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ambassadorarlert · 10 months

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HEAT WAVES... (Armin Arlert x afab!reader)

0.5 IS THERE SOMEBODY WHO CAN WATCH YOU? (main menu | spotify) 18+ MDNI NSFW ↳ summary: ...Armin begins to realize just how much he likes you ↳ warnings: obsession, swearing, Hange has they/them pronouns, brief mention of drug use ↳ genre: hurt/comfort, comedy ↳ word count: 12k

“Would you like some help with those?” Armin politely offered.

The kitchen was starting to go dim from the pending sunset. Everyone was outside apart from you and Armin. You stood at the sink washing the remaining dinner dishes. Armin figured he’d offer to help since he was the last to leave the table from dinner. You quickly glanced over your shoulder at him and smiled.

“I wash and you dry?” You suggested.

Armin nodded and joined your side at the sink. For every dish you scrubbed and rinsed, Armin took the towel to dry them off and place them back in their designated spots. You worked together quietly, watching everyone play outside through the kitchen window.

You were among the new Levi Squad assigned to protect Eren and Historia. You were all posted in a cabin deep into the woods. It was set far out enough to where you could make a reasonable amount of noise without being detected. Naturally, screaming and yelling probably wasn’t the best idea.

Eren and Jean’s competitive arguing turned into a fist fight very quickly. They fought like this at least once a week and no one else was really phased by them throwing hands at each other. Everyone continued to do just as they were, paying them no attention. Jean and Eren could never seem to put their differences aside, and they always had to hash it out until the last man stood.

It did get on Armin’s nerves sometimes. Why couldn’t there just be one moment of peace among comrades and friends? Armin inhaled and rolled his eyes as he dried off a dinner plate.

“They should just get married already.” He said under his breath. He watched as Jean was currently losing.

Armin’s sarcastic comment made you burst into laughter. You clamped your eyes shut, lips spread out into a genuine smile, nose crinkled in amusement. He paused.

His heart began to pick up speed, and his throat suddenly got very agitated and dry. Armin’s face flooded with blush. His chest swelled with the fact that he was the one to make you laugh, a glorious sound he didn’t realize he had grown quite fond of. Something had changed within him. A flame had been lit inside Armin’s stomach, and you were apparently holding the match.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you came down from your giggle fit. You resumed washing out the cup you put a halt on cleaning, and handed it to Armin for him to dry.

“You’re silly.” You sighed.

—

Chilly in here, was the first thought that arrived in Armin’s mind.

He sat up and shivered, holding his arms to his chest as a chill went through him. He didn’t have a shirt on, or any clothes actually. He took a quick tired look around the room. Your room. A blue hue was casted across all of your things. Armin spotted that the window was completely open. If it was this cold for him, someone who ran a warmer body temperature due to his peculiarity, he couldn’t really imagine how cold it must be for you.

With his mind fogged with sleep, he noted how unwise it was to leave your window open this way. So, Armin got up to close it. He tried to keep his eyes half shut so he could stay in the state of sleepiness he was in. By the time he got to the window and tried to quietly shut it, Armin was already starting to become more alert and awake. He was used to being up at this hour anyway. He paused to at least put his pants back on before going back to stand in an open window. All of his clothes were nicely folded across the back of a chair, and his shoes placed politely next to yours.

While Armin continued to wrestle with your sticky bedroom window, he noticed the pretty view of the pier and ocean in the distance. The water sparkled and glittered. A sliver of sunshine lined the horizon. Armin could hear the seagulls calling to each other from where he was standing.

He stared out the window, wistfully coming to his senses. Armin checked the time using your wristwatch on the bedside table. It was five-thirty in the morning. Every now and then, a person would walk on the sidewalk or a car would drive by. Armin wondered who they might be and where they might be going. He spotted a man walking with a strange black and white spotted dog, a woman and small child strolling hand in hand, and a boy on a bicycle. A fascinating contraption.

Armin wondered if any of those people had seen Eren. It was extremely unlikely that any of them did. But, if on the slim chance that they had, perhaps they saw him sitting on a bench enjoying the weather, or talked to him at a tavern, or even walked past him on the street. The world outside of the walls was far bigger than Armin could ever comprehend, and somehow his understanding of that was exceeded now that Eren was out there on his own.

What would the scouts do now that they not only let Eren slip away again, but they also lost the Attack titan in foreign and unknown territory? Armin hadn't really been keeping up with the Marleyean tabloids after the conference about Eldians being denied every basic human right, but Armin pictured that it wasn’t great. He hadn’t had the time to come up with a scenario on how to combat that. A sudden yet dull pain pierced through the top of his head, and into the back of his eye.

Armin was snatched back to his current reality when a noise from the present moment caught his attention. You moved your legs around under your blanket, shuffling and getting into a more comfortable position. With a little groan, you rolled onto your side. You turned to the open room, laying where Armin could see your face. Armin studied every detail, basking in this moment. If only he could pause time and stay in the memory of the night before. This particular second of bliss was enough to subside the ache from missing Eren. Armin didn’t want to think about him right now. He pushed Eren out of the front of his brain temporarily, and started to debate whether he should keep his distance, or suck it up and hold you the way he always envisioned

Armin has never seen a person sleep so peacefully. Your lips were gently separated, light breathing escaping from in between. Your eyelashes fluttered. The early morning shadows of blue, gray, and black did your beauty justice. He helped himself to sitting in the window, perching like an owl. He brought his thighs to his chest, chin resting on his knees, and arms wrapped around his shins. Armin watched your chest rise and fall with each breath. Somehow in the few hours Armin had slept, you had gotten more beautiful. He took his bottom lip in between his teeth. There was something rather tranquil about watching you sleep so soundly. His mind fell silent, except for the number rising in his head as he accidentally started counting every breath you took.

Three… Four… Five…

In his pretend scenarios Armin made up as he lay awake restless at night, he was always the big spoon. There was a gaping hole in his chest as he imagined holding you to his chest at night. He so badly wanted to be the one you curled up to, the one you sought comfort from in the dark. But for some reason, Armin was frozen. He dared not touch you, even though he was just as desperate for you now as he was hours ago. Armin wanted to crawl back into your bed and wrap himself around you. Or, embrace you in his arms. He didn’t really have a preference, he just wanted to be close to you. However, he kept his distance. He shrunk himself away as if you were the one who could explode at a whim. Armin had been fawning over you for so long and now that he actually could call you his, it seemed like an unforgiving joke.

Armin wasn’t funny like Connie, no matter how many times you may laugh at his jokes and tell him that he is. He could style and cut his hair any way he wanted, and he still wouldn’t be as handsome as Eren. Armin knew he would never be as strong as Levi-- or anyone else in the entire military at that, and there was no way he could compete with Jean in anything. He seemed to be the whole package.

Twelve… Thirteen… Fourteen…

Along with not being able to compare with any of his comrades, Armin was literally dangerous to be around. The Colossal Titan is powerful. Armin was capable of catastrophic, unpredictable damage, and it would be as easy as snapping his fingers-- not that he would ever have to use the Colossal to do intentional destruction anyway. Still, what business did you have being with someone like that?

Armin thought harder.

Perhaps it was your compassion and preference to see the good in others that made you believe Armin was worthy of your time. Any niceties you’ve shown towards him, he absorbed and hoarded it away like a crow to a shiny piece of metal. That was just the kind of person you were; unbiased and incredibly empathetic. After becoming a soldier, and killing a woman in cold-blood, his definition of what makes a good person and a bad person had become severely warped. The only constant that remained in his opinion was that he genuinely believed that you were authentically good.

Twenty-five… Twenty-six… Twenty-seven…

You would drop whatever it is you're doing to help anyone who needed it, and would give the clothes off your back to someone else. You were excellent at de-escalating arguments, cutting through the tension with patience and getting to the root of an issue with a neutral perspective. A soldier in your own divine right, ruthless and cut throat when you need to be, agile and precise when you’re going in for a kill. So far, you have four titan kills under your belt. Although you didn’t make it in the top ten graduates as a cadet, you were still incredibly intelligent. Any problem seemed easy to solve and didn’t take much brain power. You were brilliant, amusing, resourceful.

Ethereal.

Thirty-eight.. Thirty-nine… Forty…

Armin’s chest swelled with an emotion he had never really felt before. He could feel his hands heating up from the blood suddenly pumping through his body. Pressure began to build in his temples, his psyche was honing in on you while everything else around him began to fade out. Armin’s heart began to increase speed and there was an icky feeling in his stomach. It rose up into his throat, swelling as he kept counting.

Fifty-seven… Fifty-eight… Fifty-nine… Sixty…

Your people-pleaser attitude had to have come from somewhere. What could you have gone through to make you so resilient to negativity? You and Armin had been subjected to most of the same experiences being on Levi’s Squad and were friends as cadets. However, you existed before you were a soldier. Armin wanted to know what made you tick, what made the gears in your head turn, why your heart was so soft. Troubled childhood? Armin could relate to that. A bad break up? Not so much. Losing countless friends and comrades in the name of humanity? That was something you both, unfortunately, had in common.

Someone as precious as you needed to be protected and cared for, like a little baby bird that had fallen out of the nest. You gave your own time and energy running around to make sure everyone around you was square, but who was there for you whenever you needed it? Of course Mikasa and Sasha were an automatic default. But, who would be there for you if neither of them could fulfill your needs? Who’s shoulder do you rest on when you’re sad, angry, scared? Who tends to your wounds after being miraculous on the battlefield, or when you’re ill? Who do you share thoughts and ideas with? Where do you go when you need to be touched and loved?

Armin immediately scratched that last question out of his head. That icky feeling in his stomach turned sour and sickly. Just as quickly as he had made himself upset, it subsided with the realization that it didn’t matter anymore. Now, it was Armin you would come to if you needed anything. His brain tickled with an idea of a promise, a promise that he would walk to the end of the earth to fulfill. Whatever it was you needed, wanted, desired, Armin would be there to make it happen.

One hundred and eleven… One hundred and twelve…

Within the instant it took Armin to only blink, you had shot up and out of your tranquil sleep. A strange gasp for air squeezed itself from your throat. Armin jumped, shrinking back in sudden and blind fear. He put his hands out to protect his face and chest. Your eyes were wide and crazed.

Your heart was beating so hard, you thought for a moment that you were going to be sick. Your head pounded, mind fogged with the grogginess of an interrupted sleep and the surprise of a nightmare. You gripped your comforter as if your life had depended on it.

“Are you alright?” Armin tested. You blinked. Your environment became clearer upon hearing his voice.

Your eyes shifted to him in the corner of the room, sitting in the windowsill. He had one knee up, a hand pressed to his chest, and leaning against the glass. Armin stared at you incredulously. You weren’t sure which was worse; Having a terrible nightmare or the embarrassment of Armin seeing you wake up from one. You took both of your hands and quickly rubbed your eyes.

“Yeah. I just had a bad dream.” You muttered quietly.

“I have those too, sometimes. Do you want to… talk about it?” Armin asked. He put his body at ease, tucking his hands under his thighs.

You paused. Now that you were awake, you couldn’t recall a single detail about anything, but you remembered it feeling so real. You took a quick look into your shaky palms. The lines in your hands were just the same as they had always been.

“I don’t remember.” You shook your head.

You gave Armin a glance up and down. One side of his face was lit by the window, while the other was shaded by the darkness of the hotel room. His right eye glistened brighter than the other. You could see just how admiral his eyes were. Armin was as beautiful outside as he was inside. He stared at you softly, unsure of what he should do next. A question arose in your mind.

“Were you watching me sleep?” You questioned with one eyebrow raised.

You were mostly teasing. It was quite obvious that he had been looking out of the window, since you noticed it was now closed. You found it more surprising that Armin had actually stayed through the night instead of sneaking out at his earliest convenience. You saw Armin’s shadowed shoulders shrink.

“N-Not in a weird way…” He chuckled sheepishly. Armin took his tongue in between his teeth.

Your chest tightened looking at him. It was clear that Armin had just woken up. His blonde hair was frizzed in some places. His eyes were puffy with sleep. He looked so cute and sweet this way. What your eyes were really clued in on was how tragically gorgeous he was without a shirt on. Your memory matched the way his muscles felt under your fingers, in the dark, to how they looked in front of you.

The sweat that lingered on your skin felt gross. You could smell the salt of the sea in your hair as well as a faint hint of Armin’s own scent. You drew in a deep, grounding breath. There was a funny taste on your lips. An aftertaste of Armin kissing your lips after he had gone down on you just the night before. Your stomach churned with butterflies.

“I’m going to take a shower.” You declared. You threw the covers off of you and stood up.

“Oh, okay.” Armin spoke, slightly stunned by the change of environment and mood. He also wasn’t aware that you were wearing just a shirt.

His eyes were helplessly glued to your legs as you walked to the bathroom. You paused in the door frame and stretched your back out with your arms over your head, a yawn slipping in between. The hem of your shirt raised to reveal your backside. Armin bit his tongue harder.

“You can join me if you want to.” You invoked.

There was an articulation in your voice that sent Armin’s heart racing. It made his ears perk up, his blood flow harder in his veins, his attention firmly grasped. He began to faintly taste blood. Your voice was low and inviting. You batted your eyelashes at him as you waited for him to spit an answer.

