'll throw these in a vase and then we can go!"

"Of course." He nods. You quickly find a big enough container for the flowers.

"Okay let's go." You say and hold out a hand for Steven to follow you out of your apartment.

"I was going to take you to dinner, but Marc insisted it was too basic. Although his suggestion was totally out of the question so- we worked to find something we both could get behind." Steven says while the two of you are walking.

"What was Marc's suggestion?" You chuckled.

"Nothing good." Steven shakes his head.

Hey, my ideas were great! Heaven forbid I try to make shit more interesting than just dinner!

"More interesting how?" You chuckle.

"What?" Steven frowns.

"Sorry- I just- went into your head by accident again. We need to work on that actually but conversation for a different day. I just heard Marc- he said he was trying to 'make shit more interesting' and now I'm curious what he means."

"Skydiving."

"Skydiving?!"

"That was his first suggestion." Steven nods.

"His first suggestion was skydiving?!"

"Yes."

"If you'll excuse me for a moment I'm going to jump into your mind and yell at him directly. You'll have to guide me as we walk."

"Oh- okay?"

You're first suggestion was skydiving?!

Well yeah, Steven just wanted to go to dinner and he told me you guys used to do lunch a lot already so I can't imagine it would be fun to do something you've already done."

Marc- everyone has to eat in fact you're supposed to do it multiple times a day not to mention there are so many types of food and so many places to go it would take so long to run out of new ways to experience the thing we all have to do it's why food is like a universal truth on dates. You know what would really not be fun on a date? Dying. Infinitely less fun."

Oh come on we wouldn't let you die.

You cannot control what happens if I jump out of a plane at thirty thousand feet in the air. I can guarantee you've jumped off of several roofs working for that crazy ass bird, is that not enough heights for you? I would assume you get more than enough, honestly, you probably get too much, adrenaline doing errands for Khonshu, if you're becoming a junkie for it don't drag me into your chases. Actually, you're not allowed to chase it period it is stressful enough leaving your safety in the hands of a ten foot tall bird skeleton you are not allowed to bring that kind of stress into non-mission scenarios.

Fine- no jumping out of planes.

Or off of bridges, or off of cliffs, or into shark infested waters, or river rapids or-

I won't do anything to harm us, sweetheart. We're here though so, you should hop outta here and talk to Steven. He's been anxious about this date all week.

Alright, I'll probably check in with you later.

 With that you push out of the boys' mind and take a moment to check your surroundings.

"An arcade!? Oh my gosh!" You gasp.

"You like it?" Steven asks.

"Who doesn't love the arcade?!"

"Well I bought game passes already so- where do you want to start?" He asks.

"Oh it doesn't matter I'm so gonna kick your butt at everything here."

"I could- totally beat you at probably at least one of these games!"

"Ohhh you're so on!" You scoff. The two of you spend hours playing every competitive game in the arcade. Steven manages to beat you at a number of them and you beat him at several too but you both lose track of the score at some point and just enjoy whatever games look the most interesting even if you both suck at them, which happens a few times too. By the time you leave, the sun has set entirely and you find a small shop down the street for food. Fish and chips for you and luckily for Steven there were several vegan options for him to choose from. You spend another hour or so talking to Steven and Marc while you eat and honestly, the whole night is one of your best first dates ever.

Jake wasn't so eager to get involved with you. In fact, for the first few months of your relationship with them, he hardly spoke to you. You don't take it personally, Marc and Steven tell you all the time that he's just not that friendly so, while you make sure it's clear the door's always open to him, you don't bother pushing him to talk to you. You brought Steven a snack at work today and hung around til the museum closed so now you're walking back with him as he tells you about the newest exhibit there. It's so nice listening to him talk about things he enjoys, the sun is slowly disappearing in the sky and stars are starting to blink to life as you enjoy the late summer evening together.

Steven stops suddenly and his grip on your hand tightens halting you with him. Your eyebrows knit together as turn to look at him only to see a pensive frown on his face as his eyes dart around the street.

"What's going on?" You ask. He pivots quickly and yanks you behind him just before three masked men appear seemingly out of the shadows.

"Stay behind me. I'll protect you." Steven says gruffly. Except, that didn't sound like Steven.

"Jake?" You frown.

"Sí. Don't worry."

"I'm- not worried. I can hold my own pretty well you know. I'm not a damsel in need of-"

"Princessa." Jake cuts you off sharply, glancing at you over his shoulder.

"Yes?"

"Lo sé, I know, but this is not your fight and I will not let you get hurt." Jake says.

"Jake-"

"Whatever sassy remark I'm sure you're about to say please save it for later. Right now? Bigger fish." He says.

"Fine." You concede, stepping back a little so Jake has room to fight. The masked assailants standoff with Jake for what feels like several minutes. It couldn't have been more than 90 seconds but it felt like much longer. The one on the right strikes first, leaping towards Jake with a dagger which seems to signal the others to launch at them too. Despite being outnumbered 3:1, Jake is holding his own pretty well against them for the most part. He disarmed the one with the dagger rather quickly and now it's just hand to hand. Even when they manage to get the jump on him it never lasts long, you're rather impressed by Jake's fighting. It seems like this will be over pretty soon, or rather it did, but then you notice one of the guys reach for the discarded dagger. Jake is distracted by the other two, you're not sure if you should yell or intervene but you have to do something. It's too late to yell, he won't have enough time to reach. You shoot your arm out and the blade slips from his hand and into yours. This turns his attention to you and he runs at you after a moment of confusion. You barely manage to sidestep him and he goes crashing into a lamppost though that doesn't manage to slow him down much. He charges again like an angry bull.

"Princessa!" Jake yells somehow still worried about you despite fighting off two people on his own.

"I got it, Jake!" You call back elbowing the guy in the nose as he comes at you. The guy grabs his nose for a moment but quickly focuses back on you, throwing a punch that you dodge but he uses your movement to grab your arm that's still holding his dagger. While trying to disarm you the weapon slashes your side and you have to grit your teeth as you wrench yourself free.

"Aw man I liked this shirt." You mutter. You've officially had enough of this. With a flick of your wrist, you effectively freeze your assailants in place.

"Dios mío." Jake breathes out, stumbling when he realizes the fight has stopped.

"Sorry! I should've warned you I was gonna do that. This guy ruined my shirt so- I'm not having fun anymore."

"You were having fun?"

"I mean- as much fun as you can have while fighting. I was winning so, wasn't too bad but then he ruined my shirt."

"You're hurt." Jake frowns.

"It'll heal. Do you want me to wipe their memories or I can just leave them here for a few hours? Although they'd probably come looking for us again if I did that."

"You can just wipe their memories?"

"Yes." You nod.

"And you could do this the whole time?"

"Yes." You nod.

"What are you?" Jake asks.

"A telepath mostly. Did Steven and Marc not tell you that? Steven like almost stopped talking to me when he found out."

"Steven almost stopped talking to you because of this?!"

"Well not-"

"Sorry, give me one second." Jake spins around and finds the nearest reflective surface, a window of a closed store next to you both. "Hermano. You almost stopped talking to her because she's?! Do you not realize that makes her the coolest person you've ever met?! Why would you stop talking to her?!" Jake practically yells at the reflection. You chuckle a little at the one-sided conversation. You're tempted to find out what Steven's response is but you won't pry. It's surprising to hear Jake jump to your defense considering how little he talks to you. "That's so stupid! You are very lucky Marc was nosy enough to get involved and save you from yourself! ... No Marc you were being nosy you didn't even know the girl at the time ... I'm not saying that I'm just saying she was Steven's interest first. It's fine that you like her now but it's not like you were looking out for your own interests when you got involved, you were helping Steven... This isn't about me!?" 

You knock on the window next to Jake's reflection and he jolts back, turning to look at you with a confused frown.

"Hi, sorry to interrupt your squabble but can we start heading back to the building? Also, what do I do with the guys?"

"Lo siento, we'll take you home. And you can wipe their memories." Jake says.

"Cool." You nod. You wipe the minds of the attackers, erasing yourself and Jake from their brains entirely and you watch as they try to shake the disorientation of a memory wipe.

"That is incredible." Jake says with mild surprise, reaching a hand behind your back to guide you in the direction of your apartment building.

"You know, this is the most you've ever spoken to me." You point out.

"That is true." He nods.

"But you wanted to protect me tonight."

"You are Steven's girlfriend. Even if I do not talk to you, I will protect you because it protects Steven." He shrugs.

"That's- very noble of you I guess." You say. There's a moment of silence that passes between you before Jake offers a reply.

"It is selfish."

"Selfish? How?"

"Estoy demasiado nervioso para hablar con tú, pero presto suficiente atención para saber que he empezado a cuidar de tú." He sighs.

"I don't speak Spanish." You shake your head.

"I know." He smiles.

"But how will I know what you're saying?"

"He likes to be vague." You notice immediately the change of voice.

"Marc!"

"He likes you. He doesn't want to admit it but he likes you."

"Oh!" You blink, a smile slowly spreading across your face. "That's very cute. I like him too. He should come around more." You say. And come around more he did. It was gradual at first but soon you were seeing Jake as often and Marc and Steven. You won't pretend it's always straightforward considering the three are very different personalities but you like to think you're all navigating it well. Even though sometimes you need a little help from your abilities.

***

Tagged Users: @itsmskeisha @auntiegigi @neteyamsluvts

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #steven grant fanfiction #jake lockley fluff #moonknight #moonknight x reader #moonknight fanfiction #steven grant fluff #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley

[tonberry-yoda]

A Hobie Thing To Do - Hobie Brown

notes - Here's the Hobie fic for that poll I did! Thank you everyone who voted and the Hobie lovers for asking for another fic! It feels a tad rushed story wise, but it's silly and I like the concept, so I hope you enjoy! Stay hydrated everyone! word count - 810

London was pretty boring. You were expecting more when you moved there, but honestly, it was a lot of rain and a lot of the people you were already used to. College was nice and everything and it wasn't like you were miserable, but you were definitely bored.

Until you met him. Hobie Brown. A punky, guitar playing, pierced up boy with a loud mouth and amazing hair.

You met him while goofing around with a band you played with occasionally. He kicked open the door with drinks in his hands and smiled when he saw you, setting down the drinks to shake your hand.

"You have amazing eyes." he told you with a wink.

You told him you liked his outfit and you hit it off from there, playing music together or eating junkfood in your dorm.

And not too long afterwards, the two of you started dating. He never called it dating, but never got mad when you did, so you definitely considered the two of you to be together in some romantic regard.

Plus, he would kiss you without hesitation and wrap his arm around you whenever someone seemed to be bothering you.

At the end of the day though, after weeks of dating, the two of you became inseparable and the only time you were really away from each other was when you were at school.

"Have you guys seen Hobie?" you asked the band as you walked in with sandwiches, handing one to everyone.

"No," said the drummer, Curtis, shoving the sandwich in his mouth. "I don't know if he's coming. He didn't say anything."

You just nodded and sat down, turning on the TV. Curtis' parents always had it on the news channel and it was playing something about Spiderman.

"Ugh, Spiderman," said the singer, Alley, rolling her eyes. "I hate that guy."

"Why?" you asked, turning to her. "He's a punk dude, I think he's so sick."

"Yeah, but he's just making excuses to break the law and claim he's saving the world. It's not very punk if you ask me,"

"That's so stupid, Alley."

"Maybe to you. I think it's pretty rational."

"I just think you don't know the guy," Hobie said, walking in and grabbing his own sandwich. "Though, maybe you're right."

"Hey, Hobie." you smiled, kissing him on the cheek. "Where were you?"

"Well, it's finally not gross out, so I figured I'd walk today. Sorry I'm a little late. Anyways, what's Spiderman up to?"

You watched the TV for a second and turned back to Hobie. "Apparently someone was trying to attack some bus downtown and he saved it."

Hobie just hummed in response and kept eating. He felt weird about not telling you that he was Spiderman, but at the same time, he thought it was obvious at this point and was trying to see how long it would take you.

"Who do you think's under that mask?" Curtis asked.

You just shrugged. "Probably some rockstar. Maybe someone we've seen live?"

You and the rest of the band became coming up with theories about Spiderman as Hobie kicked back his feet and watched himself save the bus in slow-mo for the fifteenth time with a stupid grin. You really weren't going to figure it out, were you?

Well, in that case, he thought it would be fun to tease you a bit.

You were on a walk in the rain, petting stray cats and shopping. Hobie had his Spiderman costume on and waited until you got into an alleyway before hanging upside down in front of you, shocking you a bit.

"Spiderman?" you said. "What's up?"

He smiled under the mask and stood in front of you before walking over to a wall, leaning against it. "What's up with you?" he asked.

"Just going home." you told him.

Hobie rolled his eyes under the mask. He didn't even change his voice, how did you not notice it was him yet?

"I heard you're in a band." he said.

You tilted your head. "How did you know that?"

"A friend of mine knows you."

"Really? Who?"

"His name's Hobie." He had to hold back laughter.

You thought for a minute and looked at him unamused. "Really, Hobie?"

He shot a web and hung back upside down in front of you before making sure no one was around to slide off his mask.

"How long have you been Spiderman?" you asked.

"How long has Spiderman been around?"

You rolled your eyes with a smile. "This is crazy."

"Unexpected?"

"No. This definitely feels like a Hobie thing to do."

"Why's that?" He smirked.

"Because of course, you of all people would be Spiderman somehow."

"I guess that is a Hobie thing to do, innit?"