This was another marvelous opportunity to be close with you. Private showers such as these were not a luxury at your headquarters on Paradise. The shower room was not co-ed, and the stalls were less than private. He might not ever have a chance like this with you back home.

“You don’t have to. I just thought I’d offer.” You shrugged.

Then, you closed the door, leaving Armin awkwardly on the other side.

You turned on the hot water and got your shower started. The bathroom quickly began to fill with steam. You were starting to realize that teasing Armin was fun. He either took it way too seriously, not understanding the underlying joke or sarcasm, or he clapped back with something as witty and crude. Armin was hilarious in his own way, when he wasn’t trying to be.

Flirting with him was different. You liked how easily flustered he could get, his cheeks and ears flushing pink whenever you taunted and made eyes at him. Armin had to recollect his thoughts and think before he spoke. Seeing the wheels turn under his blonde hair was entertaining.

Just when the shower was exactly how you liked it, you stepped in and began to gently wash your face under the hot water. You squint your eyes shut as you let your hair get completely soaked, doing a little turn to get wet evenly. As you did so, you heard the sound of the bathroom door being opened and shut very gently. An odd, ceramic on ceramic clack noise followed closely after.

You moved a corner of the shower curtain away, peeking out to see what exactly Armin was doing. He was fully dressed, minus the vest he wore yesterday. His button up shirt was lazily done, meeting halfway up his chest. Armin made himself comfortable on the lid of the toilet. You watched him curiously while he shuffled his feet around and tucking his hands in between his legs. He didn’t seem to notice that you were looking at him and observing him decide on if he wanted his feet on the floor or if it was more comfortable to cross his legs. He tucked his ankles together, making his position work.

That wasn’t necessarily what you meant by inviting him to join you, but you couldn’t really blame him. The gesture to simply keep you company wasn’t surprising. You remembered how pleased Armin was just from sitting outside of the bathroom door while you did your makeup for the Eldian Rights conference about a month ago. The way Armin’s bashfulness flip-flopped was interesting and slightly perplexing. You shrugged to yourself. As long as Armin was content, then you didn’t seem to mind him hanging out.

“I’m glad you stayed the night.” You spoke out over the loud water.

Armin sat up straighter. He looked in the direction of your voice, not being able to see you by the solid teal shower curtain. A smile tugged on the corner of his lips.

“Captain Levi isn’t doing bed checks anymore, so I figured I’d get away with it.” He lightly laughed.

You took your shampoo and worked it deep within your scalp.

“What are your plans for the day?” You wanted to know.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe do some more work. Reading… and stuff. What about you?” Armin sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. What he was anxious for was unclear.

You hummed as you continued to scrub the grimy natural salt from your hair.

The date to the pier served as a successful distraction from the current every day drama of Eren’s vanishment. It was wonderful to spend time with Armin alone, refreshing to see him in multiple rays of new light. As your boyfriend, out and about in a striking and adventurous new world, feeling and appearing more human that he had been dragged out of a dark and depressing hotel room. Armin had been his usual self for the first time in weeks. You wanted to keep the spark going.

“I figured when I’m done, we’d get breakfast together.” You suggested. For a brief second, you changed the water from hot to cool to rinse the shampoo from your head. You shut your eyes as you spoke.

Armin switched from sitting to standing. He planted his feet in front of the sink and used the side of his hands to wipe condensation off of the mirror. He looked at his reflection, not recognizing himself for a split millisecond. His hair was tossed every which way, eyes still swollen with sleep. He used his ring finger to scrape a piece of crud from the inner corner of his eye. There was a foul taste in his mouth that he hoped you didn’t get a whiff of. Armin absentmindedly pulled the mirror open, revealing a rather empty medicine cabinet. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. At least a tube of toothpaste. Armin closed it back.

On the edge of the bathroom sink was a small brown bag. Armin had seen you carry it around a handful of times, and watched as you rummaged around through it for whatever you happened to be looking for. He wasn’t sure what exactly you kept in it. You were always pulling seemingly random items out of it, then haphazardly throwing them back inside. It was sewn in a rather boxy-square shape, but you had so much stuff jammed inside, it looked more round. Perhaps you had toothpaste in there.

“Hmm,” Armin groaned. “I still have a lot of-” Armin began, but you interrupted him.

“Aw, please?” You politely begged.

Unbeknownst to Armin, you had taken a pause in gathering your conditioner in your hand as you waited for him to respond. You were hoping that the pleading in your tone would make him change his mind.

And unbeknownst to you, your tone melted Armin right in his spot. How could he decline your sweet offer now? His heart clenched unexpectedly. Out of context, he might have thought he was going into cardiac arrest. Your toiletry bag was already unzipped. Armin pulled it open more. Maybe you wouldn’t mind if he looked inside for toothpaste.

“Alright then.” He chuckled. He really didn’t try to hold his ground. Whatever you wanted to do, Armin would willingly do it.

You did a shimmy of giddiness, and continued to work your conditioner in your hair.

The smell of whatever you were using in the shower filled Armin’s nostrils with a scent he was familiar with. A blanket of domestic comfort wrapped around his shoulders as he lightly dug around in your bag. It was packed with little tubes and bottles of… things. Armin picked up a few items, held them to the light to get a glimpse of what might be inside. Some of them were half empty, and others were on their last leg of product.

Why did you have so much? What did they all do? Why are most of them empty?

Armin couldn’t help himself, curiosity had bested him. He had already found the tube of toothpaste he suspected that you had, but couldn’t stop himself from looking deeper inside. Some of it was obviously makeup. There was a strange metal contraption, like a pair of tongs but the ends were curved and elongated. Armin snapped them open and shut, eyeing it suspiciously. He hadn’t the faintest clue what he was looking at. He put it aside, and kept looking.

One thing he noticed was that most of the bottles and tubes were labeled or had labels. Even though he read them all, he couldn’t comprehend what they were for or what they did. However, one simply did not have a name. With his interest further piqued, he unscrewed the cap and gave it a whiff. The smell that he came to adore so much smacked him in the face.

Soft, sweet, with just a tinge of amber. Armin smelled it whenever you walked by him in the mess hall. He could catch it on the breeze whenever you were all sitting outside, hanging out and talking about nothing. The scent danced on all your pillows, clothes, and skin. Armin took another inhale of it as if it were oxygen itself. He could have died right there in ecstasy.

“Hey, yo?” Some called suddenly from the inside of your hotel room, just on the other side of the bathroom door.

Armin jumped at the unexpected visitor. Armin stepped back from the sink with the bottle still clenched tightly in his hand. His fingers moved quickly to screw the cap back on.

“Connie?” You called out, poking your head out from the shower curtain.

Armin froze, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You and Armin both knew Connie would ask questions and make assumptions. In this case, they would be true and there would be no way Armin could deny any of it. Jean knew how to mind his own business, but not Connie. Connie would tease and pry for any detail he could get.

“What should I do?” Armin mouthed to you.

There was literally nowhere for him to hide.

“Oh, are you in the shower? Can I come in real quick, I have something important to tell you.” Connie asked regretfully, sounding sorry to bother you.

Armin’s eyes were wide with horror. You bit your tongue, thinking of the only thing that you could do. You reached out of the shower, grabbed Armin by his shoulder, and pulled him in with you. The water began to soak his hair and the front of his pants and shirt. You slapped your hand over Armin’s mouth as he clumsily slipped and exclaimed at being unexpectedly handled. You put a finger to your lips, hushing Armin as he squeaked quietly under your palm.

“You can come in.” You announced over the sound of the running water.

You heard the bathroom door creak open.

“I have my eyes covered, I’m not looking! I can’t see anything!” Connie proclaimed.

The smog of the bathroom escaped and a rush of cool air came in behind Connie. He hid his face with one hand while the other was extended in case he ran into anything. Connie took tiny steps as well.

“It’s fine, the curtain is solid. What do you have to tell me?” You politely pressed.

Connie removed his hand from his eyes and blinked. He looked around your bathroom as his eyes adjusted and his thoughts realigned.

“Are you almost done? Hange and Levi want us all together to talk. Sasha went to get Mikasa, so I came to get you.” Connie explained.

You and Armin locked eyes. You furrowed your brows at each other.

“Talk about what?” You wanted to know.

Now would be Armin’s third time seeing you naked. You were just as stunning naked in the shower, a less sexual context, as you were in bed. The way the water rolled down your body, soap suds bubbling on your skin, hair soaked in product and dripping. It was longer than Armin thought it was, now that it was wet. He almost couldn’t stand it. Armin swallowed to try and keep his growing bulge under control, but he was too infatuated with your figure and too startled by Connie’s unexpected appearance. He kept his eyes up to the ceiling so as to not just stand and stare, focusing on what Connie was saying.

“This whole Eren business, I assume.” Connie sighed.

“Oh,” you replied. “I kinda just got started, but I’ll be out soon.” It was all you could say.

“I’ve been thinking,” Connie began.

Oh, God! You thought to yourself. Anytime Connie said that, it was usually followed up with something so dumb, you seriously doubted if he thought much at all. You hoped Connie wouldn’t say something unintentionally ignorant.

“Eren’s been so sluggish lately. Maybe he’s older than we predicted and he crawled off somewhere to die? Dogs do it all the time. I feel, like, if Eren actually was coming back he would have already.” Connie explained.

You sucked the back of your teeth.

“That’s a terrible thought, Connie. Don’t say that in front of everybody.” You warned.

“I know, I know. I just think it’s fucked up, you know? The way Eren just dropped everything and left us behind. Especially Mikasa and Armin, after everything they’ve done for him.” Connie ranted.

You squeezed your eyes shut. The secondhand embarrassment made you want to dissolve down the drain. All you could muster up was a hum of neither approval or disagreement. Connie carried on with his rant.

“I don’t know what Eren and Mikasa’s dynamic is but I’ll tell you what, she does not deserve him. He always treated her like some side piece he could care less about. The way he always pushed her away and hollered in her face made me so angry sometimes. I stayed out of it, because it’s not really my business, but sometimes I really wanted to tell him to just fuck off of Mikasa for just a minute.” Connie preached.

He took a quick look at his reflection. Connie ran his tongue over his pearly white teeth and smoothed a stray eyebrow hair only he would notice. He then flashed himself a handsome smile.

You stayed silent.

The more Connie vented, the smaller Armin felt. Although Connie did have a point about Eren being rude to Mikasa often, he was positive that it was never as intentional as it may appear. He knew in his heart that Eren didn’t mean to hurt Mikasa, he was just an independent man who was set in some of his ways. Mikasa was doting and compassionate not just to Eren, but to everyone. Armin included. It was in her nature to care just as it was in Eren’s nature to…

“And don’t fuckin’ get me started on-” Connie wanted to add. He did a quick flex in the mirror. However, you put an end to his raving.

“Connie, I really can’t talk right now. I’m getting soap in my mouth!” You lied. The signal in Connie’s brain finally started to fire up.

“Right, right, right. I’ll tell the ole Cap’n you’ll be there soon. By the way, have you seen Armin? He’s not in his room.” Connie mentioned before he completely turned on his heel to leave. You took a pause. Despite the warm water, your toes ran cold as ice.

“Strange. No, I haven’t.” You fibbed again, looking Armin directly in his pretty blue eyes. A glaze of sadness fell over his irises.

“Well, when did you see him last? Did you both go to-” Connie began to think too hard. You interrupted him again.

“Connie. Soap in mouth.” You reminded him coldly.

“Alright, alright. Put some hustle on it, you know the captain doesn’t like to wait around.” On that note, Connie shut the bathroom door.

You and Armin held your breaths until you were both certain that the coast was clear. After the sound of the hotel room door closed shut, you released your hand from Armin’s mouth.

He said nothing. His eyes looked somewhere else, not at you or really anywhere. The front of his hair and clothes were now soaked. He looked like a little wet kitten left out in the rain. You pouted at him, knowing that his feelings may have been hurt from Connie’s unsolicited opinion. It was no ones fault, as Connie wouldn’t have known Armin was there. You could still imagine the sting of his words. A hand reached out to brush Armin’s wet hair off of his forehead. Before your fingers could touch him, Armin moved to get out.

“I’m going to go change my clothes.” He said simply. He couldn’t hide the melancholy in his voice.

His tone had definitely shifted. The dark cloud that had been hanging over him for weeks had returned.

Armin’s heart thumped as he booked it to the private dining room. He managed to sneak back to his room, and change out of his wet clothes without getting caught. A million and one thoughts went through his mind as he hurried to be on time, knowing how unpleasant it was to keep Levi waiting.

Armin swallowed Connie’s words with a giant grain of salt. Hearing Connie voice his true opinion in what he thought was a safe space did hurt, he would not deny that, but he didn’t hold it past him. No matter how often Eren and Jean fought, the two of them plus Armin himself and Connie were the closest thing to brothers that they all had. Connie and Eren pulled numerous pranks on everyone, you being a common target. The greatest stunt they achieved together was setting about twenty frogs loose in your bedroom just before a cleaning inspection. Connie was the only person Eren could be mischievous around and not be told off about it.

Armin wasn’t the only person who was offended by Eren’s departure. Connie was also grieving a lost friendship, and said the first words that came to his mind. That’s all that was.

The only context Armin has was that Hange and Levi wanted to talk about Eren, but nothing more was given. Perhaps they had heard from him, or even found him. If not brought back in person, then at least a location was known. Or, even better, maybe Armin would lock sight on Eren as soon as he walked into the room. He would be in once piece, profusely apologize and explain what had happened to him for weeks on end. Maybe Armin was right about Eren getting his memories confused and gotten himself lost. Maybe he was kidnapped and managed to escape. Maybe he had another motive that the scouts couldn’t know about at the moment for good reason. Armin’s chest fluttered with hope.

Armin pushed the doors open, a fraction of that hope had diminished when he took account that Eren was not there. He greeted everyone, sheepishly closing the doors behind him as he did so.

“Good morning, Armin! How’d you sleep?” Hange cheerfully greeted, smiling wildly at him.

In the face, they could tell that Armin had low spirits. But physically, he appeared fine, as if he hadn’t been decaying away in a hotel room alone for weeks on end. Armin appeared to be wearing fresh clothes, and Hange could faintly smell soap on him. At least he had been keeping up with his personal hygiene. They were quite relieved that Armin seemed fine for the most part. Perhaps a day in the sun is what he needed after all. Hange made a mental note to give you your credit for your idea, as it seems to have done him good.

“I slept alright.” Armin shrugged, downplaying his night and trying not to blush.

Sleeping next to you was some of the best sleep he had gotten in weeks.

Hange and Levi made sly eye contact as Armin kept his head down and found a seat at the table. Their telepathic minds sent each other the same thoughts. Hange had made themselves comfortable at the head on the table, while Levi sat off to their left as usual. Levi said nothing. He kept his arms folded in the moments where he wasn’t reaching for his tea.

“Where’ve you been?” Jean asked Armin.

Jean was finishing the last of his breakfast. Armin sat across from him, deciding to skip out on food so early in the morning. Armin’s anxiety levels were on one thousand. He bounced his leg under the table. For now, it was currently Jean and Connie sitting and eating. If Armin ate anything, he might not be able to keep it down.

“What do you mean? I was in my room.” Armin lied through his teeth.

He figured Jean was the one who went looking for him. Jean put a pause on raking some eggs onto his fork.

“No you weren’t. I was just in there looking for you.” Jean raised an eyebrow.

Jeans questioning was not helping with Armin’s uneasiness. Of course now Jean would try to pry for answers in front of Connie and superiors. Armin swallowed, and kept his composure.

“What’s up with your hair?” Jean asked another question. Armin was taken back.

“I just washed it. Why, w-what’s wrong with my hair?” Armin reached up to smooth it down flat. He had no way of seeing his reflection, and he didn’t really have time to comb through and style it nicely.

“I like it!” Hange chimed in. “It’s wet and wild. It’s sexy!” They beamed.

Armin’s face pooled pink. No one had ever referred to anything about him as sexy, and coming from Hange made him slightly embarrassed. Hange didn’t care. They dramatic tossed their own hair around on their head, one thick piece covering their eyepatch, giving Armin a smolder.

Shortly after Armin’s arrival, Sasha and Mikasa appeared. Sasha was already dressed for the day, which was surprising because she was usually in more casual and comfortable clothes until it was absolutely necessary for her to change. Mikasa had definitely seen better days, though no one dared to speak up on that. Armin could tell that she hadn’t been getting a lot of rest either. She appeared thinner in the face, with rings under her gray eyes.

Armin immediately noted your absence, but kept his lips sealed tight. He put his hands together in his lap and squeezed.

“Right, so now that everyone is here,” Hange began. Their voice changed from being playful to quite serious. Armin’s heart skipped.

“Hang on,” Levi interrupted, raising his hand to put Hange on pause. “Where is Y/N?”

The sound of Connie’s fork stabbing into his plate followed behind Levi’s question. He poked at the sausages, half already being stuffed in his mouth.

“I went to go get them, but they were in the middle of takin’ a shower.” Connie said with his cheeks full of food. Levi cringed.

“Stop talking with your mouth full.” Levi snapped. He folded his arms back into their natural position. Connie quickly chewed, and harshly swallowed.

“My bad— I mean, yes sir. Sorry, sir.” Connie apologized.

“That’s not a problem, we can just wait! Let everyone get some food in their systems before we begin!” Hange declared, adjusting their rectangular glasses.

Mikasa and Armin were the only two who hadn’t helped themselves to food. Mikasa was too busy eyeing Armin down from across the table. She looked at him, through him, and beyond. Her eyes were judgmental. Armin already knew what she was criticizing him for: last night's rendezvous.

Armin couldn’t break his eyes away from Mikasa. A mild sweat started to break out on his temple. He had almost forgotten that Mikasa technically had caught him in the act of sneaking into your hotel room. What did she know? Perhaps it was your ridiculously squeaky bed frame that gave away the events of the evening, or maybe Armin himself was just too loud? What if you and Armin both were overheard? Armin briefly looked away, and then back to Mikasa, but her gaze remained unbroken. Armin almost couldn’t stand it.

Finally, at last, after about twenty extra minutes of idle chit chat from everyone else, and people filling themselves up for the morning, you walked through the door. You were disheveled, obviously having to put a rush on your morning routine. You had a towel draped around your shoulder as your hair was soaking wet and dripping from the ends. You had to let your conditioner sit for at least fifteen minutes to get the full benefits, and had absolutely no time to dry it normally.

“You’re late.” Levi commented harshly. You stood tall, at full attention.

“I-” You wanted to explain yourself, but Levi wasn’t having it.

“Sit down.”

“Yes, sir.” Your shoulders fell, eyes drawn to your feet as you tried to find somewhere to sit.

Just your luck, there was an empty seat next to Armin. He sat up straighter and pulled the chair out from the table for you to claim. Only you could see how he gently patted the cushion. The corners of his mouth pulled up into an anxious smile. You quietly thanked him as the room suddenly fell silent.

“Alright, now everybody is here…” Hange stood up again.

They sighed heavily. They removed their glasses and began to clean the lenses with the hem of their shirt. You took notice of the frown on their lips, a solemn and regretful look in their eye. With this behavior, and the topic of conversation, you had a feeling that whatever Hange was going to say wasn’t good.

You quickly took a look at all your friends. You and Mikasa widened your eyes at each other. Sasha had taken a pause on her breakfast. Jean rested his elbow on the table with his chin in his palm. Connie mirrored Levi with his arms folded across his chest, but looked more clueless than menacing.

Then you gave Armin a quick scan. His hands were folded in his lap. He pressed his hands together so tightly, he was basically white knuckling himself. His wrists trembled. You drew in a deep breath to compensate for wanting to grab his hand and hold it.

Hange began to speak, lowering their voice to a discreet and intimate tone.

“There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll get straight to the point. Our situation in Marley is getting more and more dangerous by the second. With the recent verdict on the Eldian race, more and more establishments are demanding blood tests from all patrons. It’s to weed out any roaming Eldian’s, and to keep them in their designated internment zones. Since we’re the native island devils they fear and loathe, it’s too risky to stay here. Not just in the hotel, but in the entire country.”

Hange gently explained. They took a pause so all of their words could soak into six brains at once. Then, they continued.

“The next ship to leave Liberio’s port is scheduled to depart at nine tomorrow morning. So tonight you will all need to be packed, well rested, and ready to leave by at least eight just to be safe.”

A fog of confusion engulfed the room. Everyone present was thinking the same thing, and you all knew what it was. It dangled from the ceiling like a spider on a string of its web, frantically flailing around for a ledge to grab onto. Connie still had his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixated on the middle of the table as he listened and nodded. Sasha’s lips twisted into a pout. Jean rubbed his temple. You could hear just how hard Armin was breathing.

Mikasa sat as still as stone, looking blankly at Hange as she asked,

“What about Eren?”

Her words were a punch to everyone’s stomach. Only her voice wavered as she spoke. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. Tears were starting to tickle her eyes. Without giving each other a single signal or clue, you and Sasha immediately abandoned your seats to be at Mikasa’s side. You wrapped your arms around her shoulders in a hug, her hand holding onto your forearm. Sasha knelt down to the floor, taking Mikasa’s free hand in her own.

“Can I say something?” Connie raised his hand.

“No, you may not.” You hissed.

You couldn’t mentally handle Connie putting his foot in his mouth again, not here in front of everyone else. Connie shut his mouth.

Hange hung their head.

“Eren has been missing in action for weeks. It’s unclear what his situation is, whether he abandoned his duties as a scout or…” Hange stopped themselves.

Everyone remained quiet, waiting for Hange to finish their sentence, but they couldn’t. They couldn’t muster the strength to picture Eren-

“Dead?” Armin had broken his silence.

All eyes turned to him. For some reason, Armin didn’t care about the incredulous looks he was getting. The possibility and reality had crashed onto him. Connie was going to say it anyway, had you not stopped him.

Your heart cracked. If only there was a way you could extend yourself to bring Armin into your embrace along with Mikasa.

“He’s not dead!” Mikasa’s voice echoed.

She broke free from your hug and stood to her full height and slammed her palms on the table. Sasha fell backwards on her ass at the shock. All of the dishes clattered and shook at the impact. Then, she pointed a shaky finger at Armin.

“Take it back!” She demanded. “Eren is alive! I know he is!”

Mikasa left no time for Armin to redact his statement just as she demanded him to. Armin blinked, his head bobbing backward ever so slightly. Mikasa’s neck snapped to Hange.

“Hange, let me stay behind. I’ll keep looking for him, I can find him!” She desperately pleaded.

“That’s not a good idea.” Levi shook his head.

The room had taken a complete one hundred and eighty degree turn. The sound of Levi’s voice alone sent smoke coming out of Mikasa’s ears like a kettle on a flame. You watched Jean cover his ears and squeeze his eyes shut, already becoming overstimulated by the tense environment. Connie’s eyes were as wide as the plate he ate off of. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to watch Mikasa’s meltdown, or avert his eyes somewhere else so as to not wrongfully make eye contact with her and be the next person she yells at. Sasha sat on the floor, frozen, mouth agape and unsure of what to do next.

You bit the inside of your lip. Levi was correct, of course and as usual. It was a terrible idea for Mikasa to say behind. She would have no ally’s or resources to conduct an investigation on a missing soldier on her own. There was no way Armin would allow Mikasa to stay here alone. You knew he would volunteer himself to stay along with Mikasa if he needed to. And if Armin stayed here, then you would have to as well. Even worse, what if Mikasa had been caught as an Eldian from Paradise? You could already visualize the dominoes and how they would fall.

You put a hand on Mikasa’s shoulder and sighed.

“Mika…” You said carefully and softly.

Mikasa turned to you sharply. Her eyes stabbed you in the chest, and your blood ran cold. Mikasa was your best friend, and you weren’t necessarily scared of her, but you definitely didn’t want to be on the sharp end of her attitude.

“Don’t ‘Mika’ me!” She shoved your hand away. “This is wrong and you all know it! We can’t leave Eren, we just can’t! He wouldn’t leave any of us behind!”

The irony in Mikasa’s negotiation made you nauseous. Everyone shifted uncomfortably. Again, no one wanted to say what they were thinking. Mikasa was already incredibly upset. No one wanted to twist the knife. Levi, however, didn’t seem to mind doing so.

“He’s already left us behind. It’s been damn near a month, and that little shit hadn’t bothered to even write to us.” Levi said.

He stood up from his chair. His black hair glistened under the light in the room. His arms were still folded across his chest as he stood to his height.

“I know it sucks because you love him, or whatever. But it’s either we stay here and risk all of our lives on this god forsaken continent, or we escape by the skin of our teeth and leave Eren to fend for himself. We’ve all risked our lives for Eren before, but this is too risky. We’d be putting our whole island at jeopardy if we were busted out as Eldian’s. Does that sound like it’s worth risking, for him?”

Levi’s tangent was heavy. Again, Levi was correct.

Mikasa’s lip wavered. She saw black as anger consumed her aura. She wanted to scream at Levi, tell him to shut up, tell him he was wrong. But her tongue was tied with emotions. A sob left her chest as she took off. She stormed towards the exit, the door practically flying open before her, and disappeared. There was an eerie silence, similar to the calm after a terrible rainstorm. Everyone was too stunned to say or do anything except look at each other.

Sasha was still sitting on the floor. Her mouth hung open in an amazed ‘o.’ Levi sucked the back of his teeth in his signature “tch” and sat back down. Sometimes, it was all he could really say. Sasha stumbled to her feet like a newborn deer.

“Mikasa, wait!” Sasha called. She zoomed to catch up to Mikasa, not even looking back at her comrades or superiors for a reaction

You were absolutely gobsmacked. Yes, Levi was correct on every single point. It wouldn’t be wise to stay, as all of your lives were now on the line. You had no choice but to follow Hange’s orders, but you sympathized with Mikasa more than logic wanted to allow. Leaving Eren behind after everything you all lost, gained, and put at risk for him seemed… unreal. This all felt like a nightmare, as if you were still in your dream from earlier.

“Well, shit.” Connie heaved. He finally felt like he could release the breath he had been holding.

Jean cracked an eye open, examining his surroundings and slowly removing his hands from over his ears. Levi’s lips were drawn together tightly and eyebrows drawn in as he looked up at Hange, both of them shared conscience-stricken glances. It was expected that Mikasa, out of everyone, would be the most upset, but her outburst was magnificent to behold.