You cupped his face and smiled before pressing your lips to his as he hung upside down.

~~~~~

into the spiderverse masterlist | pinned post 2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~

#thanks everyone! #i hope you like the silly hobie fic <3 #writing #my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse x reader #spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x reader #spiderman #spiderman x reader

[bloompompom]

Trending Now! Beloved, international pop sensation was spotted getting hot and heavy with the lead vocalist of Devil's Paradise, Eren Jaeger, at an after-party, sparking rumors of a secret fling. The unlikely couple has yet to comment publicly on the status of their relationship, but their scandal-worthy PDA alone implies they must know each other very well. 

Ha! That couldn’t be any further from the truth.

♡ pairings: rockstar!eren jaeger x popstar!female reader, eren jaeger x historia reiss ♡ content: ~8k word count. enemies-to-lovers, explicit language, alcohol, tobacco, pet names, reader discretion advised. ♡ previous chapter | next chapter | series masterlist

★ Chapter Two ★

It turns out that a fake relationship calls for just as much work as a real one.

Your life had been consumed by music for as long as you could remember—even longer than that, actually.

Your father was big in the music industry. You were talking big, big. Icon status. His band toured and filled stadiums across the country, ten times over, well before you were born. And once you were, he brought you along for the ride. He’d show you off on stage before your little eyes could even fathom what a crowd was, announcing to the world that he had a good feeling about you—what a strange thing to say about a child. But he wanted you to be a star, just like him, so a star was what you became.

Yes, for all intents and purposes, you were a nepo baby. You were sure, to outsiders, it’d seem like you were complaining about nothing. Here you were in your penthouse apartment, fresh from the bath with soaps costing more than some people make in a week, wrapped in a robe costing more than some people make in a month, lounged on a sofa costing more than some people make in a year. What could you possibly complain about?

Besides the fact that you paid for it with your soul, selling every aspect of your life away. Apparently, even down to who you can and cannot drunkenly make out with at a party.

Speaking of that, your argument with your dad didn’t seem to fix anything. Neither did Pieck’s, though you’d bet she handled her’s more rationally. You were surprised she couldn’t win him over, considering he always valued her opinion more, but even she wasn’t capable of such a feat.

But just like that pep talk you gave yourself in the mirror, you believed it was worth it. 

You were never one to keep a diary, at least, not in the stereotypical sense. Your journals were filled with lyrics that served the same purpose. Every thought, even those that made your stomach sick and left your head in ruins, could be metamorphosed into something as beautiful as poetry. Really, it was poetry, kept on ruled and folded pages. Jotted down, crossed out, and rewritten over and over in messy, middle-of-the-night handwriting.

Those lyrics never met the radio or any streaming services. They were never even given the chance to meet a microphone. They were stuffed away in the depths of your closet. You didn’t have time to write anymore. You were too busy singing to backtracks, churning out song after song, written with no other purpose than to top the charts. 

You thought you’d age out of your dad’s grasp one day, but his reach was far greater than you had anticipated. You were his project—you know, since his first one failed. 

When your dad decided to release his first solo album, it was a flop. Not quite a fall-flat-on-your-face flop, but it was damn near close. He never outrightly named it to be the reason, but when he told you that passion projects were a waste of time, it wasn’t difficult to piece it together.

Your dad promised you the dream of stardom, and that was what you got. But whether it was his dream or yours was yet to be determined. If it were up to you, it would be just you, your poetry, and a guitar—if you could get the hang of it. 

But no, you were generic. 

Most of what you knew about Eren was what anyone could find from an online search because there was no way you would go and talk about yourselves over coffee. Member of Devil’s Paradise. Occupation: singer. Birthday: March 30th. He was two years older than you.

Then came the rabbit hole. A deep and descending spiral. You started with live performances, then stumbled upon some recent interviews. That was always how hate-watching began, wasn’t it? Your blood boiled as you watched Eren play it up for the cameras. Laughing at the right times, sprinkling in a charismatic smile here and there, even if you thought it made him look like a villain.

It seemed like he could get away with anything so long as he desired it. Write the songs he wanted, screw up his lyrics if he felt like it. Hell, he could have kicked his feet up on that conference table if he wanted to, you were sure of it. All the while, you couldn’t even defend yourself with Pieck stepping on your toes—literally. 

You couldn’t say it enough: Eren infuriated you, ceaselessly so. But somehow, buried deep within you, you could admit the band—that he was a force to be reckoned with. Not that you’d ever say that aloud, of course.

Eren’s presence was eye-catching. He knew how to use every last bit of the stage as if he owned it. But so did the rest of the band. Even Connie—stuck behind his drumset but far from hidden. The smirk on his face was everpresent as he attempted different tricks with his drumsticks, unexpectedly nailing every one of them. 

But what stood out to you the most was the energy between Mikasa and Eren. It was electric. Always in tune with one another. As you watched, you noticed a twinge of guilt when you thought about calling their band shitty—but only because of Mikasa! Either way, it didn’t matter; you planned to take the feeling to the grave.

Mikasa actually found you on Instagram a few days after that god-forsaken meeting. Word must have traveled fast. The two of you exchanged phone numbers because she insisted on calling you.

She answered the phone after only a ring. Before you could say a word, she was already apologizing for everything that happened that night, as if it were somehow her fault. She had no reason to feel responsible; you could make your own decision. You told her that, too.

“Honestly, it didn’t even cross my mind that you’d be interested in each other, but I should have known he’d try something,” Mikasa said.

You were quick to correct her. “We’re definitely not interested in each other. We were just drunk.”

“Right. Sorry.”

 Mikasa ended the call by telling you to look at the bright side—the two of you would see more of each other. You feigned excitement not because you didn’t like her but because you only heard the underlying implication. You would have to see more of Eren, too.

Your PR team was adamant about keeping up appearances, desperate to clear things up as if it were a blip on your permanent record. You and Eren were ordered to paint the pretty picture of having been in a happy and committed relationship for the last two months. Don’t forget: they had your image to protect. It was one they spent years crafting. 

You had them clutching at their pearls at the mere thought of you—gasp!—having drunken sexual relations with a man you had just met. 

To think, all of this hubbub, and for what? You didn’t even get laid.

According to them, two months meant you had to drive home the honeymooners, lucky-in-love thing. Googly eyes and all. Anything to snuff out the salacious rumors before executive Mustache died of an aneurysm.

Think of those pictures they plaster on the front of magazines. Those candid couples wearing their absolute best because they coincidentally were papped on their way to the gym. That was what your team of publicists expected of you—on Mondays, that is. Saturdays were for strolling together. To where? Anywhere, they’d say! Ugh. 

It was so very quaint, wasn’t it? As if your schedule wasn’t already crammed enough.

Since the after-party, the most time you spent with Eren was the first (and only) time you went to dinner together. Petra wanted to ensure the paparazzi caught ‘the shot,’ as she called it. Aka, a photograph of Eren feeding you a bite of food.

By the way, Petra was the nervous redhead who rambled at you during the meeting. She was one of Devil’s Paradise’s publicists—specifically, Eren’s. 

She turned out to be less flighty than you thought, at least when the higher-ups weren’t around. You would maybe even say you liked her for no other reason than she was the only one who treated you like a person. Enough that she’d throw in a ‘Hey, this is pretty weird, right?’ now and again. 

That didn’t stop her from dreaming up these ridiculous, borderline-fantastical ideas, like feeding each other goat cheese crostinis, dumbly giggling when Eren would miss your mouth and use his thumb to swipe your lips clean.

Spoiler alert: that never happened. And the paparazzi never snapped ‘the shot’ because you weren’t interested in having Eren feed you anything. Luckily for you, he shared the sentiment. 

What a challenge it was—pretending you had eyes for someone you couldn’t bear to spend an hour with. It was a big ask for both of you. You were singers, not actors. And what was supposed to be a romantic dinner probably appeared more like you were fighting, and not the kind that looked like a lovers’ quarrel. 

To be fair, there was a very small chance it was your fault this time. Just maybe you picked the wrong dinner conversation. But hey, he was the one who brought up his ex-girlfriend first.

Keeping your voice low, you asked him about Historia Reiss. Though the restaurant was dim and not exceptionally crowded, you were only out because you were supposed to be spotted together. The last thing you wanted was to become the jealous, obsessive girlfriend. You were just curious, that was all.

But Eren only said they broke up six months ago, another tidbit you could have found on Google.

“Someone’s down bad,” you poked lightly, even cracking a smile so people would think you were enjoying each other’s company. Pieck would be so proud.

When he didn’t humor it, you stifled the nasty face you wanted to make and asked, “Why’d she break up with you? Because you’re a dick?”

“Yeah, probably,” Eren deadpanned. He didn’t look up as he spoke but bitterly forked around his plate.

That was where the conversation ended. Any and all conversation, for that matter. Talk about awkward. You remembered texting Pieck under the table in a fury, telling her you would never do this again, even if it meant she’d have to lie about your whereabouts to your father.

After only two weeks, you had to tap out. No more cutesy coffee dates, no candlelit dinners, and you’d certainly be escorting yourself to the gym from now on. But Pieck could only cover you for so long before she had to call out your avoidant tendencies.

It felt like interrupting your days had become her new favorite pastime. Still in your robe, though you had left the bath over an hour ago, you lazed on the couch. Convinced everything was peachy, you thoughtlessly answered Pieck’s call with a chipper, “What’s up?”

No pleasantries were exchanged. The first words out of her mouth were, “Do you know how many days it’s been since you and Eren were last seen together?”

Her voice was far too accusing for such a pleasant day. It wasn’t even noon. She spoke so fast that you weren’t positive you heard her right. Why would you count such a silly thing?

You replied tentatively, “Um, no.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“You’re so weird for keeping track of that.”

“It’s literally my job,” she told you like she had many times before. 

Yes, Pieck’s official title was manager, but she was second-in-command. Or as you liked to call it, your babysitter. While the title of personal assistant felt demeaning to give to your best friend, you couldn’t help but think ‘manager’ had gone to her head.

She continued, “Your relationship can’t consist of leaving heart and flame emojis on each other’s photos.” Why not? “You’re taking him to Sasha’s party.”

You flung upright so fast that you were surprised you didn’t fly off the sofa. “Like hell I am!”

If you opened a dictionary and flipped the pages to the word ‘influencer,’ you’d bet there would be a picture of Sasha Braus. In every sense of the word, she was an influencer. She was bubbly, a bit outlandish, and like a magnet whenever she walked into a room. You wouldn’t say she invited you to her party because you were friends, more like she invited you because you were, well, you. 

She announced she was working on expanding her brand, starting with everyone’s favorite breakout product: eyeshadow palettes.

The launch party was on Saturday—two days away. You had known about it for some time now, but you conveniently kept it a secret that Sasha included a plus one to your invitation. You were actually looking forward to the event up until now. 

You spewed every reason as to why this was a horrible idea, rattling away like a bad defense attorney. ‘Eren won’t go’ and ‘Actually, I think I’m coming down with the flu.’ Then came the good old-fashioned begging. 

She let you wear yourself out before hitting you with, “It’s already been arranged. Sasha sent you a plus one, and I’ve spoken with Levi.” Damn it. “Oh, and Petra will be going with you to ensure you’re both on your best behavior. We don’t want a repeat of dinner.”

There was that line again. Best behavior.

You were about to end the call right there, but you decided to hear her out after she apologized. She tried to cheer you up, too, but it was a blatant attempt at reminding you not to shoot the messenger. So then you hung up on her. She’d surely scorn you for acting so childish later.

♡ ♡ ♡

“I don’t know why you’re being such a little bitch about it. Just look at her—she’s smokin’ hot.”

Connie had put one of your music videos on the flat screen during their break from practice. It must have been set to autoplay because that was ten minutes ago and you were still going. He appeared to be the only one watching, sprawled out on the couch with his hands tucked behind his head. He only tore his eyes from the screen to see what Eren had to say.

Eren leaned against the wall, paying more attention to his phone than Connie as he tried to drone out both him and your grating voice. “She’s the one that’s a b—”

“Don’t,” Mikasa interjected. Eren finally glanced up, and Mikasa caught the dreadful look in his eye. “Besides, you didn’t seem to think so when you met her.”

The bite in her tone caught Jean’s attention. He straightened out, sat a bit higher in his seat, and let a wry smile take hold of his face. “Yeah, you’re only saying that because she didn’t want to sleep with you. Let me guess, you said something—probably in your usual douchey fashion—and pissed her off.”

Eren’s eyes flitted from Mikasa to Jean. Only for a second, but with the silence, it was enough to pull a dry chuckle from Jean as he concluded, “Looks like I’m right.”

Connie rolled onto his stomach, eyes wide and interested. He might as well have been kicking his feet in the air like the little gossip he was. “Man, you had the perfect shot and fuckin’ blew it. I wouldn’t have, if it were me. To think I was this close—”

“You called her a stray,” Eren reminded.

Connie cocked a brow at him. “Oh, yeah? And what did you call her?”

Eren didn’t answer that. He pushed himself off the wall and shoved his phone into his pocket. “I’m going to get lunch.”

He didn’t want to give Connie the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him, but his dodginess alone was enough for Connie. He looked pleased with himself as he snickered, “What? You’re not gonna offer to get us any?”

“No,” Eren replied. He was too abrupt about it, what with the way he hastily grabbed his keys and wallet. He chose to ignore Connie’s and Jean’s giggling and whispering on his way out. 

It might not always seem like it—especially right now—but the four members of Devil’s Paradise were best friends. As thick as thieves since the tender age of fifteen. But if you asked any of them, they’d say it has felt even longer than that.

The band had humble beginnings, practicing in Jean’s parents’ garage instead of the unimaginable studio they had now. It took nearly a decade of work, but they finally ‘made it,’ as people liked to say. 

Their careers really kicked off a little over a year ago. In Eren’s eyes, it was practically overnight. Now he couldn’t even grab lunch without getting recognized. It had only gotten worse since they snagged a nomination at the upcoming alternative music awards.

Devil’s Paradise was nominated for the best album of the year. Mikasa had incessantly reminded Eren of it every day since—as if he could possibly forget. One minute she’d list all the people they should thank during their acceptance speech, then the next thing Eren knew, she’d grip at the roots of her hair and spout nonsense like, ‘We shouldn’t even bother going. We’re just going to embarrass ourselves.’ There was nothing they could do but wait for the reading of that fateful envelope, but even she was starting to make Eren antsy.

Even so, Eren liked seeing Mikasa like this. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her so excited over something. Whenever she talked about winning, she looked just like she did when they were kids.

Mikasa was like a sister to Eren. They grew up side-by-side, quite literally. Their parents were next-door neighbors, fating Eren and Mikasa to become best friends before they had even left the womb.