Armin had squeezed his hands together so tightly, his fingers had gone numb. His lips were kept straight, hi s face relaxed, but his eyes told all. If Armin really wanted to, he could cry over not seeing Eren again. And if he tried hard enough, he could laugh at the irony. He wasn’t sure where in the lines of this situation it was painted, but he could practically taste it. His irises slowly raised from looking at his lap, to making eye contact with you.

You scanned the room, observing everyone’s body language and mood. You weren’t sure what to say or do next. Out of everyone in the room, you wanted to go to Armin and embrace him, squish him to his chest and squeeze the pain out of his spirit. But, alas. Not here.

Without another word you quickly followed in pursuit behind Sasha, putting in work to keep up behind them both.

Mikasa ran straight to her hotel room and threw herself onto her bed. She screamed in agony into her pillows. It would be no surprise that she might have been heard on other parts of the hotel floor. For a moment, Sasha wrapped herself around Mikasa in a comforting hug. Mikasa sobbed into Sasha’s shoulder, and Sasha didn’t mind her shirt being soiled. She was notoriously terrible at offering advice and providing relief that isn’t humorous, there was little she could do here. You and Sasha exchanged faces at each other, unsure of where to start in unpacking all of this.

“It’s not fair!” Mikasa hollered one time over another.

Mikasa took her pillow in her hands and slammed it against the mattress as hard as she could, continuing her declarations of unfairness as she did so.

You and Sasha swapped places. Since you all would be leaving the next morning, it was best to start packing. Mikasa was fairly organized, so it didn’t take Sasha long to gather Mikasa’s things and put them away in her suitcase. You supported Mikasa’s anger from the sidelines. You were mainly making sure that Mikasa kept abusing her pillow and only her pillow. Lamps, books, and other non-soft breakable items were kept out of Mikasa’s immediate line of sight.

Even though Hange is the mastermind behind the scouts, the designated leader who had final say above everyone else, Mikasa blamed Levi. She swore up and down that it was his idea to leave Eren behind, that Levi never liked Eren to begin with. You and Sasha both knew that was untrue.

“I’m gonna rip that little bitch to shreds!” She gritted her teeth.

Mikasa balled her fists as tightly as she could to refrain herself from punching the walls. Mikasa always gave Levi a side eye, reluctantly following orders and every now and then disobeying them, calling him names whenever he left the room, and voicing certain acts of violence she wanted to inflict on him for the way he treated Eren. Mikasa insisted that Levi treated Eren like a step-child. She never learned, and in the case of Eren, she didn’t care what the repercussion would be for wringing the Captain’s neck.

“Don’t say that!” You tried to hush Mikasa just in case Levi happened to be near.

The fury was short lived. Mikasa huffed, sat back on the edge of her bed and began to cry. From that point on, the tears had not stopped. Her broken sobs had not lightened. You could see all of the pieces of Mikasa’s heart shattered on the floor. Mikasa clawed at her chest, leaving stripes of her fingernails across her flawless skin. She dug into herself as if there was anything she could bring out. Mikasa sunk her face into her pillow and screamed as loud and as hard as she could. All you and Sasha could do was stand in complete awe of the effect this disaster had done to your best friend.

Mikasa has been upset over Eren to the point of tears before. In less grander circumstances, Eren has said a phrase or two that would have hurt Mikasa’s feelings. Eren had never done anything this awful. Connie’s words played back in your mind. Eren was most definitely an asshole more times than not. Mikasa wasn’t the only one, you were a close runner up in some of Eren’s nonsense.

Hair seemed to be one of Eren’s favorite things to pick on. You always kept your hair in two neat braids away from your face. Eren often asked if you knew how to do anything else with it, and would sometimes tug on their curled tails when he thought you weren’t paying attention. In the mess hall, he’d flick small pieces of food at you. Nothing messy to stain your clothes or get on your face, but his aim was just perfect enough that a crust of bread he couldn’t be bothered to eat would land right in your soup. You never wasted time to pluck it out and chuck it back at him. By far, Eren’s favorite prank to pull on you was banging loudly on the door to your living quarters, jiggling the obviously locked handle, and pretending to break in. He did it at odd hours of the night, and sometimes early in the morning.

Through the red lenses of your vision, they were fond memories you would have and hold forever. But you were just too livid to see them from that point of view. Connie was right, after everything Mikasa had done for Eren is this the way he genuinely wants to treat her? Abandoning his post as a soldier, leaving his friends hanging high and dry in unknown and dangerous territory?

The scouts had saved Eren’s ass so many times, and if it wasn’t for any of you he would not be among the living. Armin vouched for him when it was revealed that Eren was really a titan, insisting that he wasn’t dangerous and that his power could be used for good. You thought he had gone mad. The original Levi Squad put their lives on the line to protect Eren against The Female Titan, leaving the other scouts in the dark about the real threat at hand. The caverns under the church was basically in the lowest part of Hell, you were convinced that the Devil himself would jump out from any corner. Nevertheless, you all went down anyway to rescue him and Historia with no real concern for your own lives. It was that day, during the battle with Kenny and his team, when you killed your first man. You did it all for Eren.

And this was the thanks you all got. It made you sick. You stood over Mikasa, lost in your own memories for just a moment, watching her unravel. This was no doubt her biggest heartbreak, and all you could do was watch. Even though Eren was a nightmare sometimes, for the first time in all the years you had known him, you hated him. You hated the way he hurt Mikasa. You hated the way he put Hange in a situation where they had to make a decision to leave him behind. You hated the way you saw Armin psyche break as he couldn’t come to terms with anything. You hated the way Eren left you to pick up his pieces.

“Mikasa, what can we do?” Sasha asked loudly. Mikasa’s crying bounced off of the walls.

“Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?” You cooed to her sweetly.

She declined, shaking her head. Her glossy black hair, that was always so shiny and looked so healthy, swished back and forth. You and Sasha stood over Mikasa as she howled in distress. Her face was wet with tears, snot slowly coming from her nose. The area around her eyebrows and her forehead were beat red. You excused yourself briefly to Mikasa’s bathroom, fetching the entire roll of toilet paper to bring her.

You came back and sat next to her, dabbing at her cheeks. You embraced Mikasa in another hug. Sasha helped herself to sitting on the bed, and took Mikasa’s trembling hand in hers.

You noticed that Sasha was particularly quiet, which was completely understandable. On top of watching her best friend suffer, and generally being awful at giving advice, Sasha was also upset about having to leave Eren. Who would take Eren’s place in their smoke rotation? Definitely not Mikasa, or Armin, or even you. Maybe, if they pressured him enough, Jean might crack. Sasha would have one less plate of leftovers, and one less tray to steal food off of. Sasha’s frown was deep and was quite unsettling to see, since she was always smiling and laughing at something or someone.

Even in the midst of your duty to tend to your best friend in her time of need, Armin couldn’t help but cross your mind. Where was he? What was he doing? How was he doing? Armin couldn’t hide his sorrows even if he sealed them in a vault with a lock and key. You had no idea what had happened in the meeting after you went to chase down Sasha and Mikasa. A sliver of regret pulled at your conscience, wishing you hadn’t left him at the table. Looking back, you probably should have stayed for his comfort.

Mikasa had to have been crying for at least an hour or two straight, and for the first time since coming back to her room her crying had stopped. She had bawled until her body had ran dry. Sasha quickly ran to grab her a glass of water. A drink seemed to calm her down significantly. Her weeping had settled down to pitiful hiccups.

“This is my fault.” Mikasa hushed under her breath. You squeezed her tighter.

“What makes you say that?” You pondered.

There was a pregnant pause. You and Sasha exchanged looks at each other as Mikasa blew her nose again. There was something she was leaving out, something that had gone unsaid until now. You both patiently waited until Mikasa collected herself. Then, she released a hard blow of air from her lungs.

“Do you guys remember when we found Eren at that campground?” Mikasa wondered, asking for context. You and Sasha both nodded.

“I caught Eren talking to that kid, the same kid who took Sasha’s purse. He was acting strange, saying weird stuff. He�� He basically asked me what kind of relationship we had, what he meant to me…” Mikasa confessed. Your grip around her shoulders loosened as Mikasa unloaded her conscience.

It was no secret to anyone that Mikasa was head over heels for Eren, but it was unclear what their relationship was defined as. Sometimes, they acted as if they were a couple that had been married for years and years. Mikasa doted on Eren, and they squabbled often. The fact that Mikasa had been adopted by Eren’s parents and were raised together as children blurred some lines.

“What did you say?” You wanted to know.

Mikasa’s throat bobbed as she gulped. Her face twisted up again in a sob. She rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand.

“I told him he was family. I-I must have made him mad. Maybe I said the wrong thing, or maybe I hurt his feelings…” She admitted with a crack in her voice.

Mikasa didn’t have much energy left to continue her full blown weeping, but she shed a couple of more tears from being temporarily hydrated. You rested your head on Mikasa’s shoulder as she sniffled some more.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sasha scoffed.

Your neck craned to her slowly, eyes wide with a nonverbal warning to mind her words. No, Sasha wasn’t good at giving advice, but it didn’t stop her from speaking her mind and calling bullshit whenever she saw it. Righteous, outspoken, and fiesty, Sasha was the friend who told it exactly how it was.

“You mean to tell us that Eren disappeared into thin air because he couldn’t stand being rejected? Is that what I’m comprehending right now?”

You weren’t sure where exactly Sasha was going with her tangent, but perhaps whatever she was about to say wasn’t what Mikasa wanted to hear, but rather it was what she needed. You could see Sasha’s anger rising higher and higher.

“So what if you don’t see him from a romantic perspective? That’s not your fault, and it’s not your problem that he can’t deal with his emotions like a normal person.” Sasha explained.

“But I do love him! I-I-I was just too stunned, I didn’t actually know what to say.” Mikasa replied. She twisted a wad of tissue anxiously in her hands.

“And that’s completely valid, don’t get me wrong! However, we’re here in Marley on a mission. He shouldn’t have fucked off the way he has. Look at you! You’re crying like someone just murdered your puppy. I’ve never seen you be so upset. You’ve barely eaten and barely slept in weeks.” Sasha pointed out. She spoke with her hands, waving them up, down, and around.

“And even Armin had problems coping! Y/N had to lure him out of his rabbit hole just so he could get some fresh air and sunlight!”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of you and Armin’s name being mentioned in the same sentence. You still hadn’t told Sasha or Mikasa anything about Armin. Eventually, you would, perhaps when you returned back home. Now, it seemed inappropriate to speak about your new relationship while Mikasa’s pain was equivalent to a break up. Even letting your stomach flip at the sound of his name seemed selfish.

Currently, all you could do was listen to Sasha’s preaching. You agreed with everything she was saying so far. You might have phrased a few things differently for Mikasa’s sake, but the core message all stayed the same.

“At this point, whatever Eren has going on in his stupid, fat, melon, man-brain is his problem. Not yours.” Sasha declared this statement as if it were a fact from a textbook.

While she raved, Sasha paced around the room. She helped herself back to sitting on Mikasa’s bed. Sasha grabbed Mikasa’s face and held it firmly in her hands, forcing Mikasa’s silvery eyes to meet her brown ones. Mikasa blinked rapidly, a few more tears falling down her cheeks.

“It’s not your fault.” Sasha stated firmly.

You watched as the two stared directly into each others souls. It was times like these where you felt closer with your girl friends more than ever. An ache clenched at your heart. There was a time when you three were just little Cadets and instead of being a group of three, it was a group of six. Krista was now Queen Historia, so it was almost impossible to see her whenever you just felt like it. Annie went off to join the Military Police after graduation. You exchanged a letter or two every now and then, but the last time you had laid eyes on her was when she was wreaking havoc in Stohess and capsulated herself in a crystal. Her whereabouts were unknown, and you could say the same for Ymir.

You, Sasha, and Mikasa were all that was left.

“Fuck him! You deserve so much better than what Eren has, could, and ever will give you. If I could, I would grab the biggest ladder in the world, climb it, pluck every star out of the sky like tiny little berries, and give them to you. Then, I would spoon feed them to you like the precious baby you are!” Sasha declared with her whole chest.

“Okay. Alright.” You decided to put an end to Sasha’s gospel, as you could sense she was about to go overboard.

“I agree with Sasha. You deserve someone who’s going to be there for you no matter what. This level of stress he’s always got you under… it’s not healthy, Mika.” You spoke softly, rubbing Mikasa’s back gently.

With no warning, Sasha sprung herself onto you and Mikasa in a gigantic hug. Her upper body strength constricted you all together, cheeks squishing together. Sasha groaned as her arms held you all tighter and tighter. You were definitely feeling the love. You coughed under Sasha’s grip, her affection and solidarity for girl-power restricting your airways.

Mikasa was caught in the middle between her two best friends. She squeezed her eyes shut. Mikasa sensed that some pieces of her fragmented soul were being cemented back together. Of course, it wouldn’t hold and solidify overnight.

“I love you guys so much! Men suck, and if anyone hurts either one of you, I’ll fucking kill them.” Sasha promised.

“Cool, Sasha, let me go! Please, you’re choking me!” You pleaded.

Laces in between Sasha’s oath and your desperate gasps for air something flickered inside Mikasa’s chest that as long as she had the two of you, plus Armin and Connie and Jean, she might just be alright.

It went without saying that no one felt any better than they did the day before. Bags were packed, people tossed and turned all night in final hopes that Eren Would miraculously show his face. He didn’t. So the following morning, just as planned, everyone was aboard the boat home by 9 AM. Finally by 9 AM sharp they said sail back to Paradise.

Apart from the ship, tearing through the open ocean waters, no one under the word. Mikasa had a firm grip on Eren’s suitcase, clutching it for dear life. The contents inside were all that remains of him. He had hardly unpacked anything. All of Eren’s personal belongings stayed perfectly in their place, barely touched. Armin found that quite odd, since Eren was less than his definition of organized. It took more time for Armin to put away his own belongings than it did for him to gather Eren’s.

Jean clapped Armin on one shoulder well Connie placed his hand on the other. You couldn’t make out what they were saying, but you could only guess that they offered their support. They mirrored you and Sasha, whose arms were linked together with Mikasa, and she sat in between you both. Mikasa was a quiet girl to begin with. Not shy or timid in the slightest. What more could be said or done? She stayed with her as she cried herself to sleep. She probably didn’t have any more tears left to cry

Armin’s hands gripped the side railings, holding his breath as the city line of Marley faded into the background. He clenched his jaw so hard, he could feel his back molars pressing onto each other. You were so occupied with Mikasa, you were unable to visit Armin to give whatever comfort you could. You eyed him closely. He nodded and shrugged as he, Connie, and Jean whispered among each other. You waited until they gave him space. Connie sat next to you, reaching across your lap to put a hand on Mikasa’s knee. He kept his mouth shut, but Mikasa could feel his tenderness in his touch.

“Everything will be okay, Mikasa.” Jean mumbled. His cheeks filled with blush.

It was all Jean could come up with. It wasn’t as romantic or as normal as he wanted to sound, but it came from his heart. Jean wasn’t sure if competing for Mikasa's hand would be easier or more complicated now that her heart has been broken. Whatever elbow grease was needed to help her heal Jean will put in the effort overtime.

“Thank you, Jean.” Mikasa replied. Her nose, lips, engine were buried under her signature red knitted scarf.

Armin still stood alone. You moved past Connie’s arm to stand and quietly made your way to speak to Armin. You approached him carefully so as to not startle him. His focus was trained on the water below.

“Hi.” You spoke softly. Armin blinked, giving you a weak smile.

“Hi.” He said back. A beat of silence rolled past.

You try not to focus on the water below, just looking out at the waves made your stomach uncomfortable. You got, unsure of what approach to take with Armin. More than anything you wanted to embrace him a hug kiss them across, bless cheeks and hold them close. However, you had a feeling that you were being watched. Feeling and touching all over him in front of your comrades, superiors, and other civilians aboard wasn’t a good idea.

“Sorry I didn’t come see you last night.” You apologized.

Armin turned to look at you for the first time this morning. You looked so beautiful to him in the open, fresh ocean air. Your hair flew back against the breeze, the sun kissing your skin and making you blow. A bashful yet sorrowful smile was curved on your lips. Armin’s own lips burned to be on yours. He licked them.

Just when he thought you couldn’t get any sweeter, you surprised him. Here you were, apologizing for something out of your control. It was increasingly obvious that Armin’s feelings for you had gotten stronger overnight. You barely said a thing and yet here he was, melting in your presence more than usual.

“Don’t worry about it.” Armin shrugged dismissively.

“How are you feeling?” You wanted to know. You moved a centimeter closer, making Armin’s heart pick up it’s pace.

Armin shrugged again. He looked away, breaking the mild eye contact you both held. He blinked out into the horizon. The clear sunny day, the crispy water around the boat, and Armin’s eyes were all the same color. Aesthetic wise, if the ocean were a person, it would be Armin.

He couldn’t deny the heaviness in his chest. Armin was still, understandably, confused about the turn of events. Angry, he may never get the closure everyone deserved. Scared for Eren’s safety. Armin concluded that, no matter what the others might say and despite statistics, Eren was still alive. He could feel it sitting hard and firm in his gut. Armin looked down at his shoes.

“I’m sad.” He confessed.

His answer held a different hue of honesty compared to when Jean and Connie checked on him.

You watched his Adam’s apple bob as he gulped. The lips you desperately wanted to kiss were tied together with a frown. You bit the inside of your lip and reached for the hand closest to you. You placed your palm over his knuckles. A simple gesture. Armin looked back at you once again. His eyes softened tremendously thanks to your touch.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Armin wondered out loud.

This feeling in his chest sucked. He wouldn’t wish this level of loneliness upon his worst enemy. Perhaps Armin wasn’t there enough for Eren. Maybe he didn’t listen well, or care about things as much as Eren did. Whatever the behavior was, Armin would not repeat it with you.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a nod.

“I mean anything. Even if I’m the problem.” Armin insisted.

You chuckled.

“I seriously doubt that would ever happen.”

Armin tucked his top lip behind his bottom row of teeth, apprehensive of his next words. He didn’t put it past himself that at some point he might screw up. It was only fair that Armin let you know that you could tell him anything and everything, just as he could be honest with you. You had gone out of your way just to prove it. The same date to the pier was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. He owes you big time, and then some.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so… distracted.” Armin sighed anxiously.

He flipped his hand around, locking his fingers in between yours with a gentle squeeze. He drew a wavering breath in, and a shaky breath out.

“Armin,”

“But I promise when we get home, things will be different. You’ll be my top priority.” He swore.

You couldn’t help but beam at his proclamation. It was quite clear that Armin what is a sensual and romantic person. You could tell by the way he made a move on you in the tent, how he fucked you both times, and you peeped the binders of his stacks of books. At least one had a lovey-dovey title. You pondered what tricks he might have up his sleeve.

Armin didn’t digest the words you kindly spoke to him at the pier, that Eren’s troubles had nothing to do with Armin himself. But now, he could see what you meant. Even if he didn’t understand the full picture. Whatever Eren was up to now was out of his hands. All that he held onto now, literally and figuratively, was you.

There was no way Armin was going to let you go. You squeezed his hand back.

“I’ll do the same for you too.” You nodded as you spoke.

As much as you hate it, too, you released your hand from Armin’s. It was a bit of a shame that your stomach was now getting upset. You had no time to eat breakfast, plus the rock of the ship made you feel uneasy. If you look down at the rushing water, one more time you might get sick. Armin reframed a chortled laugh as you excused yourself back to your seat, claiming your spot right in between Mikasa and Connie.

Low and out of Connie’s ear shot, Sasha leaned in to speak to you.

“You know, you still have to wash that hand.” Sasha commented. You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, shut up.”

thank you. reblogs and feedback are appreciated! arlertwitch © 2023. all rights reserved. do not translate or repost any works by arlertwitch on any other platforms. violators will be prosecuted in accordance within the law.

#this part is kinda boring #it’s all downhill from here folks #my writing #heat waves #armin imagine #armin arlert #armin x afab reader #armin x y/n #armin x reader #armin x you #armin x fem reader #armin x black reader #armin one shot #armin smut #armin fluff #armin angst

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chezzywezzy · 2 years

Text

Yandere Brahms Heelshire (5/5)

Word count ; 3.0k

*Edited:3

“Brahms! At least wait until we’re sitting down,” I scolded lightly as I swatted at him.

Brahms had already stolen his plate of casserole and was starting to cut into it. So I couldn’t help but prevent him from doing so - even though I knew he wouldn’t start eating until I was looking away.

We went over to the table, and he sat at the opposite end of the long table. We made eye contact for a prolonged period of time. I knew he was waiting for me to turn around, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to know what my captor looked like, and the curiosity was growing with every meal made.

“You can’t see my face, Y/n, look away,” he squeaked, squeezing his fork tightly.

“…Why? You can’t always wear that mask,” I retorted eagerly. I noted that during the past week, my anxieties had greatly decreased, despite the frightening circumstances. So I had the bravery to talk down to the man from time to time.

“…Because Y/n won’t like Brahms’ face. Brahms doesn’t want to scare Y/n,” he answered, sincerity laced in his voice.

“…Oh.” I was caught off guard by the innocent honesty. “Well, I won’t be. I want to see your face, Brahms.”

He visibly tensed. He dropped his fork and reached for the mask carefully. He paused just as he was about to tug it off, and our gazes connected. My heartbeat accelerated. There was an odd amount of intensity in the air.

“Go on,” I prodded once more.

With that, he pulled it off. I was rather surprised to see that instead of a creepy old man, it was the face of a roughed-up, scarred but handsome, young man. The right side of his face was scalded, most likely from a fire once upon a time. But even with such an imperfection, he was amazing to look at. A handsome face to match his strong figure.

He frowned and went to put the mask back on. I startled myself as I reached forward. “No! No, please don’t wear the mask. You look better without it… Brahms.”

His unkept eyebrows raised and he gently sat the mask on the table. “Really?”

I already knew that I was blushing intensely. I stuttered, "W - well, yes. You have a nice face and stuff.”

He was caught off guard, and he became bashful. Clearly, he was pleased to hear it, as he pulled away from the mask and went to gorge down on the food. I had to knock myself out of my stupor, still shocked from the sheer attractiveness of my captor. That was a major red flag for me - I mean, who found comfort in their kidnapper? That’s right up Stockholm syndrome alley.

The meal was silent as usual. Thank god for that, because I was way too flustered to comprehend words. I couldn’t help but occasionally glance at him, entranced by the dashing scar that covered half of his face. I mentally slapped myself every time, knowing better than to gawk at a murderer.

“Y/n?” Brahms suddenly spoke, having finished his meal.

“…Yes, Brahms?”

“Can I play the piano for you?” he requested shyly, using his child-like voice.

“You can play?” I asked curiously, rising to my feet, starting to clean up.

“Yes. Can I?” he pleaded eagerly, taking some of the dishes from me politely.

“Of course, Brahms. I didn’t realize you could. It suits you, though.”

Making my way towards the kitchen with Brahms trailing obediently behind me, I dropped off the dishes in the sink. The entire time while I was washing the dishes, Brahms was keen on getting touchy with me. It was unnerving at first, but I eventually leaned into his gentle caresses.

I scrubbed the silverware as his fingers danced over my waist. He felt and grabbed at my side, and his chest pressed against my back hungrily. Tingles were sent up my spine as his fingers drifted up to my shoulders and then my neck. He caressed my exposed flesh for a moment before fully wrapping his arms around my midsection. I almost spaced out when I felt his head bump against mine, the glass mask pressing into my hair. I became acutely aware that he was sniffing it. One of his hands came up and played with it, twirling my locks in his grasp.

From all the needy affection, I knew that my cheeks had to be incredibly flushed. A burning sensation gathered in between my legs, one that I cared to halt, so I sloppily dried off the last dish and stepped the side, away from Brahms. He was clearly disappointed, letting out a mewl, but I refused to go any further with him.

If anything, I sensed annoyance, an he stepped closer to me. I had to crane my neck back in order to meet his intense yet loving stare, one that I almost longed for. His masked visage was drawing closer.

I pressed my hands to his chest and once again created distance. “Are you going to play the piano for me?”

Brahms let out a low sigh. “Ah, yes please, Y/n.” He grasped my hand and intertwined the fingers before pulling me to the study.

I was getting rather comfortable with how touchy the man was. Clingy, needy, but oddly cute. And I hated that. How my brain was rationalizing his actions. How good he was treating me. How touch-starved and lonely I was, so much so that I easily threw away my trauma. I hated how good I was with him.

Upon entering the study, he pulled me to sit next to him on the bench. My heart raced in my chest as our arms brushed against one another. I held my breath as he started playing.

I was entranced with Brahms playing. His fingers were graceful and he didn’t waste even a moment to ponder what to play. It was as though he was one with the piano; his playing was beautiful. His fingers glided across the keys, the pacing perfect. What he was playing was one of Beethoven’s pieces that I’d become well-acquainted with during my stay. It started off peaceful, quiet, and then accelerated to booming, roaring action. His playing conveyed so much emotion, and I was positive this was the first time I had seen Brahms focus completely away from me.

He slowly came to a stop, finger lingering on the final key. He turned to me, eyes begging for attention and compliments. I recovered and met his gaze. “That was beautiful, Brahms.”

He let out a quiet squeak of delight, turning his body towards me. “Can I get a reward for being a good boy?” he requested bashfully, playing with his fingers.

“Well, what type of reward, Brahmsy?” I replied with a tilt of my head.

“Kiss.”

“Kiss?”

“Kiss.”

I bit my lip. Oh, how badly my body wanted to say yes. I wanted to completely erase any marks Malcolm had left on me. And Jason. Both of those… scumbags. Besides, it would just be a kiss; it’s not as though I’d caught feelings for the man.

“Fine.” I carefully reached to his mask. “May I?”

Brahms nodded.

I took it off, blushing as I investigated the details of his face, from the dimples to the wrinkles. My hands traced his recently shaved neck and I cupped his cheeks. My heart was beating so loudly I wouldn’t have been surprised that Brahms heard it too. I leaned towards him, and Brahms reciprocated eagerly, crashing his lips against mine.