Back then, there was no band. There was only Eren and his guitar, Mikasa and her bass, and their out-of-tune strumming as they attempted to teach themselves how to play. Everything only started to fall into place once they hit high school—when they met Jean and Connie.

Mikasa overheard the duo talking in the cafeteria line. Connie was complaining about getting his brand-new drumsticks confiscated during biology class. ‘Who knew it’s against the rules to drum on the dissection trays?’ And the rest was history—almost.

There were a few kinks they had to iron out, of course. One could imagine the bickering that ensued when they tried to come up with a name, but it only became a brawl once Jean and Eren both wanted to lay claim to the role of guitarist. It only fell to Jean because his singing was subpar, and that was putting it lightly.

But to this day, Mikasa and Eren were still the heart and soul of the band, just like they were back in their parents’ basement or at their school’s talent show or wherever else they found themselves. Eren wrote the lyrics, as always, but he still needed Mikasa’s hand to fine-tune the music.

That was why it was all the more difficult when the two of them butted heads. It was like everything surrounding the band came to a screeching halt. ‘Mom and Dad are fighting,’ Connie would whine. This time was no exception. 

Not surprisingly, their most recent argument involved you. Mikasa genuinely felt bad that you were cornered into this position. Really, she pitied both of you, but she favored you only because she knew Eren could be a dick. The friendlier the two of you became, the more she felt trapped in the middle. And it certainly didn’t help that you and Eren were equally stubborn.

Mikasa suggested Eren should be nicer to you if he wanted this situation to be as painless as possible. She told him you were a good person—that he shouldn’t let his stupid pride get in the way of getting to know you. Eren said she didn’t get it.

Sure, Eren played it cool when you first asked him about the arrangement, but it wasn’t as though he was particularly thrilled about it. He just knew better than to act like a spoiled brat and throw a tantrum over it. Shame on him for getting involved with such a diva. Lesson learned.

Flashback to the morning following the after-party: Eren woke up in Historia’s bed. His eyes opened, and he just sort of stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the horrible writhing in his gut. He attributed it to his hangover.

The feeling didn’t go away by the time his phone started ringing, loudly. He sifted through the sheets before it could wake Historia, but he struggled to find it. It rang a second time, and she let out a whimper of a groan. Wearing nothing but the bedsheet, she reached as far as she could without falling off the bed to fetch Eren’s phone. She tossed it to him—at him—without looking. 

He missed that call, too. Both of which were from Levi. 

Historia rolled over, looking at him with her cheek smushed against her pillow. “Last night catching up with you already?”

Expectedly, Eren’s phone rang a third time. He watched momentarily before replying, “Yeah, I think so.”

Eren, along with you and the rest of the band, had to sign non-disclosure agreements regarding the phony relationship. Both your teams took the matter entirely too seriously, so Eren couldn’t tell Historia about any of it. He figured he could sort that out later.

It had all become such a massive headache for him. He was relieved to have a moment to himself, even if it was limited to the thirty minutes it’d take him to get lunch.

But as it turned out, he couldn’t even get that because, speak of the devil, your name popped up on his phone screen.

Eren was going to let it go to voicemail, but he heard Mikasa in his head—yes, that happened from time to time. To him, the truly painless option would be to ignore the call, but he decided to answer at the last second.

He clicked the button for speakerphone before saying, “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” you said before giving your name.

Eren thought you sounded curt, especially since you were the one barging in on his day, but then again, he was learning you were always like that. “I know. Levi put your number in my phone.”

“It’s really hard to hear you.”

“I’m driving. Hold on.” Eren fumbled to turn off speakerphone. He dropped his phone and, in the hassle, the driver behind him laid on their horn. Frustrated, Eren jammed his phone between his shoulder and ear. “What do you want?”

Eren heard your scoff before you replied, “I’m guessing Levi told you about the party this weekend.” He only made a small grunt of acknowledgment, more focused on turning left at a busy intersection. “People will probably want to talk to us.”

“God forbid,” Eren snarked.

“You know what I’m trying to say! I just think we should, like, rehearse or something—I don’t know.”

Your voice tapered off there at the end, almost nervously. Eren imagined you chewing on your nail in thought on the other end of the line. “You’re really stressin’ about this for no reason, aren’t you?”

“I’m only stressed because I don’t want you to make me look dumb,” you retorted. You were getting mad; Eren could hear it even in the thick silence between you. “I don’t have any time tomorrow, so you have to come by my place as soon as you can.”

“Today? Listen, we don’t need to rehearse anything. I’m supposed to be at practice right now, anyway. I only answered because I’m getting lunch—”

“Great. Bring me something. Whatever you’re having.”

“I’m not—”

“Tell Levi to text you my address.”

And that was that.

When you hung up, Eren chucked his phone into the passenger seat. Stopped at a red light, he rubbed his eyes like he could relieve the tension behind them, cursing under his breath. 

Thirty minutes. He couldn’t even have thirty fucking minutes to himself.

By the time Eren arrived at your apartment, you had finally dressed and made yourself semi-presentable—at least, you weren’t in your robe anymore.

In that time, you decided to ring Pieck. You tried to earn a few brownie points by telling her you invited Eren over to prep for Saturday, but she only told you to post a picture or else it ‘didn’t happen.’

For a split second, you thought you had opened your door to a stranger. You nearly slammed it in Eren’s face when you saw him in a ratty, old baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses too bulky for his face. You figured that was the point, though—to hide his face beyond recognition. Not enough to stop a die-hard fan, but it did the job.

Eren removed the ‘disguise’ once he was inside, setting down his hat and glasses on your entryway table. He tugged on the tie that kept his hair loosely held back, grumbling as he shook it out. “I hate having my hair up.”

“I don’t know. I think it makes you look less scruffy,” you said. You intended it as a dig, but in some way, shape, or form, it didn’t come across as such. You played it off by taking the brown bag from Eren and leading him to your kitchen. “What did you get?”

“Sushi.”

“Sounds good,” you hummed. You set the bag on the counter, plopping on the stool as you pointed across the room. “Chopsticks are in that drawer.”

It was a pleasant surprise that Eren actually listened—less so when he started opening every drawer but the one he needed. You were about to repeat yourself when the receipt stapled to the bag caught your attention. 

“Jeff?” you questioned.

Eren finally found the chopsticks. He didn’t sit at the counter but stood opposite you on the far side of the island. “What? You don’t use a fake name?”

“No, I do,” you said. “It’s just that Jeff isn’t very believable. You don’t look anything like a Jeff.”

He turned the bag around so you could no longer see the receipt. He muttered, as always, when he said, “I wasn’t thinking that hard when I put it down,” as he pulled out your food. Two identical boxes, one placed in front of you. 

You thought on it, just for a moment as you cracked open the plastic lid, then said, “I think you look more like a Dylan.”

“Dylan?” He actually sounded a bit offended by it, causing you to chuckle.

Not that you expected him to, but Eren never asked if you liked what he ordered for you. It was good, but out of sheer pettiness—come on! He couldn’t even give you the common courtesy of asking—you decided not to compliment his taste in sushi. 

You could only compare the time you spent with Eren to a strange dance. A dance neither of you could master. You were cursed with two left feet, awkwardly side-stepping and stomping on each other’s toes again and again. Because of it, there seemed to be an underlying, mutual understanding that neither of you wanted to chit-chat. And that was the only reason lunch wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

But eventually, you had to talk. There was a purpose to this little meet-up—one greater than hoping the paparazzi snap you canoodling on a park bench. If there wasn't, you wouldn’t have invited him over in the first place. 

There were small but specific details that you’d need to iron out if you and Eren had any hope of making a convincing couple. It worked in your favor that you’d only been seeing each other for two months (wink, wink). There was no pressure to memorize every fun fact and finish each other’s sentences. No one would expect that of the couple so madly in love that they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves for even a second—that didn’t leave too much room for getting to know each other, did it?

But there was just one crucial and absolutely inevitable question you’d hear time and time again. 

“They’re going to ask us how we met,” you said. It was the first break in silence, making you the loser of this invisible game between you.

You set down your chopsticks and placed your chin on the heel of your hand. After a thoughtful pause, you said, “Well, you obviously asked me out first.” That grabbed Eren’s attention. He glared at you, about to interrupt, so you jumped in. “After sliding into my DMs, perhaps?”

“Wait a second.”

“Telling me how pretty I am and that you’d just love to get to know me over a drink.” There was an airiness about you the more you played it up.

“I wouldn’t do—”

“And when you met me in person—” You mawkishly clasped your hands together. “—it was like love at first sight.”

Eren appeared more bored than usual, something you didn’t think was possible. “Finished yet?”

What a mood killer.

“Someone can’t take a joke,” you complained, dropping your hands to the cold marble. “Do you have a better idea? Because I don’t know where we would have casually bumped into each other.”

“At an after-party,” Eren answered smartly. 

You frowned. Frankly, you were not looking to craft some elaborate story. The less convoluted, the better. You needed a tale dull enough that reporters would cruise on by rather than nitpick you apart. Something that even Eren couldn’t mess up. 

“Besides the last part, you DMing me the most obvious route,” you said. “It’s practically un-fuck-up-able.”

“That’s not a word.”

This was going nowhere. You conceded to your phone, something to distract you, while you tried to unclench your teeth.

“Embellish it however you want, I don’t care, but we’re sticking with my story. And while we’re at it—” A benefit of inviting Eren over rather than arranging a meeting was that with no one else around—no Petra, no Pieck who’d undoubtedly call you a bitch—you finally had the liberty to demand, “I’m going to need a few things from you. Don’t give me that look.” 

Behind the speckle of hatred in your eyes, there was a dash of desperation, a subtle plead to hear you out. It annoyed Eren because it reminded him of Mikasa again. 

He sighed reluctantly. “Fine. Let’s hear ‘em.”

You straightened out like you were ready to make your presenting argument. “First, when this whole thing is over, I’m dumping you. Not the other way around, and definitely nothing mutual.” You pointed your chopsticks toward Eren’s takeout. “Are you going to finish that?”

He slid the container away from you, which was enough of an answer. “Is your pride seriously that important to you?”

He was one to talk. 

“Think of it this way,” you started, a crude smile pulling at your lips. “I’m sure if you come crawling back to Historia all heartbroken, she’ll be more than happy to lick your wounds.”

He didn’t seem to appreciate the dating advice but let you continue with your rules.

“Speaking of Historia, I won’t stop you from getting back with her because, truthfully, I’m not all that interested in what or who you do in private. Just don’t get caught with her in public.” It was a fair stipulation—more than fair. “Can you at least promise me that?”

He gruffed a noncommittal, “Whatever.”

“No, you have to swear,” you asserted. For emphasis, you stuck out your pinky. Eren gave you that look again, but you didn’t back down. “I take this very seriously.”

Apparently, that was deserving of another (exaggerated) sigh from him, but he linked his pinky finger with yours anyway. “Fine. I promise.”

A small victory, but it was a step in the right direction, nonetheless. And for once, you were the smug one. “Thank you.”

♡ ♡ ♡

Saturday rolled around faster than you wanted. Funny how it always worked like that—how dreaded events always came sooner than the enjoyable ones. 

You spent your Friday in the recording studio—usually one of your longer days, but even an afternoon stuck inside didn’t slow down time.

Next thing you knew, you were stiff and slumped in front of the mirror, wiggly with anxiety, as your face was poked and prodded.

“Babes, you have to stay still for me,” your makeup artist urged, her voice still as sweet as the first time she reminded you. You quietly apologized, trying not to move.

You hadn’t had a day to yourself since the after-party. And even that was a few measly hours. If you weren’t recording, then you were practicing for upcoming studio sessions—warm-ups, vocal lessons, everything. And if it wasn’t practice, then you were on tour. 

This was supposed to be your downtime. Your scheduled, well-deserved downtime that you now had to spend latched to your insufferable fake boyfriend. 

Eren, Eren, Eren. He was all anyone wanted to talk about these days. It was as if you lived your entire life without knowing of his existence, only to wake up one morning to discover he was the name on everyone’s tongue. You couldn’t catch a break from reality even when you shut your eyes in the makeup chair—a not-so-subtle hint you weren’t up for conversation while you were being fussed over. No, this evening’s styling team was far too invested in your love life, despite it being none of their business. 

The woman finishing your makeup was so surprised to learn you and Eren were ‘an item,’ as she coined it. She gushed about it as she warmed and patted concealer on your under eyes. It didn’t help your nervous blinking. 

Was this really how they’d react if you were to seriously date someone?

“Yeah. It’s—uh, it’s new-ish,” was all you could get out. 

Every one of your answers was short. They didn’t seem to notice, so captivated by the sound of their own voices that they didn’t hear the nervousness in yours. 

The woman styling your hair had this glint in her eye from the moment she saw you. You fixed on her smile, all teeth, in the mirror’s reflection until she confessed she was a massive Devil’s Paradise fan. She had their album cover set as the lock screen on her phone. She even showed it to you. 

At some point in the conversation, she said, “I mean, you’ve seen him on stage, right? The guy’s sex on legs.”

Less of a Devil’s Paradise fan and more of an Eren Jaeger fan, wouldn’t you say?

To you, it was merely background noise—you weren’t even positive she was talking to you—but it earned her a smack on the arm from your makeup artist.

“Obviously she’s seen him on stage. That’s her boyfriend.”

She put extra emphasis on that word. The b-word.

You supposed it was rather bold of her, wasn’t it? One would think she’d have the common sense to not say that around someone’s significant other—if it were a real relationship, of course. 

The truth of the matter was that you’d bet she knew more about Eren than you did. You hadn’t even seen him perform outside of the ten minutes you stumbled upon online while she had seen him live in concert (she told you twice).

It was all so stupid and weird and sort of hilarious. How your makeup artist ran to defend a relationship that didn’t exist, how your hair stylist fidgeted with embarrassment over a comment you couldn’t care less about. You almost wanted to belly laugh. 

If only they knew. 

The sun was almost set by the time your car parked, its orange crest melting over the tops of palms. The breeze was crisp for the first time in weeks, enough that you had tucked yourself into the corner of the backseat for warmth. Your sheer-in-all-the-right-places dress wasn’t cutting it. 

Like a real couple, you and Eren arrived together. Petra, too, sat between you. She sounded just as enthusiastic as she did during your first meeting, like she believed she could magically brighten the damp mood.

There was a short walk to the venue, and the three of you were escorted there by security. Petra spent the first half of it scolding Eren because he didn’t hold the car door open for you. ‘What was I supposed to do? Someone opened it for us.’  You didn’t say it, but he had a point. Even so, that didn’t stop her.

You were beginning to think she had read one too many romance novels when you heard her whispering to Eren, her voice no greater than a hiss as she demanded him to give you his jacket. No, not just give it to you but put it on you. 

This was the part where Eren would agree, and Petra would insert a collective awe from the crowd if she could. 

Eren vetoed the idea immediately. He didn’t slow or look back at either of you when he said, “No way. She’s a big girl, she can handle it.”

His major attitude had you and Petra stopped dead in your tracks, both of you gasping an offended, “Eren!” 

Look, it wasn’t like you wanted his jacket—the leather would clash with your outfit—but did he seriously need to act like going out of his way for you was torture?

Petra hurried to catch up with him. “Need I remind you that you have an audience?”

She was right. Outside the entrance was a swarm of cameras and phones, every one directed at whoever was locked in their crossfire next. 

Eren didn’t mask his hesitancy well. It was written across his face as he forked over the jacket, unwilling to lay it over your shoulders. Out of spite, you beamed at him as though he had done it correctly. An expression so endearing that anyone looking in would undoubtedly find it sweet, but Eren knew better than that. He saw right through the facade, clicking his teeth at you before turning away. 

You slung on the jacket one arm after another, and instantly, the scent of it—of Eren—made your stomach clench. You were brought back to that night. The same warm scent that tickled your nose, just without the stench of alcohol. Whatever arrogance you clung to a second ago had now slipped through your manicured fingers. 

Before you stepped inside, Eren’s hand took hold of your wrist and tugged you aside. Rightfully, you were caught off guard. As you opened your mouth to ask why he thought he could manhandle you like that, he shoved a hand into his jacket’s pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. 

You were sure he only wanted you for the cigarettes. Even more sure that he most likely wanted you to skitter along now, but you hung around to ask, “You smoke?”

“No. I quit two years ago,” Eren answered. Then he placed a cigarette between his lips, sparking the end with a lighter he pulled from his back pocket.

“That doesn’t look like quitting two years ago.”

He took a short drag. On his exhale, he said, “Stress cigarettes don’t count.”

Stop the presses. This just in: Eren Jaeger was capable of experiencing human emotion.

Jokes aside, getting worked up over such a contrived event didn’t seem to fit the vibe he had going on. He certainly didn’t look worried, staring out at the road as he puffed his cigarette like you weren’t even there.

You swallowed the scoff you wanted to let out. He had some audacity to mock you for wanting to rehearse the other day when he was as unnerved as you.

Eren cleared his throat, and it shook you from the thought. You pointed out, “That can’t be good for your voice.”

“Good thing I could retire tomorrow if I felt like it,” he said dryly. 

You couldn’t hold it in this time; you snorted derisively and handed back his jacket. “I’ll see you inside.”

Petra’s voice trailed after you as you headed inside, but you weren’t the one signing her checks, so she stayed behind with Eren. Finally, you had a moment to yourself, even if you were surrounded by hundreds of others.

The place was packed already, dolled up in retro pastels. Femininity dialed up to an eleven. Imagine the slumber party of your cotton candy dreams—glossy lips, feathery pillow fights, and bottle girls draped in silk nighties. It was gaudy, in your face, and pure camp. You didn’t expect anything less.

A hostess escorted you to your booth, toward the very back of the club. On your way, Sasha spotted you, bouncing over in her satin set and slippers. She looked adorable and perfectly on theme, down to the fluffy eyemask perched on her pony-tailed head. It was hard to hear her over the bass thrumming in your ears, but she swore she would come and find you later. 

It didn’t take long to realize your lunch with Eren was nothing more than just that—lunch. Wasted time you’d never get back no matter how much you enjoyed the sushi. Outside of some photos here or there, dropping a few hints about your new single, and smushing your face with Sasha’s for that article-worthy photo-op, no one batted at you and Eren, together, even if he did stick out like a sore thumb. 

“Never thought I’d be at one of these,” Eren said as he sat at your side, leaving an awkward foot of space between you.

“You’re welcome for the free exposure.”

You glanced over at him. He looked too big for the booth. It didn't help that the contrast of his deep hair—his clothes even darker, from his jacket to the toe of his boot—was stark against the white plush.

Without missing a beat, he quipped, “It’s not free if I have to follow you around all night.”

“There are worst things.” You gritted your teeth into a smile to disguise that you were throwing snide comments back and forth like daggers. “You know, like being followed around by you all night.”

“That right?” It was a challenge. You saw it in his eyes, whatever it was, and you didn’t like it. “Well, it’s a good thing you came anyway. You could use something to cover that huge zit on your forehead.”

He was boyish and crass as he said it, flustering you. You couldn’t even begin to explain how stupid he sounded—that eyeshadow wouldn’t cover a pimple—because he probably wouldn’t get it.

You slapped a hand over your blemish and hissed, “I should tell my makeup team you said that because, apparently, they’re fans of yours for some unbeknownst reason.”

You were nothing more than an irritation to him, a fly buzzing in his ear; you could sense it. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Aren’t you going to offer to bring me one?” you cooed. It was laced with acid though you wore the same soft-eyed expression as before, when he handed you his jacket. 

You reminded Eren of Connie. And he was about to blow you off just the same when a better idea popped into his head—a little something to entertain himself during this snooze fest of an evening. A reward for playing along, if you will (you wouldn’t). 

What? It wasn’t his fault that it was incredibly easy to get under your skin. 

“Sure,” he replied, but he didn’t leave your side. He left a lengthy pause between you, sliding closer to place a hand on your thigh. He angled closer to you, like he wanted to sell the happy couple schtick, but he had on a cat-like grin. “For a kiss on the cheek.”

You folded your arms tightly, your entire being on lock. “No.”

“C’mon. It’ll look like we’re fighting if you don’t.” He still wore that wicked smile as he pestered you with a cocked head. “Your face is scrunched up. Everyone will think you’re mad.”

That’s because I am mad. You wished you could shout it out loud, but you knew he wasn’t wrong. From the corner of your eye, through the crowds and flouncy servers, Petra was looking—no, staring—at you. She looked concerned, like she was about to race over to you, so you forced another smile. If this kept up, there was no doubt in your mind you’d leave the party with a broken tooth.

“Fine,” you agreed, but only to get him away from you. Eren’s hand was still on your leg. He grazed over the exposed skin, just once, so it didn’t qualify as a caress, but it still knotted your stomach like earlier. 

You pecked his cheek. The skin under your eyes started to burn. “I’ll have a vodka soda. Two limes. Now go away.”

“Right away, angel.” He was too pleased with himself. 

“Don’t call me that.”

Across the way, Petra shot you a corny double thumbs-up, as if that meant anything. You acknowledged her with another painted smile, hoping Eren could hurry up with that much-needed drink. 

He hadn’t returned by the time Sasha found you, as promised. You missed the conversational crutch of having a drink in hand, but luckily, she appeared to be drunk enough for the both of you.

She took a heavy seat next to you, sitting closer than Eren dared. Her knee brushed against yours, and she spoke to you with gin-stained breath. Like everyone else, she was shocked to learn about you and Eren, and you entertained her no differently.

‘Yes, it’s new.’

‘Oh, yeah. He’s just great.’

‘Only two months, yep.’

You should have been ashamed of how little attention you offered her, but wasn’t there anything better to talk about? Really, if you had a dollar for every time someone mentioned Devil’s Paradise, you, like Eren, could retire tomorrow. Tonight, actually. So fast that you could run laps around his retirement—if you wanted to make it a competition, which you weren’t above. 

But unlike the others, Sasha didn’t sound like just another fangirl. She spoke as though she knew them well, and it felt like treading water trying to keep up with her because, in reality, you knew close to nothing about these people. Any of them. Especially Jean and Connie who, as it turned out, were surprisingly good friends with Sasha. Who would have thought? 

She leaned into you, real close. The type of closeness that excited you, like she was about to start a soap-box confessional.

“They’re really good guys,” she said. She said it knowingly, too. The slur in her speech disappeared; the haziness about her features faded. Suddenly, she was stone-cold sober. It felt like she was letting you in on something.

“Look, this thing—” She waved her hand flippantly, referencing the sexy babydoll (can those words be put together?) fantasy surrounding you. “It isn’t me. If it were up to me, I would have been happy to enjoy my launch from my bed, downing an entire pizza all by myself.”

You weren’t sure why she was telling you this or what she meant. But if she, like you, could see through the bullshit—

“But it’s all in good fun, right? And who doesn’t love fun?” Sasha raised her glass high, no longer whispering but slipping back to her drunk, ditzy persona. Just in time for Eren to return.

They said hello, they hugged, and then Sasha offered one last glance, like she could see straight through you—the two of you. But it wasn’t malicious; it was sympathetic. 

If there truly was a bright side to this—Mikasa said there always was—then perhaps it was that you’d end up with two genuine friendships. Fingers crossed.

♡ taglist: @daisynik7 @bejewelledd @lifesuckssomuchtbh @vanessani @intimacywithceline @6sakusa @softjaegerhours @akvrae @sundazedm1 @bomjug @rinshoe @sunasbunnie @okaystopwhore @lem-hhn @brooks-lin @writing2live @ichinosejager13 @littlemochi @sveetnn @elliesbabygirl @sugurunicorn @utahimeow @batafuraikisu @arendizzle @blushblossomsblog @conniesbbymama @wonupuppy @drugzforyou @wtfiswrongwithme1 @str4wberrylover @pompompurjin @bingbongbingbongsblog @josukesss @my-wide-open-eyes @vlsquuu @0bruise @dudaoosstuff please let me know if i missed you or you'd like to be added/removed!

*additionally, i noticed some of the tags weren't working properly. if yours didn't work and you'd like it to, check your settings and see if it allows your blog to appear in search results. i promise, i so badly want to tag you, but i think my brain will melt if i keep trying. hopefully i’ll sort it out next time!

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader

[thenextdawn-temporarilyclosed]

Unexpected

Word count: 1.9K

Summary: request here

Warnings: angst, mentions of Depression

Pairing: Vada Cavell X Fem!Reader

———

It had been a three months ever since the shooting, and you were slowly getting more comfortable in school again. It was hard, getting back pretending that you were alright, and slowly but surely, you were managing. Sure, it would have been easier if you had someone who went through the same shit by your side, so you could “help” each other go through the pain, but the only help you ever received was one from a psychologist who knew nothing about how it felt, because she never was in a school shooting. You had friends in school and sure they went through it too, but they were soon over everything, they recovered quickly, so the only Friend written with capital F you had was Vada. You had met her during the first year of high school and you immediately clicked together, your feelings eventually turning into something more, but you never found the guts to tell her.

“Hey (Y/N)!” Vada said, catching up to you as you were speed-walking to your next class. “It’s been ages since we last spent an evening together! Do you want to come have lunch at my place and maybe we can watch a movie next?” She asked, walking this fast had always been hard for her, that’s why she tripped on her own shoelaces. “I can’t, I have to study. History test, remember?” You said, not even giving her a look of acknowledgment as you walked faster, making her stop dead in her tracks as she sighed and walked to her own class. She felt like you didn’t want to be her friend anymore, she felt as if you were ignoring her… no, you were indeed avoiding and ignoring her, and it made her upset, did she do anything to you that made you upset? She’s done nothing but wanting to stay at your side… or maybe not.

“You don’t get it mom! She’s acting so weird, she keeps avoiding me without an apparent reason!” Vada blurted out while sitting on the kitchen counter, legs crossed as she ate some peanuts, venting to her like she always did after the shooting. “Are you sure that there’s no apparent reason like you say?” Her mother asked, she was cleaning the dishes after having lunch. “Yes I’m sure! These past two weeks I’ve been always texting her and asking her to spend time together but she always dismisses me or gives me cold replies-“ her mother was quick to interrupt her. “You’ve given yourself an answer already, Vada. You said “the last two weeks” but ever since the shooting she has been worried sick about you. She texted you every day, you have no idea how many times she came here looking for you and you were never home, every time I had to tell her you were with Mia” Vada looked down. And when you weren’t home, she’d constantly facetime you on your laptop, it would ring nonstop for two hour hours straight, until one day I gave in and replied”

Two months earlier…

You were panicking like your usual in the afternoon when you were home alone, you kept on thinking about the shooting, how you could die and almost did, and how you just needed someone to hug you and tell you it was going to be alright, so you were trying to facetime Vada for two hours straight now, not getting a reply until you did, but it wasn’t Vada, it was her mother. You quickly wiped your tears and sniffled “Miss Cavell, hi..” you said, trying not to let her hear the evident shake in your voice. “I’m taking it that Vada is at Mia’s place?” Vada’s mother looked at you with a sad look in her eyes and nodded. “I figured… I’m sorry if I disturbed you. I’ll hang up now, will you please tell her I called?” You asked, the woman was about to say yes, but then she figured that if you’d called Vada, it meant that you needed someone to talk to. “Yes I will. But now why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? I can only tell that it’s about the shooting so please, just go ahead and tell me everything. I know it’s something hard to deal with.” And you did, that time you just told her everything. You cried and vented, letting her give you the comfort you desperately needed from your best friend.

“I could only tell what she felt but She was desperate Vada. She was broken, Depressed, scared, traumatized. She needed her best friend’s help, she needed you yet you were nowhere to be seen. I’m not quite sure what she felt but I can tell for sure that she felt and feels replaced. One day you were best friends with her and the next you replace her with some girl you just met, how would you have felt?” Vada kept on looking down. Her mother was right after all, but she was too busy being with Mia to even notice that her friend was slowly slipping away from her. “She stopped coming here, she stopped calling. She gave up, because she knew that if she’d ask for you, you’d never be there for her and now she’s upset because of this and she has every right to be, Vada. And you have no rights to be upset because she’s ignoring this when clearly you started this first. I’m telling you this stuff because clearly you didn’t realize this until now and for your own good I’m telling you to whatever’s in your power to fix this friendship. (Y/N)’s the most genuine person I ever met, and she’s the best friend you could ever ask for so don’t waste this.”

It was obvious to her mother’s eyes that the two girls felt something stronger than just a friendship for each other. However she always promised her daughter not to interfere in her love life so she left this detail out of the conversation, but the least she could do was give her daughter tips on how not to lose you. All that she said was true. She did ignore you, but she never meant to ignore you for too long, she hadn’t even realized that it had been three months after the shooting. She had lost perception of time. “Can I go to her place?” Vada simply asked her mother, who nodded and gave a small sad smile. Vada was soon out of her home and running to your house. She knew your parents would be working and you would be at home alone.

“(Y/N)?” She called for you as she rang the bell. “It’s me, Vada, can we talk? Please?” The girl asked as she took a peak in your house from the window, until she saw you come open the door and she smiled goofily. You didn’t reciprocate it, but you looked at her when you opened the door. “Hi” she said and kept on smiling but her smile soon dropped when she saw your face “just come in” you told her, and when you were two in your living room you started talking. “what do you want Vada?” You asked her. Of course you were upset with her. “Nothing I-I’m worried about you… I haven’t seen you around, I haven’t seen you at football practice.. are you okay?” She asked, you were trying so hard not to snarl at her “but I don’t want you to be worried at me Vada. Because recently you’ve showed me that you don’t care” you said and looked at her with a sad smirk.