The kiss started off small and sweet, lacking movement, but he quickly gained confidence. He grabbed my waist and back of my head, deepening the kiss. My body was on fire and I couldn’t help but return the passion, letting myself fall deeper into the kiss. Our lips molded together perfectly, more perfect than they ever had with Malcolm or Jason. I fully enveloped my arms around his neck.

Before I knew it, Brahms suddenly stood up, picking me up with him. I shrieked, breaking the kiss, but I was quickly tossed onto the love seat. My back pressed into the pillows and I kept my legs wrapped around his ribs. I pulled his lips onto mine again, falling completely into him. Oh, Brahms was making me feel a certain kind of way.

Brahms was grinding against me, and pulling away from the kiss, he made a trail of butterfly kisses against my neck. He pushed himself against me fervently, and I felt a bulge beginning to press into my crotch. My stomach was fluttering and I was massively turned on from the desperate attention the man was thrusting upon me.

Moans escaped from my lips, making Brahms attack my neck further. My hands found themselves gripping at his shirt, trying to feel at his bare chest. I explored his toned body thoroughly and he began to do the same, fingers grabbing at my chest and massaging my breasts.

I stopped myself before falling into a haze of attraction. I suddenly pushed Brahms away, both of us panting furiously. I wasn’t going to let it happen. I wasn’t going to fall into old habits with a man who was holding me hostage. I should at least get to know him better first —

“Please, Y/n,” he cried quietly.

His childish voice immediately turned me off and I scowled. “You - you got your kiss, no more. I’m not interested in doing that. You still… you still killed people. You still did bad things, Brahms, so don’t think I’m letting you into my pants that easily.”

Brahms let out a mewl of disappointment, pulling away. He stood up properly and readjusted his tank top. I sat up and fixed my shirt, casting my gaze away. “Besides, next time you try that, don’t talk like that. It’s weird and creepy. No woman would want to have sex with a wanna-be child,” I scolded, hiding my attraction with intense reprimands.

Brahms bowed his head and nodded shamefully. “Sorry, Y/n,” he sniffed.

I instantly became mortified. Was he crying? I blubbered, "Wait, no, don’t cry! I was just tense, don’t be like that.”

Brahms let out another sniffle and turned away. Oh, why was I being sympathetic? I sighed and rose to my feet. I hugged him from behind, securely wrapping my arms around his waist. “Seriously, it’s not worth crying about. Nothing to be done about it now.”

His shakings came to a stop and he appreciated the hug. After a few minutes, he stated, "Sorry, Y/n.” He seemed to be back to normal, so I ended the hug.

“Stop apologizing,” I stuttered. “It’s whatever. I… can I go for a jog now?”

“No,” Brahms boomed, turning to face me. He glared threateningly, and I instantly became wracked with terror. All the wholesome hodgepodge had made me forget that the man was scary. A murderer.

I took a step back, my heart racing for a different reason. “O - okay. T - then what do you want to do, Brahms?”

“Read to me,” he requested coldly, a menacing warning in his tone.

“R - right away, then.”

I went to the bookshelf and picked a poetry book. Brahms followed behind me, breathing down my neck. I hated that the notion caused my fear to turn to attraction.

I went to sit down on the loveseat, but Brahms beat me to it. I lost my balance and plopped on his lap, and before I could move off him, his arms wrapped around me and locked me in, trapping me on his lap. He still had a raging boner that was pressing into my butt.

“Read,” he demanded, pulling me closer to him. He placed his head on my shoulder, nuzzling into me.

“Y -yes, Brahms.”

~~~

I reopened my eyes once Brahms gave me the go signal. The man had a towel wrapped around his waist and I eyed him up and down, feelings blooming in my chest. I’d lost count of how many days, weeks, had passed since it had just been me and Brahms; I had yet to find a time to run away, hell, time to even think about it, as Brahms managed to consume every moment of every day.

And I hated that I didn’t mind it. I didn’t mind when he kissed me, cuddled me, sniffed my hair. In fact, I had grown to enjoy it. I felt loved, even if his actions were obsessive and maniacal.

Brahms had just finished showering, and I, of course, had to be in the bathroom with him. I couldn’t help but admire his physique, toned and muscular, better than any of my former partners had.

Brahms even took off the mask when showering. He smirked at me, almost as though he knew my thoughts. I huffed and turned to the mirror, starting to brush my teeth. Brahms changed from behind me, shuffling and moving around.

He finished before I did, wrapping his arms securely around my waist and, as usual, sniffing my hair. I paid his actions no heed, spitting out the remaining toothpaste and splashing my face with cold water.

I exited the bathroom and Brahms followed me loyally. The phone suddenly rang. Brahms glared at me, but I dismissed his small temper tantrum. “It’s just Ryleigh,” I reminded him, throwing myself onto the mattress.

I picked up the phone. “Hey girl, what’s popping?”

“You sound energetic. Isn’t it late there? Gosh, don’t tell me you’ve had sex, you’re only this way when you’ve had a nice dicking,” she instantly answered.

I rolled my eyes. Brahms laid down beside me. “I’ll have you know that no, I did not have a nice dicking. Or any dicking whatsoever. I’m not that way anymore.”

“Touche. Anyways, I got a job, and you won’t believe where.”

“Here in Britain, right?”

“You weren’t actually supposed to guess,” she whined. “But yes! Oh my god, I got a job working as a camerawoman for Love Island. That’s, like, my dream job that I never knew I had. I don’t start until next month, but I’ll be damned if I don’t go visit my bestie right away.”

I let out an excited gasp. “You’re kidding. Seriously? Love Island? The hottest, sexiest reality t.v. show? Girl, you gotta get me on that show —“

Brahms let out a growl fro beside me, enveloping me in a hug. I sighed and rolled my eyes once more.

“Weren’t you going steady with grocery boy, though? I guess you haven’t mentioned him recently. I should’ve known he wasn’t your type.”

“Yeah, it just didn’t work out. And when you’re here, I will be needed a knew grocery boy, so you’ll be that. Please?”

“Girl, of course. Anyways, I have some packing to do and a flight to sign up for. Good night, love you, sleep well, babes!”

“Good night, love you too. Call me tomorrow morning, ‘kay?”

I placed the phone on the receiver, flipping myself over. Out of habit, Brahms laid his head on my chest, and I played with his damp hair. I hummed a bit, serotonin in my veins.

“What did she say?” Brahms asked, trying not to reveal the jealousy I knew was there.

“She’s moving to Britain. She got a new job and everything,” I explained excitedly. “I know you still don’t trust me, Brahms, but pretty please let me go out on the town with her. I can even introduce you two! Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Brahms sent me a glower and huffed. “You’ll try to run away.”

“I haven’t even tried once.”

“Because I’m always with you.”

“You need to trust me, Brahms, and how can you ever do that if you don’t let me have some freedom?” I argued.

Brahs went silent, snuggling into my chest further. I sighed, realizing such a disagreement wouldn’t be solved tonight. I’d brought it up before, since I wanted to get back into jogging. I even proposed that he could come with me. But he shot down the idea. I felt like I was slowly chipping away at him, though, as he wasn’t as quick to argue earlier.

I wasn’t sure when the change had occurred, but with time, I’d grown to like Brahms. It was as though any memories of his previous misdemeanors had been completely forgotten. Not only forgotten, but excused. I had excused everything he’d done. Had I actually fallen for the man? Once upon a time I shuddered at the thought, but now… I just felt a vague sense of guilt.

I pushed Brahms off me. I went over and flicked off the lights. I stretched once more, heeding Brahms as he called me over. Brahms was impatient, but his behavior had grown on me. He was even teaching me a bit of the piano.

I went under the covers and turned on my side. Brahms mimicked my actions. He wrapped an arm around my waist and nuzzled his head into the back of my neck. Our legs intertwined, and the man let out a content sigh.

I did as well; it felt nice to be smothered every night. I felt… loved. I was acutely aware of how crazy the situation was, but I couldn’t help it. I had fallen for Brahms. I had yet to voice such thoughts, but maybe, just maybe, he’d be a bit more relaxed if I did.

“I love you, Y/n,” he whispered, placing a kiss on my neck.

“I love you too, Brahms,” I caved, pressing myself against him. I instantly froze when I digested what had passed through my lips. Brahms froze as well, clearly shocked by my reciprocation.

“Really?”

“I guess so.”

#yandere #brahms heelshire #the boy #brahms the boy #brahms x reader #brahms x you #the boy 2016 #yandere brahms #brahms hillshire #yandere male #yandere boy #x reader #x y/n #x you fluff #brahms fluff

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Dad of Destruction

requested by anon - thanks for the super fun request! I hope you enjoy :) (a picture of your request is at the bottom of the one shot)

Premise: You love Namjoon with all your heart, and you’re so happy that together, you get to raise this child. However, you also want that child to make it to adulthood in one piece, and Namjoon has a startling talent for breaking things. Mama bear mode = ON.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: none, but I’m so soft for this concept

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’d heard plenty of people joking about how much of a mama bear you’d be once the little one came along, you just never realized that they were right.

Sitting up in the hospital bed with the smallest, most beautiful bundle of joy wrapped up in your arms, you can almost feel this new side of you sliding into place.

“I won’t let anything hurt you. Ever.” You mumble the words out with tired but glowing eyes. Namjoon grunts in agreement from where he stands beside the bed, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his newborn daughter.

Giving him a soft smile, you can’t help but feel like you’re floating above the clouds with the way your daughter yawns in your arms, completely unaware of the world she’s just been born into.

Namjoon brushes your hair back behind your ear. “You must be exhausted,” he observes. You make a noise that resembles a yes. “Here, let me take her. You rest.”

Suddenly you’re wide awake. “N-no, it’s fine, Joon. I’ll hold her. I’m not that tired.”

“You sure?” There’s a small flash of concern in Namjoon’s eyes, but he knows to just let you have your way for now. After all, you did just go through a grueling delivery.

“Positive.”

~~~~

You can only get away with it for so long.

You manage to stay another night at the hospital, with Namjoon only ever holding Lily - that’s what you and Namjoon decided to name her - when you are in the room.

Preferably within arm’s length.

It’s not that you don’t trust Namjoon...

It’s just that you don’t overly trust him. Especially as you were reminded of his destruction abilities this morning when he very nearly broke the carseat as he attempted to get it set up in the back. With every crack and curse that he quietly spit out at the infernal device, you held Lily a little closer to your chest.

Winking down at the newborn, you faked a confident smile. “Daddy’s got it, don’t worry. We’ll get you home in one piece.”

Of course, you drove home. Namjoon tried to protest (he’d gotten his driver’s license six months ago purely for the ability to be able to drive his child around) but one look from you had him chewing on his lip while sheepishly sliding into the passenger seat.

The next few days comprised of a few small gatherings where the boys came bearing a ridiculous amount of gifts and even more ridiculous smiles once they spotted Lily. Everyone commented on her beautiful eyelashes, and argued over who she resembled more.

You secretly hoped she’d take after Namjoon’s side. If you were being honest, she already had little dragon eyes that resembled her father. It made your heart melt.

Your heart positively stopped beating altogether anytime Namjoon wanted to cradle Lily in his arms to show her to Jin or Tae.

Everyone noticed, and laughed. Your tense shoulders and unblinking eyes as you tracked Namjoon’s every movement had the boys in tears as they guffawed over your actions. Namjoon blushed, settling Lily in Tae’s eager arms.

It got worse once Namjoon realized that you relaxed once your daughter was in Tae’s arms.

Or Jin’s.

Or even your nosy neighbor’s, who had come prying not long after the boys had left.

It had been endearing to see you all protective before, but now it was offensive. Because you were trying to protect your daughter from him.

If Namjoon was being completely honest, he still didn’t quite trust himself to not mess anything up. But he’d at least like a vote of faith on your part.

So a couple of weeks later as the two of you sat across from each other at the dinner table, he wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up with you.

Your shoulders were slumped, your eyes drifting shut as you picked at your food. Namjoon watched, waiting to see if you were about to pass out in your dinner. When you didn’t, he decided it’d probably be nice to make some small talk.

“I can’t believe I have to head back into work tomorrow,” he sighed. Bighit had given him two weeks off to spend with you and Lily, and it was safe to say that he’d loved every moment of it. But it was time for him to head back into work.

You frowned at him over the table, and the part of him that was sad about having to return to work only doubled in size at the expression on your face.

“It’s gone by so fast,” you muttered. “Can’t we pull just one more week? I’m going to miss having you around all day.” A part of you also wondered what it would be like to feel like you could take a nap without keeping one eye open in case of an emergency.

Lily could handle herself, it was Namjoon that always kept you in high alert.

Not that you’d ever admit that to him.

Namjoon smiled softly, and you noticed just how exhausted he looked as well. Through and through, you two were equals. “I’m going to miss you guys.”

Plural. A thrill races through your body at the plural form of his words, reminding you that together, you’ve created a little family.

Pushing back in his chair, Namjoon looks contemplative. “You know, I bet I could take Lily with me to work sometimes. On the days where I’m just working in the studio. She’s young enough that I could just set up the little newborn swing and let her nap while I work. The boys would love that, too. And you could...I don’t know, take a nap?” He laughs a little, oblivious to how pale your face has gone at the notion of him taking Lily alone to work. “We’d be fine, I think. I’d take the diaper bag, and there’s a bathroom just down the hallway-”

The images of everything that could possible go wrong - one of them being an entire speaker being knocked off the table by your clumsy husband only to land on your helpless daughter - is enough to have you shooting to your feet.