“But I do care-“ “no you don’t Vada! That’s the fucking problem, you say you care, you’re convinced you do but you don’t! After the shooting you completely shut me off, you ignored me, my messages, my calls even though your mother always told you that I’d step by or call you, yet not once did you bother even ask me how I was doing, how do you think I felt, Vada? How would you feel if the girl you love started ignoring you suddenly and started spending time with a stranger? Huh? I was always, ALWAYS trying to check on you and what did I get in return? Nothing, I got nothing” you said, tears started forming in your eyes. “While you were safely hiding in the bathroom with your new best friend I was face to face with Matt Corgan. Yeah, the shooter. Remember him? I used to tutor him. This is the only reason why he spared me” you said and your started breathing heavily, some tears leaving your eyes.

“(Y/N)…” she knew you were going into full panic attack and she didn’t want you to. However you ignored her. “I saw life flash before my eyes. He pointed the gun to my head and he threatened me to kill me if I ran and called the police and for almost two months I tried talking to you, I needed you, I needed my best friend yet you were nowhere to be seen and I felt alone, Vada… I’ve never felt more alone in my entire life and it was your fault! You can’t just fucking push away the people that care about you” you said and turned around, you weren’t facing her anymore. Hands in your hair as your breath quickened “FUCK!” You yelled and started kicking the whatever you could find in the living room. “Dude, calm down-“ she tried, but you weren’t listening to her.

At some point Vada ran over to you, not caring if she got hurt as she tried hugging you from behind “no, no no- let me go!” You sobbed out, yet she wasn’t having any of it. She tried to calm you down with you squirming around, not wanting her to hug you as you tried to get away from her soft but firm grip. Eventually she managed to move you against the sofa, making you lay down on it as she straddled you to keep you still, hands holding your wrists. “(Y/N), calm down please!” She said but you weren’t having any of it. Vada didn’t know what to try to calm you down… until she did. She leaned down and kissed you, until she felt you relax your body and let out a shaky sigh, but you kissed her back. God you had been waiting for this moment forever, yet you never expected it to actually happen, you never expected her to reciprocate your feelings.

At some point Vada pulled back slightly, foreheads touching as she looked at you, her look being a soft one. You looked at her with tears in your eyes, they had stopped flowing out. “This doesn’t mean you’re forgiven” you whispered. She giggled and then kissed you again.

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #vada cavell #wednesday #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday adams #wednesday adams x reader #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x reader

[andreafmn]

Collision | Chapter 21

Word Count: 3.6K

Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life is at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.

A/N:  well, after many, many months Collision is back with a chapter full of angst. Just like Speak, we are nearing the point where the Cullens come back and it will really be a battle of angst between these two stories. It's crazy how much distress I can fit into a romance story... it honestly feels more that Stephanie Meyer wrote in the actual books. 🤭🤭

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Ever since that dream, she couldn’t shake the dark cloud that was Carlisle Cullen. Wherever she went, she was reminded of him. From her job at the hospital to her studies at the university, from the books in her room to the stethoscope she wore, everything had a thread of him sewn into it. Once upon a time, she had thought she’d leave Forks in the arms of the love of her life, but she had started considering leaving because of them.

The reservation had always been home and had always welcomed her with open and warm arms. A few months before, (Y/N) would not have found it too hard to leave it all behind. She had already done it once and truly believed she could do it again. But it had been the only place that had embraced her when she had been at her lowest. Even if she had been ready to walk away from them, they had wrapped her in love and understanding. They had seen her at her lowest point and had helped her get back up.

Still, (Y/N) couldn’t shake the conversation she’d had with Bella. As time passed, she questioned more and more if she’d give Carlisle another chance if he did come back. The harrowing emptiness she felt inside was more than just losing a boyfriend. It felt like true loss. The only thing she could compare it to was the time her father had left –an event the man she had loved used as ammunition against her. But how could she deny the truth behind the statement? If Carlisle had asked her to move with them, she would have left everyone behind without another thought.

But he hadn’t. And she stayed. And life went on.

Things in La Push had shifted since the new year had started. For the better part of the first two months of the year, vampires had seemed to come back to feast on unsuspecting hikers in the colliding woods. They knew it wasn’t the Cullens, but they were a threat, nonetheless. Patrol times had doubled, tensions were high, and (Y/N) knew nothing about it.

So, when Bella had called her to see if she could join her on a hike in the woods, the older girl had no qualms in saying yes. She had the time, and it made avoiding Paul easier. Her head needed clearing, and there was nothing better than the fresh outdoors. Especially since the day seemed to finally clear up.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” Bella smiled softly as she jumped out of her truck. “I would have done it by myself, but I’m not good by myself in the woods.”

“It’s no problem,” (Y/N) responded. “I honestly needed this. Can’t spend my entire life buried in books.”

“Guess not,” the girl chuckled. “I would have called Jacob –we’ve been spending time together. But Billy said he was driving up to Port Angeles. Do you, um, know anything about that?”

“Can’t say that I do. But that doesn’t really seem unusual.”

“It’s just that he’s been avoiding me for a really long time, and I don’t really get why,” Bella said as she kickstarted their hike. She was slow with the map and the compass, slower than (Y/N) would have been. But the more time she could spend outside of the house, the better. “I mean, Billy said that he was sick, but it’s been over a week of that. And now, he’s apparently feeling better, and he still won’t talk to me.”

“I can’t help you there, Bella,” (Y/N) said, suppressing a grimace. She knew what it was that the boy was hiding from her, and she knew just how awful it felt to be on the other side of the secret. “But I’m sure things will get better soon. He’s probably just lost track of time.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Maybe.”

“Here. Why don’t I work the compass?” (Y/N) offered. “Do you have a specific spot you want to go to?”

“Oh, uh, yes,” she stammered in Bella fashion, handing over the map and pointing where she wanted to go. “It’s a meadow. Somewhere around this area.”

“Any particular reason we’re going there?”

“I don’t… it’s um…”

“Does it have anything to do with Edward?” (Y/N) softly inquired. They walked at an easy pace, stepping over rocks and fallen branches. “Is it somewhere he used to take you?”

“Yeah,” Bella admitted. “It’s a beautiful clearing. We’re not too far from there. It’s honestly stunning; covered in flowers of all colors. I couldn’t believe such a place existed until he took me there.”

“Mm, I guess finding secret places is a thing amongst the Cullen clan.”

“Did Carlisle take you somewhere like that?”

“Yeah, somewhere similar,” (Y/N) responded. “It’s actually a few miles up this river.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, the first time he took me was by the end of August, and thankfully everything was still in bloom,” she said, smiling sadly at the memory. “There’s this beautiful wooden bridge that stands right on the boundary of Forks and the rez. Vines of flowers wrapped around the handrails, and water rushed loudly under it. The trees covered the place enough that it kept it cool but left enough light peek through to make it just bright enough. We’d meet there so many times. Mostly to talk, but there were times we just went there to hold each other and pretend we weren’t that different.”

“Have you, um… have you gone back there?” Bella asked as she slipped into a rock, holding onto (Y/N) for balance. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she chuckled. “And no. I haven’t gone back since he broke my heart and left. I’m afraid of how I will react if I do.”

Bella seemed to sit with the words before talking, a question furrowing her eyebrows long before she voiced it. After keeping quiet for a second, the girl whispered, “Can I ask you something without you thinking I’m crazy?”

“We know vampires are real,” she smiled. “There’s not much you can say that will sound crazy.”

“I see him sometimes,” Bella breathed. “In moments when I’m in danger, he appears and talks to me. And, uh, I’ve been doing some pretty reckless things in order to see him.”

“The mind is very powerful, Bella,” (Y/N) sighed. “In times of heartache, it can show us what we want in order to appease us. It’s not crazy, but I do hope you don’t do something crazy searching for him.”

“I won’t,” she chuckled dryly. “At least, I hope I don’t.”

“Then, can I ask you to promise me something?”

“Sure.”

“If you ever do feel like you’re about to do something crazy, call me.”

“I will,” the girl smiled. “Thank you, (Y/N).”

“Of course,” (Y/N) winked. “Us Cullen discards need to stick together.”

“The Cullen Discard Club,” she snickered. “I like that.”

They walked for a few more minutes before Bella recognized the path they were on, taking the lead on the hike as they neared the clearing. Her steps were lively, pulling faster than (Y/N). The Uley girl could see the excitement growing in her, a thrilling enthusiasm building the closer they got. Giddy and nervous was how she would have described Bella at that moment.

But they could not have known what they were walking into when they reached their end goal. “It’s not the same,” Bella said, disappointment dripping from her voice. “It doesn’t look the same.”

“Well, the ground is still thawing from winter, Bells. It’s gonna take time for new flowers to bloom,” (Y/N) cooed. “It doesn’t change the fact that it’s a beautiful spot. I’m sure that come springtime, it’ll be like you remembered it.”

But she didn’t hear (Y/N).

Bella was stuck inside her head, searching for something more than just flowers and grass. No. She was searching for the image of Edward. She searched for the feelings that bloomed in her chest when he was there. She looked for him in the dried grass, in the rocks and the fallen branches, and looked for him in the hard, cold dirt. But there was no danger. And no danger meant no Edward. No Edward meant the dark pit in her heart still remained empty.

Suddenly, as Bella scrambled to her feet, trying to find a way to escape the surplus of emotions, a figure caught both girls’ attention.

At the farthest corner of the clearing, a man stood motionless. As frozen as only a statue –or a vampire—could be. A flash of recognition washed over Bella’s eyes as she stared at him, excitement filling her once more.

“Laurent!” she exclaimed.

“Bella?” the man inquired, a cat-like curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “And company… I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”

“I’m not exactly from this side of the tracks,” (Y/N) responded, tugging softly at Bella’s arm to get behind her. If the girl had been looking for danger, she had found it. “You’re not allowed into my side of town.”

“Ah, the Cullen treaty,” he said. “And I didn’t know they had another human pet. I thought you were the only one, Bella. They kept you very well hidden… I don’t believe I got your name.”

“That’s because I didn’t give it,” she said, forcing a smile. “And I would very much like to keep it to myself since I don’t plan on seeing you after this.”

“Hm, I respect that,” Laurent chuckled before turning his attention toward Bella. “I didn’t think I would see you here, Bella.”

“Well, maybe I should be saying that,” she muttered. “I do live here. And last I heard, you had gone to Alaska.”

“I did go to Alaska for some time,” he agreed. “But, it’s weird, when I found their house empty, I thought they had moved on.”

Bella’s breath seemed to hitch in her throat as she attempted to find an answer. She fished and fished but, “Oh,” was the first thing that seemed to leave her throat. (Y/N) tried to reassure her by giving the girl’s arm, but it seemed her attention was entrapped by the man before her. But finally, she managed to croak out, “They, uh, did move on.”

“And they left you both behind?” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Hmm, interesting.”

“Do they visit often?” Laurent kept fishing, taking a tentative step forward as the girls took a step back.

Bella still seemed stuck in her head, looking off to the side of Laurent, rather than straight at him. (Y/N) was sure that the image of Edward had appeared in front of her, that somehow he was speaking to her, and all she could do was listen to him. Because to her, there would only ever be him. “Now and then,” she lied, her voice trembling slightly and rising in pitch. “Time seems longer when they’re away, but I’m sure it just feels longer for me. They can get distracted sometimes and…”

(Y/N) squeezed her arm as the girl started to babble, hoping she’d get the hint. The girl’s lying was as bad as her balance, and it was sure to get them in trouble.

“That’s odd,” he continued. “The house smelled like they’ve been gone for some time.”

“Well, they don’t really stay there anymore when they come by,” (Y/N) interjected. “We make an effort to stay other places when they visit, but they’re keeping the house for any longer stays. We’ll be sure to mention you came by the next time they’re here. But we really…”

“Probably shouldn’t mention it to… Edward,” Bella managed to add as she interrupted (Y/N)’s lie, forcing them to stay there longer and interact with the fidgety vampire. “He has such a temper… not that I have to remind you. He’s still so touchy about the whole James thing.”

“Is he?”

“Yup,” Bella affirmed, still not getting (Y/N)’s hints. The more the girl sent signals to the other, the more the Swan girl ignored. “So, how have things been in Denali? Carlisle mentioned you were staying with Tanya?”

“I like Tanya,” he grinned. “And her sister, Irina… but it’s odd staying in one place for too long, although I enjoy the novelty. The diet..? Not as much.” The smile he wore grew even bigger and more sinister. “There are times I cheat.”

“Jasper has problems with that, too,” Bella blurted.

“Is that why they left?”

“He’s actually quite careful at home,” (Y/N) interjected once more. “Hiding in plain sight just got a little hard for them. That’s why they don’t stay at the house when they visit. Too many questions.”

“Ah,” he mused. “Quite the predicament to live amongst humans.”

The glint in his eyes made (Y/N)’s mouth grow dry. She had seen that hunger painted across amber eyes months before, the night that had changed everything for both of them. It had appeared the second Bella had confirmed that the Cullens had left. They had no protection from the clan. It was open season for the two Cullen pets.

Somehow, Bella didn’t know when the moment was to keep quiet. She continued to offer information that only worked to cement the fact that the vampire clan had left them alone and had not bothered to come back. It was almost as though her self-preservation gene had died.

“Did Victoria ever find you?” Bella asked in an effort to distract him. Not that it would deter the predator from his prey.

“Yes,” he said, slightly halting in his steps. “I actually came here as a favor to her. She won’t be happy about this.”

“About what?”

“Killing you,” he grinned.

“Me?” Bella worried.

“Well, both of you. You,” he answered, pointing at (Y/N). “You were a welcome surprise. Victoria wanted to save that part for herself. Not killing our new friend here, but you, Bella. A mate for a mate—sort of poetic, no? She asked me to get the lay of the land for her, but I never thought it’d be this easy to get to you. Much less that you’d bring another one of their pets. Let me guess, you belong to Carlisle.”

(Y/N)’s reaction to his name gave the man answer enough. She flinched at the word, halting in the steps she was taking back. There was nowhere to hide, and Laurent knew it. “I supposed Victoria will be angry, all the same,” he sighed. “But I just can’t help myself. I’m so thirsty, and I can’t decide which one of you smells better.”

“They’ll know it was you,” (Y/N) said, standing her ground as she stepped protectively in front of Bella. “You won’t get away with this.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Laurent snickered. “The rain will wash away all scents. No one will find your bodies—you’ll simply go missing. Another pair of hikers in the wrong place at the wrong time. There will be no reason for Edward or Carlisle to think it was me. Especially not in regards to you, unnamed friend.”

“Please,” Bella begged. “Don’t do this.”

His expression softened at the girl, a kind smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll be quick,” he said. “You won’t feel a thing. I can promise you that. What she had in store for you… it was monstrous.”