“No way,” you sputter. “That’s definitely not happening. Not for a long, long time, Namjoon.” Heart thundering against your chest, you hardly notice the crestfallen expression on Namjoon’s face.

“It was just a thought-”

“And I’m putting a stop to that thought.”

“I just thought it might be nice for all of us-”

“Nice?” You must look like a gasping fish at this point. “Nice, Namjoon? No. I wouldn’t be able to rest without Lily here! You really think I could just leave her with you? What if something happened? What if you knocked something off your desk and hurt her? Spilled hot coffee on her? Forgot she was there? I...that would be a nightmare!”

Namjoon hardly has time to open his mouth to respond before you’re grabbing both of your dishes and rushing back into the kitchen to wash them. Chest rising and falling at a rapid rate, you hardly notice Namjoon’s presence at your elbow before he’s lightly nudging you to the side.

“Let me,” he mumbles quietly enough that you hardly catch the words. “Go to bed. I’ll finish up.”

You pay him no mind, scrubbing at the dishes with reckless abandon. Namjoon breathes in deeply, struggling to steady himself.

Tears are pooling in your vision now, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve lost all control over your emotions.

Over your life.

“I...” you sniffle in the direction of the sink, “I’m sorry, Joon. It’s just-”

“No, don’t apologize.” Namjoon nudges you again, pulling the sponge from your hands and setting to work on the dishes. “I know that everything is different and new, and you’re probably feeling out of balance. I should have thought about that. Lily is...your anchor right now. I was just upset, because that’s supposed to be my role.”

His words have your eyes widening as you realize that everything he said is correct. Namjoon doesn’t bother to look to see if his words rung true, opting to focus on the plate that has been clean for a while now but continuing to scrub at it.

“Go to bed,” he orders lightly, still not looking at you.

Mouth wide open, close it again. Then re-open it. “Namjoon, I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m just...freaked out.”

He nods curtly. “I know.”

~~~~

A part of you remembers feeling the bed dip not long after you’d collapsed upon it, letting you know that Namjoon was also settling down for the night. He’d gone completely still after sitting on the edge of the bed, looking over at you as though he might say something.

Instead, he’d slid under the covers as smoothly as possible before turning the lamp off.

It was one of the rare occasions that he’d managed to not tip anything over in his search for the lamp switch, but your exhausted brain hadn’t bothered to celebrate the occasion.

You were exhausted. And you realized that it wasn’t so much physical exhaustion as it was emotional.

Of course you didn’t want Namjoon to have to go back to work tomorrow, but you were also looking forward to a little sliver of peace knowing that you only had to worry about Lily.

Starting tomorrow it was just going to be you and Lily. A little team of two against the world.

Sleep completely overtook you, and Namjoon’s words managed to slither their way into your brain, following you into your dreams.

“She’s your...anchor. I was just upset, because that’s supposed to be my role.”

~~~~

You were so far gone into your dreamland that Lily’s cries took much longer to get to you that night. In fact, it was more the feeling of suddenly being alone in the bed that roused you from sleep than it was your daughter’s crying.

Completely disoriented and still half in a dream that had to do with anchors and Namjoon’s studio, you sit up in bed and struggle to rub the sleep from your eyes.

Another couple of minutes passed before you bolted out from under the covers, realizing that Lily had been crying, Namjoon was gone, and now it was utterly silent.

“Oh no.”

Wrapping your robe around your frame, you padded down the hallway to Lily’s room. Her door was open, with the soft light from her nightlight spilling out into the hallway. You’d just made it to her door when you heard Namjoon.

“See? We’re doing alright, Lils.”

Peering into the dimly lit room, your heart clenched and then completely melted at the sight before you.

Namjoon, clad in nothing but his basketball shorts and mussed hair, stared down at his daughter with a smile so soft that you were sure you’d never seen it before. His eyes, however tired, practically glowed with adoration. Ever so gently rocking back and forth in the rocking chair placed in the corner of the room, he only had eyes for his daughter.

Lily appeared to be utterly content in her father’s arms, already drifting back to sleep. The only sign that she was still somewhat awake was the little hand that reached up to grip Namjoon’s finger.

Together, your entire world swayed back and forth in the rocking chair that had taken an entire afternoon to put together. Quietly, gently.

And as Namjoon slightly adjusted his hold, he did so carefully. And that’s when you saw it.

The flicker of worry in his eyes as he brought Lily closer to his chest. The way he held his breath until she settled back into her sleepy daze. How that little smile reappeared as her little exhales tickled his skin.

Namjoon was learning, and judging by the fresh diaper laying atop the wastebasket by the door, he was doing just fine.

No thanks to you, of course.

At the sound of your sniffle, Namjoon’s head shot up. He winced, glancing down to make sure Lily hadn’t been rudely awoken.

His eyes found yours from across the room, and he immediately bit his bottom lip. He began to slow his rocking, preparing to let you take over.

You held up a hand. “No, it’s fine. Keep going.”

Namjoon froze for a moment before remembering to continue rocking. “...what?”

Shrugging, you silently make your way into the room and take a seat on a footstool beside Namjoon. “Keep going.”

“Are you sure?”

You give him an apologetic smile. “Yes. I...truly, I’m sorry, Namjoon. You’re just trying your best, and I haven’t given you any credit for that. You...” Tears blur your vision. “You’re a great father. And we both love you.”

Namjoon stares at you for a moment longer, eyes wide with emotion before looking down at Lily’s sleeping form. “How did we make something so perfect? She’s absolutely perfect.”

You giggle quietly. “Are you doubting my abilities, Mr. Kim?”

That soft smile splits into a boyish grin, the same he sported on your second date all those years ago.

“Of course not. Although it does make me wonder...”

Your eyebrows raise. “What?”

That grin doesn’t falter as Namjoon whispers, “What do think the chances are that the next one is just as perfect?”

Fighting the urge to punch his arm, you settle for rolling your eyes. “We are not even entertaining the idea of another kid right now, Joon. Our daughter just turned 2 weeks old. Give me a break.”

“I want to give you a break,” Namjoon presses, wiggling his eyebrows. “So how about you let me take her to work? That would be a great break for you. You wouldn’t have to worry about either one of us!”

“Nope.”

Namjoon frowns. “Still a no?”

You look at the small form in his arms, peacefully sleeping. “Absolutely not. Maybe when she’s 10.”

Gasping, Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with joy. “10?! I was thinking more like 3...”

“Nice try, loser.”

“4?”

You give him a long look, finally rising from where you sit. Pressing a kiss to Lily’s rosy cheeks before turning to brush your lips against Namjoon’s, you sigh.

“6. Final offer.”

Namjoon sighs, but appears to be content. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are when you negotiate?”

Heading toward the door, you stifle a laugh. “We are not having another kid right now, Joon.”

His sigh of disappointment has you grinning, feeling like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Once you’re back into the hallway, you turn to get one last look at this moment. Namjoon has already focused on Lily again, oblivious to your actions. The moonlight trickles in through the curtains, and that’s when you take a mental picture of this moment.

Of your love, your husband, your anchor. Holding your daughter in the soft moonlight.

masterlist

#bts as fathers #bts as dads #bts dad au #bts namjoon fluff #Namjoon fluff #namjoon husband au #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts fluff #seriously loved this idea #so cute #namjoon oneshot #namjoon imagine #namjoon soft hours #bts soft hours #bts and babies #bts x you

403 notes · View notes

inskz · 4 years

Text

lucky charm - lee minho

pairing - lee minho x reader

genre - college!au, best friends to lovers, very cliche fluff (lucky girl starring lindsey lohan kinda vibes???)

words - 4k

note - this is just a cute little drabble i wrote while im still waiting for my covid test results to come back so that i can leave my room and see the sun again 🤪 pls be careful everybody take care of your health 💚 enjoy!!!

- - - - -

“You must be kidding me,” you sigh when you see Minho’s hand has turned into a fist, his rock crushing miserably your scissors. Once again, you lost at rock, paper, scissors. And once again, you’re the one that is going to wash your best friend’s dishes that have piled up in is tiny kitchen sink throughout the week.

“Fuck that. This is so unfair,” you grumble, throwing the dishtowel in Minho’s stupid yet perfectly chiseled face.

You make a beeline for his bed, which is actually only a few steps away from the kitchen. Being a broke college student definitely doesn’t allow him to rent a spacious studio, let alone a two-room apartment. You throw yourself headfirst onto his uncomfortable mattress, whose springs always poke your back at night.

“Life is so unfair,” your friend mocks you, dragging out every vowel of his sentence dramatically.

No doubt, you would be strangling him at that very moment if you weren’t so busy playing dead, hoping he would forget about your pitiful existence.

But there is no way mister Lee Minho would miss out on an opportunity to have his gross plates cleaned by someone else. Grabbing onto your ankle, he drags you out of bed until you plop down on the dirty carpeted floor (Minho has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate vacuuming too). At this point, you are fake crying, throwing a literal tantrum, like a 6 years old child would.

“Life is unfair!” you yell, your feet kicking in the air in pure anger.

At least it is to you. You can’t remember the last time you’ve been lucky. The only instance you got remotely close to it was when you found a four-leaf clover last summer. Well, only if you disregard the fact you stepped into dog poop on your way to picking it. Oh and that you were wearing brand new white Converse.

On the other hand, it seems like the boy has the whole crew of the Olympus gods on his side. Not one day goes by without his guardian angel manifesting its presence.

Minho has always been the lucky type. The type to get an extra nugget in his box of 10. To find 20 dollars bills on the ground. To win every single Instagram giveaway he participates to (and lord knows how much he likes participating to them).

But how can you be mad at him when he always happily shares his food with you, invites you to the restaurant without you even asking, and gives you his prizes, pretending he doesn’t need them? You don’t believe him when he says he see no use in a panda onesie or a waterproof bluetooth speaker. Deep down, you know it’s his way to silently love you.

But well, you can still blame him for occasionally taking advantage of your misfortune to make you do his dreaded house chores, just like right now.

Everyone thinks you are a bizarre duo. Even you can’t fathom how in hell you two became best friends, considering how awfully your first encounter went three years ago.

On orientation day, he asked you for the time, probably because his phone was dead (or maybe because he was dying to talk to you?)

Without hesitation, you lifted and rotated your wrist so that you could see your watch. Little did you remember; you never actually owned a watch and you were holding a fancy 7 dollars iced coffee, which, of course, did not have a lid on because plastic is bad for the environment (duh).

Minho couldn’t help but burst out in hysterical laughter when the whole drink spilled on your jeans. For your defense, you didn’t sleep at all the night before since you were terrified of being alone in your new dorm room the first few days (weird stuff happens all the time in dorms, okay?). If he had asked you for your name, you probably wouldn’t even have been able to tell him.

But Minho thought you were the funniest person on campus, and he really needed a clown like you to entertain him throughout his endless college semesters. That’s what he told you anyways. Not that he thought you were the cutest human being he had ever seen.

Why would he when you are the literal definition of a mess: always having toothpaste stains on your sweater, bags under your eyes, messy hair, tripping and falling, missing buses, breaking things, losing stuff.

Most of the time, you just forget your keys and Minho lets you crash at his place since he hasn’t got any roommate and he isn’t used to sleeping alone, especially without his cats. It surely isn’t because he loves waking up next to a very groggy but adorable you every single morning, no.

Minho manages to bring you back to the countertop despite your reluctance. Positioned behind you, his arms trapping your body to make sure you can’t run away from your duties, he dips your hands into the soapy water, and you can’t help but squirm at the touch of an unknown substance sticking to a plate that has probably been soaking here for a week. You despise doing the dishes and your friend knows it.

You hear him giggle in your ear while he is playing with your arms like you are some type of marionette, making you to take the sponge and squeeze dish soap onto it.

You’ve never been the kind to like proximity nor seemed to be Minho, but for some reason, you always end up glued to each other. You hate public displays of attention and pet names a little less when it comes from him. Or maybe you don’t hate it at all and actually crave it every single minute that goes by.

Before he has the time to come up with the Machiavellian idea to soak your pajamas in dirty water (because you know he would inevitably have at some point), you yank his hands off of you and start scrubbing angrily the dirty cups.

Minho stays behind you anyways, observing your every move, his chin propped up on your shoulder like a curious little bird. To be honest, his presence is kind of getting overwhelming. But whatever, it’s not like his slightest touch makes your heart warm up in comfort or that he smells like fresh linen drying out on the porch of a cottage house on a sunny Sunday morning or anything.

“You missed a spot. Here” he murmurs teasingly, his lips almost touching your earlobe, while he points at the handle of his hideous ‘world’s greatest dad’ mug Jisung gifted him last christmas.

You know he has noticed the way you shivered violently at the feeling of his breath tickling your skin because he starts snickering loudly.

“I swear to god if you don’t shut up and go seat on the couch, I’ll slap you so hard with this spatula you’ll regret you were even born,” you say, turning around suddenly to menace him with the plastic utensil.

Of course, he isn’t afraid one bit. Right now, you really wish you could make the smug, but oh so attractive, look on his face disappear.

“Alright, ma’am” he laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’ll let you do your thing”. He lets himself fall onto his dingy couch.