The Uley girl couldn’t believe that was how she’d end her life. At the end of the day, she would still leave her family, with no reason or explanation. Only this time, she’d have no chance to come back. She would become collateral damage in the whirlwind that was Bella Swan, and she had stepped right in the middle willingly.

A gust of wind made the hairs on her arms stand on edge, paired with the chilling stare Laurent gave them as he inhaled their scents. “Mouthwatering.”

As he walked slowly toward them, enjoying intimidating his prey, (Y/N) turned slightly toward Bella and whispered, “He’ll attack me first, and when he does, I want you to run, Bella. No questions, no thinking. Just run towards the rez.”

“I can’t…”

“This is not up for discussion,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’ll take some time for him to drain all my blood, so you better run the fastest you ever have. Take off your backpack and run.”

The vampire’s pace increased as he bared his fangs to the girls, his stare trained on (Y/N)’s form. As Bella slowly slipped off her backpack, (Y/N) braced herself for impact. Tears burned their way down her cheeks as she mumbled a prayer to whoever was listening. She begged her mother found solace, and her brother found peace after her passing. And that somehow, the Cullens got revenge for her death. If it was her time to go, then at least she hoped it was for something.

Laurent was so close, she could feel the air from his movement, so she closed her eyes and waited. But the impact never came. As her eyelids fluttered open, she saw him paralyzed in fear, his eyes staring far into the woods. “I don’t believe it,” he said almost to himself. “It can’t be.”

He retreated from the edge of the trees as a growl echoed through the meadow, and (Y/N) finally felt like she could breathe. Sam’s wolf jumped out of the darkness, followed quickly by Jared and Paul, then Jacob and Embry, all standing just slightly to the side and behind Sam. For a split second, Paul’s wolf looked toward her, sending her a look of concern which she responded with a thankful smile.

Behind her, Bella trembled in fear, petrified in the position she was. But (Y/N) knew the last thing she needed was to see how the pack shredded Laurent to shreds. They needed to move, and they needed to move now.

“Bella, we have to go,” the girl said, placing a hand on either side of her arms. “We can’t stay here.”

“N-no… we… we can’t,” she stammered. “They’ll go after us.”

“They’re too preoccupied with Laurent. Believe me, Bella,” (Y/N) insisted, trying to break through the girl’s mental block. “We have to go. Now.”

(Y/N) took hold of Bella’s arm and dragged her to the same path they had come from as the wolves disappeared behind a retreating Laurent. The girls ran as fast as their legs could take them, weaving through the woods like they had done it a million times before. But where Bella was only begging neither Laurent nor the wolves caught up to them, (Y/N) couldn’t help but pray that the pack came back unscathed. She worried they would come back home harmed, all because the girls had been reckless.

Her lungs ached, and her legs yelled, but all she could worry about was getting back to the head of the trail they had taken. After a few minutes of running, which felt like a lifetime, they finally reached the rusty red truck that belonged to the Swan girl. They crashed onto its side, bracing their bodies as they caught their breath. Hearts were hammering, and sweat shimmered on their foreheads, but they were safe. Finally safe.

“What was that?” Bella trembled. “What the hell was that?”

“Wolves, Bella. They were just wolves.”

“But they… they only went after Laurent. One of them was so close to me I could almost touch it!”

“Let’s just be grateful they didn’t see us as a threat and went after him instead,” (Y/N) offered, giving away as little as she could. “Now, go home. Take a shower, get some rest. We’re lucky we’re alive right now.”

“You would have really sacrificed yourself for me, wouldn’t you have?” Bella asked, finally dropping the wolves. “You didn’t have to, but you were ready to protect me.”

“Yeah, I would have.”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but why? He wanted me the most. You could have saved yourself.”

“It’s not in my nature to do that,” (Y/N) shrugged. “It was sort of an instinct to protect you. I guess, I never want to see the people I care about be harmed, much less in front of me. I knew there was a chance you could survive, and I was ready to take it.”

“Thank you, (Y/N),” the girl sniffled as she took (Y/N) in a crushing hug. “You have no idea how much that means to me. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

“Just know I’m always in your corner, Bells,” she smiled. “Whenever you need me, I’m here. We're the Cullen Discard Club. We look out for each other”

“Right. The Cullen Discard Club,” Bella chuckled softly. “I guess I better head home then. Thanks again for everything, (Y/N).”

“Don't mention it,” she replied. “Get home safe, Bells.”

“You too, (Y/N).”

The Uley girl waited until the truck disappeared down the road before running toward the Young cabin. Knowing the pack would still be taking care of things in the woods, she called out to Emily once she reached the house. Her knocks were frantic against the door, nerves overtaking her senses.

“(Y/N)?” Emily questioned as she opened the door. “What’s wrong?”

“I… uh… a vampire and Sam… and…” (Y/N) couldn’t get words out as adrenaline and worry spiked even more in her system. “They could get hurt.”

“Oh, honey, come here,” the woman said as she took the girl in her arms. “They’re gonna be okay. They’ll be home before you know it.”

“But…”

“Nope, no bad thoughts,” Emily replied softly. “Why don’t you wait for them here and I’ll fix you up something to eat in the meantime? Looks like you’ve had a bit of a rough day.”

“Alright,” (Y/N) agreed as she forced a smile. “I just hope they’re okay.”

“They will be,” she smiled, hugging (Y/N) once more. “You’ll see.”

Next ->

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[witchersmistress]

Library Aftermath

Hello my darlings!! as promised to @livesinfantasyland here is how he reacted.. i do not plan on adding this to an on going series list at this moment

Trigger warnings: None, fluff

Word count:1.4K

It’s been a few days since Evelyn came home in the middle of the night, practically morning, smiling with triumph and saying she had a plan. There was something haunted in her eyes that night, like whatever she had to do to get this plan in place cost her something, but apparently it was worth it. I asked her then what the plan was, but she told me she’d tell us in the morning, making me wait and grinning when I seemed pissed off about it. I watched her go up the stairs to her room with a bad feeling in my chest. She laid it all out for us the next day.

How she met one of the hookers from the red light district and talked to her. How Charles  has a fucking assault fetish and likes to make the girls he hires act it out. Just when I thought it wasn’t possible for me to hate that piece of shit more. It all comes together when Evelyn explains it. All she has to do is wait for this girl to call her, and then she’ll move in and do what she does best. What she’s been working toward all this time. She’ll take out the last fucker on the list. But this isn’t like before, when she was going to shoot Charles  from across the street and be gone before anyone realized what happened. 

This is different. She’ll be in the middle of it all. Right there, pretending to be some fucking helpless hooker for him to take advantage of. It’s sick, just like Charles  himself, and just thinking about it makes me grind my teeth in irritation. But of course, Evelyn doesn’t give a shit. She’s focused on the fact that this plan will work, and it’s the best shot she has. I know she wants him dead, more than she wants anything else, apparently, but it’s still a bad plan. I didn’t like her plan when she first told it to us, and I don’t like it now. In fact, I fucking hate it. I hate pretty much everything about this, starting with the night she killed someone outside our club. She’s in our lives now. Deep in. Way too deep for only having been here a short while. Little signs of her are everywhere in the house. A bra slung over the back of a chair, a bottle of nail polish on the table, her brand of cigarettes on the counter.

 I can’t help but think about Walter’s warnings that first night, how we should just kill her and be done with it because she’s only going to bring trouble. He wasn’t wrong. She’s wormed her way into our lives and our home and our routines. At some point, I stopped thinking of the room she sleeps in as the guest room and started calling it her room. Like she lives here and isn’t just staying so we can keep an eye on her. Syverson and Napoleon both pant after her like horny dogs, even Walter seems to have made some kind of peace with her, and I… I wander into the library, unable to forget fucking Evelyn in here. I think about how she worked herself back, taking every violent thrust with pleasure, demanding more all at the same time. She riled me up to a breaking point and then handled it completely when I unleashed on her. I’m sure a lot of people would think it’s weird for there to be a full library in a house like this. They’d probably think the same thing about Walter’s piano.

 But this is where I come to settle my mind when my demons scream too loudly. It’s peaceful and it’s mine. My father was a piece of shit who mocked me for not learning how to read for a long time, so I’ve made it a point to read everything I can since I learned. I find old books, the classics that all the stuffy intellectuals say you have to read if you want to be anybody, and I read them. I keep them, along with the notes I make in the margins. Like proof that I can do whatever the fuck I set my mind to without approval from anyone else. Nothing can hold me back. I walk along the shelves, trailing my fingers over the place where Evelyn had her hands while I fucked her from behind. She wanted to touch herself, but I wouldn’t let her, keeping her hands right there, making her take it at my pace. Just thinking about it makes my cock perk up, and I can feel myself getting hard. I pick up one of the books from the shelf. Heart of Darkness. Appropriate. I open it and go to flip through it, but the pages don’t fan open the way they should. A bunch of them are stuck together, hard at the edges and unable to be pulled apart. I narrow my eyes and put it back, picking up another one. It has the same issue. My jaw clenches with anger. Evelyn is in the living room, watching Napoleon and Syverson beat the shit out of each other in a video game, and I march in, holding the book in my hand. “What the fuck happened?” I snap, my voice cutting through the sound of video game violence and Syverson laughing. Evelyn looks up, confused at first, but then she sees the book in my hand and bursts out laughing. Her blue eyes are bright, and she runs fingers through her shiny silver hair like she couldn’t give less of a shit. “I don’t know, Gus,” she says, shrugging. “But it really isn’t a good idea to smear cum all over the pages of books. They’ll just stick together. Didn’t you learn that lesson with porno magazines when you were younger?” I see red at her nonchalant expression. “I didn’t fucking smear cum on them,” I growl. Napoleon and Syverson are still in the middle of their game, but I can tell they’re listening. Syverson’s laughter might be about how his character just ripped the spine out of Napoleon’s character and beat him half to death with it or because of me talking about jizz on the pages of my books. Either way, it just pisses me off more. It’s like it’s a game to them.

 Like this isn’t our lives this woman has marched herself into and started fucking with. She’s here, like she owns the place, making herself at home and fucking things up. Of course they both love it. Syverson is a sucker for chaos. Anything new and different and exciting. Plus, Evelyn seems to understand him in a fucked up way. He wouldn’t spend so much time around her if she didn’t. Napoleon just wants to fuck her, and he probably has already. She’s the type to get him excited, and he also likes when things are happening. Especially things that involve a pretty girl. Both of them are missing the point—that she’ll be gone soon enough, and all the shit she fucked up will have to try to get back to normal. If that’s even possible.

I stand in the middle of the living room glaring at her, feeling like I’m the only one who gets it. Mad at her for fucking with my shit, for being so damn compelling. I want her to kill Charles  so she can get the fuck out of our lives already, even though I know it won’t be that easy. Nothing’s ever that fucking easy. Her grin just goes wider as she glances down at the book in my hand. “Oh, yeah. That was me.” Anger rises in me. I’m pissed as fuck. She’s grinning like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like it doesn’t faze her that she fucked with my stuff. I stride toward her, prepared to yank her up, bend her over my knee and punish her if I have to, but her phone rings before I reach her. She rolls her eyes at me and pulls it out of her pocket, answering it as soon as she sees the name on the screen. Her face goes serious in an instant, all traces of humor falling away. She gets up from the couch, moving over to a corner to talk in a hushed conversation.

I hear her say “Are you sure?” and “Okay,” and “Don’t worry. I’ll be there.” Everyone in the room stops, looking at her while she talks. Syverson has stopped laughing, and Napoleon isn’t grinning anymore. The atmosphere in the room has completely changed. I forget all about the books, waiting to hear the verdict. Finally, she hangs up and turns to look at all of us. “That was Avalon,” she says. “Charles  put in a request for a girl, and Avalon volunteered to do it for the night. It's time to go.”

#august walker #henry cavill x you #august walker fanfic #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill characters #august walker imagines #henry cavill #henry cavill thirst #henry cavill imagine #captain syverson #napoleon solo #charles brandon

[disabledunitypunk]

[Image ID: cropped tumblr post reading - as an ND able-bodied person, i just wanna say that cpunks are NOT doing anything wrong by not allowing us in their community. its completely okay and im actually very very happy that physically disabled people finally have their own space where they dont have to deal with ableism toward them all the time

able-bodied NDs have it made in this sense. we have TWO communities! we have neuropunk and madpunk, and you can go on any social media platform and easily find hundreds of other NDs on there along with little communities and shit. but physically disabled people dont have it that easy. when they DO find one that isnt just about ND people, it's still full of ableism. i've seen it myself and it makes me sick

so physically disabled people decided to make their OWN community. just for them. no one else. then THATS when able-bodied NDs start getting pissy and call them ableist when they were basically doing the exact same shit before.

you can handle not being allowed in one community. theres two more you can be part of just fine

if youre an able-bodied ND who sees yourself in any of this, maybe you should stop and look at yourself. make some improvements

to the cpunk community, dont let people like this tear you down. stand your ground, push these people out. you deserve your OWN safe space and no one will take that from you /end ID]

okay this shit right here?

pisses us off

the whole point is that cripplepunk has become not about focusing on physical disabilities, but about gatekeeping neurodivergence from ever being considered physically disabling, about policing neurodivergent reclamation of a slur that has been historically and commonly used against BOTH neurodivergent and physically disabled people, about reducing physical disabilities to mobility disabilities, and about treated neurodivergent people as abled to the point that they don't EVER lack accessibility or NEED accommodations just to be able to do the same things as abled people

I don't personally have a problem with spaces that focus on physical disability, but I'm not even allowed to find commonalities in my own experiences as a physically disabled neurodivergent person or I'm "derailing". I'm not ever allowed to find my neurodivergence more disabling than my physical disabilities, even contextually, because neurodivergence is "disability lite" and high, middling, and fluctuating support needs people apparently just don't exist. I'm not allowed to talk about how I physically couldn't access a venue or event because of my neurodisabilities. I'm not allowed to be physically disabled by the organ that controls all functions of my physical body.

As a physically disabled neurodivergent, multiple marginalized person on the basis of my disabilities, I am not safe in these spaces. I am actively pushed out of these spaces for being neurodivergent, despite being physically disabled by things completely unrelated to neurodivergence!

I have been called able-bodied more times than I can count, despite being housebound until recently due to mobility issues and lack of a mobility aid, and still being bedbound on my worst days! I have been straight up called abled. I've been called a liar who wants to feel special and more oppressed for saying that my sensory issues are so disabling that there are stores I physically cannot safely enter, or I will have a massive meltdown and physically hurt myself. I've been told I can control this, and that hurting myself doesn't count even though I know someone who has permanent brain damage from hurting themself during meltdowns.

I've been told I should shut up and let real disabled people speak for daring to say cripplepunk spaces are hostile to physically disabled neurodivergent people.

Also, you've gotta love the ableist hypocrisy of "we get neuropunk AND madpunk" while gatekeeping cripplepunk. Mad actually is a slur that is used for a specific subtype of disabled experiences. I'm never going to gatekeep reclamation, and I don't think it's something that falls neatly and evenly along specific diagnosis lines. I think that there are absolutely neurodivergent people who don't have the specific disorders most people think of when they think of insanity that have been mistreated for being seen as "insane". Hell, I think there are physically disabled people - even entire physical disabilities that on average - are often treated with intense sanism that can reclaim the slur and that belong in the movement.

That being said, not all neurodivergent people are affected by sanism, full stop. That is something for each individual to determine, but especially for people with lower support needs and combined types/presentations of neurodivergence that are more palatable to abled people... some of them face neuroableism, but not sanism. That's an important distinction.

Basically, anyone can face sanism, but not everyone does.

Also, there ARE hundreds of spaces for SPECIFIC physical disabilities. There's not that many spaces for neurodivergence that aren't just autism+ADHD, and there's not that many physical disability spaces that aren't just "mobility disabilities"+"any chronic illnesses that still sometimes affect your mobility as a side effect" (which yes are mobility disabilities but honestly aren't even treated as such in these spaces).

Like, the whole point is that neurodivergent people who AREN'T able-bodied don't GET a space where they don't have to deal with corpoableism from other neurodivergent people and neuroableism/sanism from physically disabled people. The whole POINT is that people gatekeeping cripplepunk are being ableist, and erasing/minimizing the disabilities of neurodivergent people. The whole POINT is that they're ignoring the experience of the organ that controls your body sometimes disabling said body because said organ doesn't work right.

The whole POINT is that You. Cannot. Label. Someone. Else. Able. Bodied.

And sure, there's lip service to the fact that "oh well if you're actually physically disabled then this isn't about you"

except it is.

because if you're physically disabled by the "wrong" diagnosis you're an attention-seeking ableist faker

because if you want to talk about your whole experience as a neurodivergent physically disabled person you're "an able-bodied neurodivergent derailing discussions about disability" (yes, they actually say disability sometimes, mask off, not physical disability specifically)

because if you're neurodivergent and physically disabled and you present evidence of historical medical textbooks calling people "mental cripples" you're "cherrypicking rare examples" despite simply picking 5 out of the HUNDREDS of links you could have sent

because if you are neurodivergent and even dare to find similarities with your own neurodivergence on a post about a physical disability you also have you're "an abled person invading disabled spaces". Yes, they call neurodivergent people they believe to not be physically disabled "abled" as if brain disabilities don't exist.

"just for them. no one else."

You said it right there. That's the problem. It's not for physically disabled people AND physically disabled people with other disabilities. It's for physically disabled people - again, meaning only mobility disabilities, no, GI disabilities or blindness/vision impairment etc don't count! - ONLY.

With one exception.

If you tout the party line about how ableist neurodivergent people are, never ever mention your own neurodivergence, hide it deep down like the evil ableist you fundamentally are, and let yourself be tokenized as the person who is mentioned in "see! physically disabled people who are neurodivergent are allowed here [if they're never openly or visibly neurodivergent]" then you're allowed in the club.

And that's without even getting into the massive amounts of sanism and neuroableism in cripplepunk spaces OUTSIDE of the gatekeeping. I touched on it with the calling neurodivergent people abled - but the use of crazy and insane as an insult, the arguments I've seen for mentally ill people to be forcibly institutionalized and forced to "recover" by being coercively made to take meds to suppress their neurodivergence or go to therapy where they are being psychiatrically abused, the absolute horrific treatment of cluster B disorders - all the stuff you expect from abled people, but coming from other disabled people.

So even if, let's say, the cripplepunk community was completely welcoming to all neurodivergent people who were physically disabled in any way, including by their neurodivergence: that's what's waiting for us. Just a different kind of ableism in the space we went looking to escape ableism in.

No one's taking anything from anyone by saying "I'm a cripple too, stop being massively laterally ableist to me". You're just an ableist sucker with a taste for boots.

[woozihaes]

pairing: s.coups x reader warning: character death, unknown illness, which both spell heavy angst. barely any smut but just in case this is rated pg-13. lowercase intended. not proofread because i wrote this in like half an hour.

-

in the morning

-

it's funny how life gets violently put into perspective when you discover you have a deadline.

"three months," your doctor says morosely. it goes unsaid that he means, you have three months to live.

your fingers turn cold, your throat becomes dry.

what do i do now?

-

you call one of your oldest friends, and you meet for coffee. you tell him what the doctor told you, and you ask him for a favor.

jihoon takes you in with sad, wet eyes, and hears your request. "are you sure?"

you nod, fingers curling into a fist. "yeah. i... he should..." you choose your words carefully. "i don't want what happened to be the end of us. i..." you swallow, "it shouldn't end this way."

he understands and reaches for his phone.

-

anger, frustration, sadness. it's all in his eyes.

"when did you find out?" seungcheol asks, his lip trembling.

you deliver the news as if your life wasn't hanging in the balance. "three weeks ago."

he runs a hand through his face, clearly frazzled. "three months? i—" he takes a deep breath and looks you straight in the eye. "why tell me?"

the question makes your eyes water, for the first time since you heard the news. you supposed repeating it over and over again to the people who matter has made you numb, but you suppose you're a fool to think that anything that had anything to do with choi seungcheol wouldn't strip you bare and turn you inside out.

tears slip down your cheeks, and you can't bring yourself to speak. all you do is catch your face in your hands and sob.

his arms are warm around you.

-

the sting of a reopened old wound is something you will never get used to.

i was wrong. i treated you poorly. i should have been more honest. i should have never said those things. did reasons even matter when time was so precious?

but you need to talk about it, so you do. seungcheol's tears mirror your own as you hold him close, his litany of apologies weighing down your chest. you kiss him to silence him, and he understands.

you both shouldn't be looking for forgiveness.

there's not enough time.

-

the first month together is fine. relearning him is easier since this wasn't new to you; all the unlearning you did at the (apparently temporary) death of your relationship barely helped, because it's like you never broke up.

his body feels the same, the way he fills you feels even better. the way his fingers brush over your skin is familiar and the way his lips press over yours is incredible. you're naked in bed most of the time, and who can blame two reunited lovers?

his smiles are warm and kind and his laughs are rich and hearty, his touch his charged and wanting and his kisses are loving and heated.

it's like nothing has ever been wrong.

and it is, until you drop your fork and can't pick it up no matter how hard you try.

-

you're weakening, but the three months doesn't claim you.

four months, you count silently, looking out the window. your hair is thinner so is your frame, but you can still move, at least for the most part. it's more than what you could ask for.

the door to your apartment opens and closes, and you turn to greet seungcheol.

you don't miss that his smile is strained.

-

"it's hard to love a dying person!" he yells, and you almost can't believe that he said those words to you. the regret is immediate on his face, but you don't notice it through your blurry vision and the sound of your heart breaking.

you fall to your knees, apologies streaming from your lips. i'm sorry. i'm sorry i'm sick. i'm sorry i'm doing this to you. i'm sorry you have to go through this. please just leave me.

he doesn't. he cries and cries and cries, next to you on the floor, repeating your same prayer. i'm sorry. i'm sorry i said that. i'm sorry i'm hurting you. i'm sorry i'm not a better person.

you think that maybe both of you just carries each other's regrets in your hearts.

-

the stress is getting to him, he explains when you're both calmer and more willing to understand. he loves you, he truly does. but he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"what if i wake one morning," he says, voice rough with pain, "and you don't?"

his plight is darkening the circles beneath his eyes and tiring him out.

you swallow and nod. you understand.

"maybe," you whisper, "maybe you should leave me now. before that morning comes."

seungcheol shakes his head and kisses you silent.

-

the problem refuses to be ignored.

you feel like an invalid in your bed, seungcheol attending to your every need. he fetches you food and water, holds your hand as you hobble to the bathroom, wipes away your tears as you cry about he doesn't deserve it.

"i don't want that morning to come," you sob. your hand tries to reach for his, but your muscles refuse to move. he meets you half way, and you try to squeeze any part you can reach. your fingers brush against his palm.

"you don't get to decide that," he tells you patiently, delicately lacing your fingers together.

you cry harder.

-

no matter how much it hurts to see your life being drained away from you, seungcheol cannot leave.

he hears you try to say something, but your mouth is failing you. groans slip past your lips, and tears fall from your eyes. it hurts to look at you, once so vibrant, but he refuses to lean away from every possible moment.

it's one of the few he has left.

he understands, though. i love you.

he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. his cheeks are cold with tears. he thinks you can feel them against your skin. "i love you, too."

-

each night, seungcheol lays beside you, arms wrapped around you. he speaks into your hair about everything and anything—how he spent his nights while you were together, while you were apart. how his friends were doing. how your friends were doing. how your family was. the book he read recently.

you start with conversation until it dwindles down to nods and gentle sighs, and soon you can barely respond. seungcheol presses his lips together and wills himself to not cry.

you don't need tears. not now.

he kisses your hair, as he's done every night before you fall asleep. "i'll see you in the morning, my love," he says softly.

he knows he won't.

-

in another universe, he likes to think that your days aren't numbered. he likes to think that you'll find humor in the sunlight kissing your face and making your eyelids wrinkle so early in the morning. he likes to think you have more time to do as you please.

he likes to think of you at your happiest, with your bright smile and open heart. he likes to think that your biggest problems are found in the everyday minutia. he likes to think he'd be beside you, loving you through it all.

he likes to think that past few months were just a bad dream. in another universe, maybe it is.

but in this one, he'll choose to remember you at your happiest.

#svt fic #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #svt angst #scoups angst #scoups x reader #scoups fic #seungcheol angst #seungcheol fic #seungcheol x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen x y/n #seventeen au

[alfi-always-writes]

37 with the disaster twins!!!

Do Your Worst

Summary: Donnie has taken a page out of Leo's book.

Author's note: Thank you for the prompt, anon! I will never ever ever get sick of the disaster twins :) (btw if you saw me post this before I changed its ridiculous name, no you didn't)

Warnings: Just tickling, so please keep scrolling if you ain't about that.

Word count: 1,177

37. "I didn’t hear a 'stop'..."

Donnie had been like this the whole day. From the minute he left his room, he was jabbing his brothers with cutting burns and sharing not-so-humble brags about anything he could. One might say that he woke up on the right side of the bed today.

But Leo would call it a blatant display of mockery. The way Donnie rested his arm on Leo's shoulder, knocking his breakfast out of his hand and onto the floor. Or the way he deliberately seemed to push Leo's buttons. Ultimately, it was the one-liners that solidified in Leo's mind that his twin was making fun of him.

"Can you guys believe him?" Leo said to no one in particular. He dropped down into the blue beanbag chair in the TV room, opening his comic book with an annoyed snap.

"He seems to be in a good mood," Raph said, "If you ask me, I think you might be rubbing off on him."

"But I'm nowhere near as annoying, right?!"

Silence filled the room, followed by Raph's not-so-subtly-awkward whistling.

"Riiight," Mikey said slowly, standing from his seat and stretching. Before Leo could complain further, he added, "Raph and I are going to pick up pizza, wanna come?"

Leo stubbornly pulled the comic closer to his face and huffed. "No, apparently everyone thinks I'm annoying," he said dejectedly, "Just don't take too long. He's one insult away from being portaled to a different galaxy."

Mikey and Raph bid him farewell and headed for the surface, leaving Leo in his bubble of peace. Water rushed below the floor grate, bringing a constant, calming sound that lulled him into precious relaxation. Not long after he finally settled in, the comic book was snatched out of his fingers with a swish. Leo fixed Donnie with a glare that read one word: murder.

"What is your deal today, weirdo?" Leo asked, ripping the comic book out of Donnie's hands. He opened it back up to the page he had been reading, but still gave his twin a quizzical look.

Donnie smirked at Leo's annoyed expression. "Whatever could you be talking about?"

"What are you trying to do? Give me a taste of my own medicine?"

Donnie smirked, knowing he was totally getting on Leo's nerves now. "My dear, dull brother, I have no idea what you are alluding to."

"You're acting weird. And I don't know what you're trying to prove, but I'm nowhere near this annoying," Leo said indignantly, crossing his arms.

"Oho Nardo, you wouldn't last a single day as your own brother," Donnie said while delivering a well-placed flick to Leo's forehead, right above his left eye. The final straw.

He launched himself at Donnie, tackling him onto the ground. The battle for the upper hand was short-lived, and Donnie was pinned beneath his twin in seconds. Of course, it didn't help that a steady stream of giggles was already tumbling past Donnie's lips, sapping his strength.

Leo paused; Donnie's hands were now pinned on either side of the brainiac's head. "What's so funny?"

"N-Nothing," Donnie lied quickly, trying and failing to cage the bubbly laughter. However, it didn't go unnoticed that his haughty, bothersome façade disappeared as soon as he hit the ground.

Leo flipped Donnie's goggles down and got off of him, returning to his seat on the beanbag chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Donnie sit up slowly, eyes downcast. He almost looked... disappointed?

"That's the worst you got?" he asked, fixing his goggles.

Leo connected the dots and it was so obvious now, he couldn't believe he didn't catch on sooner. Donnie's behavior was a tried-and-true method that Leo himself used to antagonize his brothers. It always ended in the same desired outcome whenever Leo did it. Of course, how could he miss all of the signs?

Almost as quickly as he sat down, he was up again, looming over his brother with a smirk. "DonTon, I think you and I both know I can do far worse."

The genius shrank away from Leo with a nervous grin etched across his face. Though he knew he was already in for it, he couldn't help but dig the hole just a tiny bit deeper. "That's true, you always do the worst, dum dum. At everything."

Leo shoved him back down and pinned his arms again, much more easily gathering both wrists in one hand this time. Donnie's anticipatory giggles filled the room as he weakly pulled at his trapped wrists.

"Prepare to, what was it? Oh, eateth my words or whatever!" Leo raised one hand, wiggling his fingers in front of Donnie's face before bringing it close to the giggly twin's exposed underarm. What little resolve Donnie had went out the window as laughter burst forth almost immediately. Squeezing his eyes shut, he braced himself for the exact thing he had been after all day.

He wasn't prepared for Leo's hand to touchdown on his plastron and, though it wasn't a particularly bad spot, the unexpected attack made his laughter shoot up an octave.

"What's wrong, Don?" Leo asked, spidering his fingers up Donnie's side with one hand, the other hand reaching back to squeeze his thigh.

"I-Ihihihit—AHAHA!"

"It what?"

"Shuhuhut—"

"Does it tickle?"

"LEOHOHO!"

"Just tell me what's wrong and I'll help!" Before his brother could respond, Leo shoved his hands under Donnie's arms. Peals of hysterical laughter filled the air, so loud that Leo almost didn't believe it could belong to his usually reserved brother.

Though his arms were free now, Donnie could only weakly grab Leo's arms, not hindering or helping in any way. The electric, tickly sensations piloted his brain, shutting down all rational thought and coordination.

"PLEHEHEHEASE! I CAHAN'T—NAHAHARDOHO!" Donnie screamed, digging his heels into the ground. He succeeded in kneeing Leo in the shell a few times, but not hard enough to make a difference. The only thing his struggling did was fuel Leo's insufferable teasing.

"You 'can't' what? You can't stop me from tickling you? That's so true. You've practically been asking for this, Donnie."

Donnie was going to lose his mind, torn between how unbearable the sensation was and how much he didn't want it to stop. The final sliver of rational thought he had left was acutely aware that Leo was tickling him far longer than usual, which he was grateful for. In fact, he didn't feel Leo retract his hands until Donnie's laughter turned to a silent, open-mouthed smile.

"You okay?" Leo asked, laughing along with Donnie's residual giggles.

Donnie nodded and gulped in air, trying to keep an even tone as he spoke. "You... jerk. Don't do that ever again."

Leo chuckled and held up his hands in defense. "Hey, I didn’t hear a 'stop'..."

Donnie's face grew redder as he shut his mouth and landed a lackluster punch to Leo's arm, which only made Leo laugh harder.

Despite the apparent annoyance, Leo didn't miss the permanent grin pulling at Donnie's mouth. Oh yeah, he was never letting Donnie live this down.

#my writing #sfw tickle fic #sfw tickling community #rottmnt tickle fic #ticklish!donnie #disaster twins have my whole entire heart #these idiots? my favorite

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

In the clouds

Wilbur looked at his communicator for the daily quests. The assignments that decided whether his child would lose a life — or worse, be unhappy. No child of his would ever be sad, if he could help it.

Now, he wasn’t great at the whole ‘existing in a dangerous world’ thing, death was very probable, even if he loathed to admit it.

But he would make sure that his daughter had a good life until then, at least.

The quests were pretty simple… give the baby a food that starts with a ‘b’, spend time with another baby…

Bathe the baby!

Ah, yeah, that one was probably going to be a problem.

Wilbur didn’t have a bath.

It wasn’t that he didn’t bathe, don’t get him wrong, he had a river outside of his house, and he was happy to duck under from time to time to scrub away dirt and grime. He was content to let Tallulah do the same, would even help her dislodge the flower petals and leaves that always seemed to stick themselves in her curly hair…

But he didn’t know whether that would count. The federation, from what he had heard, was very particular.

So, he did what every person who had just had kids does:

WilburSoot: phil

WilburSoot: phil

WilburSoot: phil

WilburSoot: phil

WilburSoot: phil

Ph1LzA: what mate?

WilburSoot: phil

WilburSoot: oh

WilburSoot: help

He could almost hear Phil groan from atop the wall.

Ph1LzA: okay fine

Ph1LzA: warp up

Wilbur grinned widely and turned to look for Tallulah. As usual, his little girl was being an angel. She was at their (admittedly pitifully small) farm, poking at wheat grains as if that would make them grow faster.

They had food. Phil had made sure that they had a plentiful supply of avocado toast, but Tallulah was apparently sick of the taste. Wilbur wasn’t sure how to break it to her that the wheat would be used to make more bread, so he was opting to cross that bridge when he got to it. Which was decidedly not happening anytime soon, much to Tallulah's current chagrin.

“Sweetheart!” he called, and her head jerked up to look at him. “Anything that starts with a ‘b’ in there?”

She shook her head.

Wilbur hummed. “Worth a shot. We’re visiting your abuelito.”

“And tio Chayanne?” she signed.

Wilbur bit back the words ‘I sure hope not’, borne out of a sibling rivalry that was frankly a little embarrassing considering the age gap between Chayanne and himself.

Not because he didn’t want to say it, but because he remembered that one of the tasks was to hang out with another kid, and Wilbur didn’t really know anyone else on the island enough to do a playdate.

(Okay, technically he knew Quackity and Slimecicle rather well, but he didn’t think that going to see their childrens’ memorials would count for the quest, and there was no need to traumatize his young daughter by showing her such depressing things.)

“We’ll see,” he said instead, smiling. “C’mon, I’ll set up the warpstone.”

She rushed to the tiny building they had set up their warpstone in, circling it with bright eyes, practically bouncing in place as Wilbur worked at calibrating it to send them to Phil and Missa’s house.

It didn’t take long, he practically had the coordinates memorized at this point, but apparently it was too long for Tallulah, who had slapped a hand to the pillar the moment Wilbur drew his hands back, his mouth still partially open, his tongue pressed against the top of his mouth in preparation to form the ‘d’ sound in ‘done’.

He snickered to himself, waiting until he saw her disappear in a flurry of purple particles before allowing the warpstone to take him, as well.

His smell was what returned to him first. The smell of flora, bread in the oven, and a million or so barrels of potatoes.

Then it was sound. The quiet trickle of water. One of those annoying flies that plagued the place. A child’s laughter and the rustling of leaves.

His sight was next, and what a welcoming sight it was. His father, standing there, his eyes rimmed with dark circles but crinkled at the edges with a kind of fondness regardless, smiling at his family.

And, you see, when he rediscovered touch, he realized why that smile had held the barest traces of mischief:

A weight went crashing into his back, and Wilbur nearly fell over with the force of it, cursing under his breath, but he managed to right himself before he hit the stone. Which was great, because this meant that he was able to be beaten over the head with the flat side of a wooden sword.

Wilbur bore approximately three hits before he looked up at the child that was now sitting on his shoulders. Chayanne, his little brother.

“Why?” he asked.

Chayanne scowled, his tiny face screwing up in frustration behind the skeleton mask that had been formed out of his old eggshell, and he tucked the sword beneath his arm to sign the word ‘die’ over and over again.

“Rude,” Wilbur said flatly.

His message received, Chayanne took his sword out and started to hit him once again.

Wilbur sighed. He looked at Phil.

“Well?” Phil said, smiling, utterly unhelpful. “Die.”

Wilbur waited a few moments more, just long enough to get across the point that he was not happy about his current predicament, before he fell back. Right onto Chayanne.

The boy screeched at the weight pinning him down and tossed away his sword in favor of signing in front of Wilbur’s face.

“Can’t read that, can’t get up. I’m dead,” he said, closing his eyes.

Chayanne was not pleased by this development. He made another frustrated sound before throwing his hands down onto Wilbur’s face. Wilbur grimaced, which is never a good thing to do with children, you can not show weakness. Because children will immediately double down on whatever upset you. Hands began smacking at all of the skin that the boy, pinned as he was, could reach.

Another set of hands joined in, little fingers tugging at his shirt to try and make him move as well.

Wilbur, however, was dead, so he was not able to grant the childrens’ wishes.

A light flashed behind Wilbur’s eyelids, and he lifted his head slightly, opening his eyes to squint at his father.

His father was utterly remorseless. He shook out the photo a few times, and then turned it around to make sure it had developed properly.

“Awwww,” he cooed, rushing over to show Wilbur. The three of them were on the ground. Chayanne was frantically hitting at his face, trying to free himself. Tallulah was shaking Wilbur’s shoulder, as if he was asleep and she was simply there trying to wake him. Wilbur’s lips were curled into the barest trace of a smile.

It was, admittedly, a cute photo.

“Give me the picture, Phil, I must burn it.”

“No.”

Wilbur made a mad grab for the photo, but it was gone, tucked away in Phil’s inventory before he could even get close.

Even worse, Chayanne used this chance to scramble out from under him and then snatch up his sword. He held it up in the air, victorious.

Wilbur sighed. He looked at Tallulah, who was giggling at her uncle's antics. “Why must you forsake me so?”

Tallulah only smiled.

Wilbur pouted playfully and looked at Phil. “Not even my daughter is on my side.”

“To be fair, how could she take your side when your opposition is so cute?”

Chayanne huffed and set his sword down once again to sign the words "I am not cute, I am menacing!" at Phil.

Wilbur was also displeased by this development. “This is favoritism, Phil, I’m clearly cuter.”

Chayanne paused, now looking unsure about his previous position. Torn as to whether he should be proud that he had beaten Wilbur at something or remain upset about being considered adorable.

Phil didn’t give the boy much time to ponder this conundrum, because he chose that moment to finally ask Wilbur why, exactly, he was there.

“I thought I would do you a favor, Phil,” said Wilbur, smiling in a way that might have charmed someone else, but did little in the face of the guy who had raised him. Still, he, bravely, continued on: “I saw that the quests for the day said that you have to have a playdate with another kid and, lookee here, a child for you to have a playdate with!”

He motioned to Tallulah, showing her off as if Phil hadn’t seen her several times before.

Phil, of course, smiled at her like a sap. And then gave Wilbur a mildly exasperated look. “I thought you needed help?”

“I…” did not think this through, but Wilbur was nothing if not one to commit to the bit. “I was saying that I wanted to help you, of course!”

“Yeah?” said Phil, smiling in that way that suggested he was only humoring Wilbur. Which did not make sense, for there was no humor in this situation at all. “Then I guess this has nothing to do with the ‘Bathe the baby’ quest and the copious amount of dirt and twigs on your daughter?”

Tallulah shoved her particularly dirt-covered hands behind her back, smiling sheepishly.

“None at all,” Wilbur confirmed.

“And if I were to say that I was just about to bathe Chayanne…”

“Then I would say that sounded like a fun playdate idea!”

Phil laughed, his wing coming out to hit Wilbur over the head. He pouted over this terrible child abuse that he was enduring.

Phil, of course, did not care about this. He turned to the kids, clapping his hands together by his ear. “Bath time!”

Chayanne lit up, grabbing Tallulah by the hand and immediately dragging her off in the direction of the bath, and the two adults shared fond smiles as they followed after them.

Before long, they were in a tiny greenhouse-like structure attached to the back of Chayanne’s house, sitting amongst the flowers and preparing the water so the kids couldn’t complain about freezing to death.

Chayanne had taken out a duck-shaped rubber ring and presented it to Wilbur with pride. Wilbur was not sure why the kid was going to be wearing it in the bath, that seemed counterproductive to the act of bathing, but who was he to argue with a child’s strange outfit choices? He wore the same outfit, every day, to everything, with only breaks to wash it in the river, so he wasn’t one to judge.

Tallulah smiled as she sat at the edge of the tub, waving to the two tortoises bobbing in the water. The tortoises did not say anything back, or even really acknowledge her, too concerned with trying to get out over the sides of the unfortunately slick tub.

“The turtles really don’t like it in there,” Wilbur commented.

“Shut,” said Phil.

Wilbur held his hands up in surrender.

Which was great. They were in the perfect position for him to defend himself when Chayanne jumped into the water, splashing it everywhere.

Those poor tortoises.

But enough about them!

Wilbur turned to Tallulah and motioned for her to come in closer so he could start picking the usual branches out of her tangled hair.

“How do you always get plants in your hair anyways?” he sighed, tossing a leaf aside.

“Flowers,” she signed.

“Understandable, understandable,” said Wilbur, nodding sagely.

She nodded back, just as sage.

Once she was deemed clean enough to take a bath (a strange thought to have, but who wants to get their bath water dirty?), she was helped in with far more grace than Chayanne, and the two parents started scrubbing their kids down. As is the purpose of a bath.

Just kidding, that’s the purpose of the first few minutes of a bath. The rest of a bath should be devoted to just enjoying yourself. Which is what the kids did. Splashing each other, making themselves beards with the bubbles, and playing with those eternally suffering tortoises.

It was nice.

Until. Disaster struck.

After some time, Tallulah gasped.

All eyes turned onto her as she pulled her flute from her pocket, and Wilbur grimaced as he realized that it was waterlogged. She looked him in the eyes as she brought it to her lips. It made a pitiful sound, water bubbling out.

She looked at him for a long moment, scandalized.

“Honey…” he said, at a loss.

She faceplanted in the water.

“NO, TALLULAH!”

While Wilbur righted her in the water, scrubbing at her face with the towel around his shoulders to make sure she was okay, Phil frantically searched through his backpack. Eventually, he procured a… piece of bamboo.

Tallulah looked unimpressed. But, to be fair, it was hard to look impressed when your hair was a wet mop in your face.

Phil smiled. “When we’re done here, I'll make you a new flute. How does that sound?"

Tallulah lit up. “We must finish now!” she signed.

Wilbur laughed. “Okay, okay, let me just get the last of the suds off.”

Despite her original excitement, though, getting them out of the bath was not easy. Chayanne hugged his duck floatie, squinting at Phil with contempt when he dared to hold up the towel, waving it in a way that he clearly hoped to be tempting. Tallulah sunk until she was beneath the water, only the top half of her face peeking out, her mouth blowing bubbles when she sighed.

“Okay, fine, we’ll wait,” said Wilbur.

Bad move. Never challenge children. They are the most stubborn things alive.

Eventually, the water got cold.

However, the kids still refused to get out.

Not because they didn’t want to get out. They would be more than happy with that at this point. But because they didn’t want to get out first.

Phil pulled the tub stopper out. A tiny whirlpool began stealing away the water and bubbles.

“Smaaaart,” said Wilbur, who had never had kids before, and therefore was not expecting them to continue sitting there until they were shivering wet in an empty tub.

He locked eyes with Phil. They nodded once.

And then, with the kind of coordination only seen from those who are comrades on the battlefield called raising dragon children, they wrapped their towels around their kids and dragged them out. The kids screamed bloody murder, but there was no one there to hear. No one other than their exhausted parents who were just trying to make sure they didn’t get sick.

They looked up at their parents, affronted by their care for them.

“You’ll get over it,” Wilbur told Tallulah.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you,” he almost sang.

She melted a little. Hesitantly, she lifted her hands to sign the words, “I love you too, papa.”

They both ignored Phil bargaining with Chayanne in the background, promising to let him wear the floatie for just a little longer. ‘A little longer’ would surely devolve into ‘until mere seconds before bed’.

Until then, though, they changed the kids, and Wilbur tried (and failed) to figure out how to give Tallulah one of those towel hats that women always put their hair into, and Phil whittled the bamboo into the promised flute for Tallulah, and Chayanne started bickering with Wilbur about whether or not he could claim the MCC win when, by his own admission, he was only there to balance out the frankly overpowered team he had had during MCC4…

Before they knew it, the day had faded into night, and it was time for them to start heading home.

Wilbur smiled as he glanced over his tasks.

“Thanks for everything, Phil… I think that’s everything done for to –... oh! I need to give her something that starts with ‘b’. Do you have anything you can spare?”

Before Phil could open his mouth, Chayanne gasped and held up a finger, the (possibly) universal ‘one moment’ gesture, before rushing off. He came back bearing a baked potato, presenting it to Tallulah.

Wilbur plucked it right out of the boy’s hand and then offered it to Tallulah.

Chayanne scowled.

“Tasks say that I have to do it,” Wilbur explained.

Chayanne looked no less displeased.

And strangely, Tallulah mirrored his expression. She took the baked potato into her hands and looked down at it for a moment before staring at Wilbur with wide eyes. She, somehow, looked even more affronted by this meal than she was whenever he gave her avocado toast.

#qsmp #qwilbur #qphilza #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #qsmp fanfiction #i fuckin haaaaate crossposting. sob.