You can hear him humming one of his favorite songs above the sound of the water running. It would probably be getting on your nerves if his voice wasn’t so pretty.

“Chan’s sick, so we’re not going to the gym tomorrow night. Do you wanna eat tacos? El Huero has even better deals than usual” he asks you, scrolling mindlessly through his phone.

“Aren’t the deals supposed to be on Tuesdays?” You frown and scrub a little harder the frying pan Minho has burnt the night before while trying to make chocolate chips pancakes for diner, because why eat savory food when you can have dessert for every meal, right? It is one of the few advantages of living without your parents you both truly enjoy.

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Tomorrow,” he yawns, probably exhausted after what you put him through last night. You forced him to catch up on the entire season of Love Island because you desperately needed someone to bitch with, and what better partner than Lee Minho.

You take a quick glance at him and see him stretching himself across the cushions like a cat. You always thought there was something feline about his features. While you’re drying the mugs with the dishtowel, your mind wanders uncontrollably, thinking about his piercing eyes, his delicate nose, the corners of his lips that curl up a little…

All of the sudden, your hands freeze. Minho is too immersed in TikToks to notice the stupor on your face. “Wait. Today is… Monday?” you stutter.

Alarmed by the sound of your voice, his eyes finally leave his phone’s screen to look up at you. “Yeah” he repeats slowly as if you are the dumbest person he has ever encountered.

And you truly are. You are pretty sure your heart has stopped beating. Minho’s “world’s greatest dad” mug you’re holding slips between your fingers and comes crashing on the floor with a deafening sound. The pieces are now scattered all around you, making you unable to make out what’s written on it anymore. Not a big loss, if you ask.

“Y/N, you know that’s my favorite mug!” he exclaims, leaping up from the couch. “I’m sure you did it on purpose,” he mutters while he’s trying to collect the small fragments, in vain.

But you’re too shocked at this very moment to pay attention to the glare your friend is giving you. To be honest, Minho has only two moods: glaring at you or teasing you.

“My interview,” you finally manage to say, and Minho’s eyes go wide as he realizes the critical situation you’re in.

You check the time on the microwave: 10:45. In 30 minutes, you’re supposed to be on the other side of town, being interrogated by boring businessmen that are going to decide whether or not you’ll be accepted for a paid internship in one of the most reputable music label of the country. Basically, decide whether you’ll live a happy and fulfilling life, working in the sector you’ve always dreamed of or end up miserable with a boring office job and a massive college debt.

“Holy shit,” Minho whispers. You can see a wave of panic washing across his face for a split second, but, as always, he manages to find his composure back immediately.

He has never been the kind to lose his cool, except to scold you when you forget the names of his cats and their respective coats’ color (which you unfortunately often did forget).

“What are you doing? Get dressed!” He tells you when he sees you’re still standing there dumbfounded in the kitchen, like the famous Robert Pattinson meme, wearing an oversize Kermit the frog shirt with a dozen holes in it and his favorite Adidas sweatpants you always stole from him.

“No, it’s too late. I can’t make it,” you mutter, your breath short. You’re paralyzed, as if there is a 20lbs rock sitting at the bottom of your stomach, pinning you to the ground.

This isn’t bad luck, you think. This is karma. This is what you get for skipping classes to watch telereality shows in your bed with your best friend and not even realizing it isn’t the weekend anymore.

“Miss me with that bullshit.” He runs to his closet and rummages through his drawers, throwing every piece of clothing that’s on his way to find an appropriate outfit that would fit you.

“You’re gonna go do this interview even if I have to drag you all the way there.” He pushes you into his bathroom since you still haven’t moved an inch.

You manage to brush your teeth and your hair, fighting through the nauseous feeling that is building up in your tummy.

When you come back to the living room, Minho has found dress pants and a sweater that might not look utterly ridiculous on you. He lets you change in a corner, while he runs around the room collecting all your essentials.

“You’re coming?” you ask him when you see he is already wearing his puffer jacket.

“You really think I’m gonna let you go all by yourself when you’re literally not even able to put your shoes on properly”. You are, indeed, struggling with your laces, as if your fingers are suddenly made out of butter.

Minho ties them up for you and you literally feel like he’s your babysitter. You know you’re gonna hear about this for months – what are you saying- years! But all you can think about at the moment though, is the fact that sneakers are definitely not appropriate for an interview.

He throws your warmest coat at you, grab his keys, and by some type of miracle, you’re both out to the door in less than 10 minutes.

You try to call the elevator, but Minho grabs your arm and leads you to the staircase. His hand never leaving yours, he runs down the stairs and you have no choice but to follow him as fast as you can.

You can’t count how many times you missed a step and fell at this particularly slippery spot, between the 5th and the 4th floor, but weirdly enough, it doesn’t happen today.

When you finally reach the ground floor, you exit the complex and Minho hops on his old and rusty bike that he had attached to nearest tree the night before.

“There’s no way I’m riding behind you on this death machine,” you laugh nervously. The memory of that one time Minho convinced you to seat into his bicycle basket (as if you could even realistically fit in it) and you both fell seconds after he started to pedal is coming back to your mind.

Sure, it was after a long night of drinking, you were both tipsy and it was the only way to get you home since you had spent all your uber money at the bar, but still! You’re pretty sure the bruise on your butt hasn’t disappeared to this day.

“Hurry up,” Minho groans, ignoring your complaint. You unwillingly seat on his flimsy pannier rack and wrap your arms around his torso.

You haven’t even left, yet you’re already holding onto his puffer jacket for dear life. A giggle escapes your friend’s mouth (which you think is very inappropriate in such a desperate situation) before he lifts his feet off the ground and starts pedaling.

You try to ignore the loud squeaking of the bicycle drive by shutting your eyes tighter and rehearsing your introduction you have prepared over and over in your head. No matter how hard you are trying, you can’t remember what you are supposed to say just after your age (which, as you can imagine, isn’t really far into your monologue).

By the way the wind is lashing your face, you can tell Minho has picked up the speed. His breathing is getting louder, his heartbeat faster and you can’t help but think you’re probably way too heavy for him to bike you around like that. Maybe he shouldn’t skip his gym sessions with Chan so often. Or maybe you shouldn’t have eaten the leftover pancakes for breakfast after all.

You find the courage to open your eyelids and are pleased to see you’re already halfway there, probably because every single one of the traffic lights you encounter is green, and your friend is going surprisingly fast. Is luck finally starting to smile upon you?

Your mad race comes to a halt when you reach the address of your interview. You hop off the bike and so does Minho who, by the way, is a panting mess. He’s barely able to catch his breath, strands of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he’s beaming at you when he realizes you’re just on time.

“Go” he gasps, pushing you in the direction of the building’s hall.

You walk up to the glass door but as your hands are about to push it, you pull a 180. Your friend sighs loudly, already knowing what’s coming next.

“Wait. No. I can’t do this. I’m not prepared” you tell him frantically. “I’m freaking out. I think I’m gonna pass out.” You are now walking in circles, mumbling incoherently.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your heart is racing in your chest and your hands are getting clammy at the simple thought of failure. But guess what? You can’t fail if you don’t even try! One more good reason to just go back to bed and forget about your sad life for a good 8 hours, right?

“Y/N, you’re the most talented person I know, you’re gonna do just fine” Minho catches you in his arm to stop your endless pacing. You would probably think this gesture is endearing if it wasn’t just meant to make sure you couldn’t run for your life.

“No, I’m not. What if I throw up in front of everybody like that one time during the Romeo and Juliet musical?” You look up at him and his face is only inches away from yours. You’re sure you would be swooning at how beautiful he looks if you weren’t so terrified at this very moment.

“You were nine,” your best friend says, and you swear you have never heard him speak to you in such a sweet tone before. His voice is like honey and lavander but it doesn’t soothe you like it should.

You manage to break free from his embrace to crouch down, in an attempt to slow down your breathing. If only you had data left, you could be watching those short relaxing videos on your phone. They always work. But no, you had to spent it all on online games, just one week into the month. You really are beyond help.

“Y/N I know you’re scared, but if you miss out on this opportunity, you’re gonna regret it for the rest of your life.” Minho is lowering himself so that you can hear him, even though you’re curled up in a ball.

“And I’m warning you, I won’t want to hear you complain about it,” he adds, this whole situation obviously starting to get on his nerves.

If you were him, you would have probably left a long time ago. But this isn’t your best friend’s way of behaving. You know he would never abandon you no matter how annoying you could be (and you could be very annoying sometimes). After all, he is always the one holding your hair while you puke in the toilets when you had a couple too many drinks.

It takes all your willpower to stand up but there is no other way, you have to do it. You can hear the time ticking dangerously in your mind, as if your brain had turned into a clock.

“You’re right. Slap me,” you say, looking at him straight in the eyes, dead serious.

“Wha -“

“Slap some sense into me. They do that in movies when people are panicking. It’s like throwing a bucket of cold water in someone’s face. But clearly we don’t have a bucket and we don’t have cold wa- “ you start blabbering.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not gonna slap you!” Your friend isn’t usually that horrified at the thought of beating your ass. In fact, he has felt the desire to rip your head off more than once, especially when you’d steal all the duvet at night, but at this moment he is just scared you might have actually lost your mind.

“Just fucking do it Minho!” you scream, your hands clenching the front of his grey hoodie he always looks so divine in.

Minho has never obeyed you, and this is not the day he is going to start.

He puts both of his hands on the sides of your face and crashes his lips onto yours.

You would be lying if you said you have never imagined the day your best friend would kiss you. It happens pretty much every single time you look at his cute pout a little too long. But one thing is certain, it isn’t like you pictured it to be at all.

You were convinced your heart would go so wild it would burst out of your chest and your head would spin so furiously you’d lose your balance. You thought your stomach would fill with butterflies to the brim and your whole body would be on fire.

But none of that is happening. On the contrary, every single muscle in your body relaxes under his touch. The way his soft mouth presses gently against yours makes you calmer, almost at peace amongst all this turmoil.

Minho is kissing all your tension and stress away and you catch yourself letting a sigh of relief escape your parted lips.

As if you have kissed him already hundreds of times in your past life, Minho feels like home. He’s a safe haven you can always take refuge in during troubled times. Ever since the day you met, he has never left your side.

When he breaks away from the kiss, you notice your breath isn’t so ragged and your mind isn’t so foggy anymore. You’re serene. His cold hands are still cupping your face, slightly squishing your cheeks, and you feel like an idiot sandwich for asking him to slap you seconds before.

“That can work too, I guess…” you mutter.

“You’re okay?” he asks, staring at you with the softest eyes you’ve ever seen.

You just nod, unable to say one more word, and sprint to the entrance, not wanting to make your interviewers wait any longer than they already have.

“Good luck!” You hear him yell just before the door closes behind you and you can’t help but grin from ear to ear.

- - - - -

Thirty minutes later, you finally step out of the fancy lobby to find a very bored Minho leaning against a tree, patiently waiting for you.

“You’re still here?”

“Of course, I am,” he says, his mouth full of croissant. He gives you a large iced coffee he probably went buying to kill time. Your lips unconsciously curl up into a smile when you notice it comes from the same chain that the one you spilled on your lap on the day you first met him.

“How did it go?” he asks you, sticking his buttery pastry into your mouth so that you can take a bite.

“Way better than I thought” you answer, right after you swallowed. You hate the way flakes would always get stuck between your teeth. But Minho is always there to warn you about it before anyone else notices, and even pick them for you if you can’t manage to, which, when you think about it, is kind of gross.

There are two things the boy knows about you: you’re the greatest pessimist on earth and you’d rather die than admit you were wrong (especially if it meant he was right). So for you to even say it wasn’t that bad, means it went phenomenal.

“I don’t want to say ‘I told you so’ but I told you so.” He smiles so wide you can barely see his eyes anymore. You have to look away, otherwise you know you might become instantly blinded by love.

“Maybe I could use some more of your luck” you mumble, staring at your shoes and kicking the red leaves that were surrounding your feet on this sunny autumn morning.

“Really? And what makes you think I’ll share it with you,” he teases you, leaning forward to incite you to look at him in the eyes.

“That.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck and pulls him in, in order to close the space that is still left between your mouths.

At first, Minho stiffens, taken aback by your bold move. But soon enough, he caves into your touch. He kisses you back fervently, like he means it.

His fingers entagle in your hair, his arm wraps around your waist and his chest presses against your body. You’re melting in his embrace, submerged by a wave of bliss which he alone seems to know the recipe.

It feels new, yet so familiar. Like it was supposed to happen, like it was written in the stars.

He tastes like croissant and Americano. Like fortune and fate.

And you can’t help but think you’re the luckiest person on earth.

Who cares about winning the lottery when Lee Minho is your lucky charm?

439 notes · View notes

league-of-thots · 4 years

Text

How Much I Love You

Pairing: Natsuo Todoroki x (f)reader

Warnings: Smut, Daddy Kink, fisting, over stimulation, edging/orgasm denial and talks about pregnancy (is that a warning? who the fuck knows)

Words: 5.3+ k

A/N: Thanks to @lady-bakuhoe for reading this over for me. This was a fic i wrote for the lovely @redbeanteax I’m pretty happy with this, I haven’t been in the writing groove for a while, so I worked pretty hard to get this one out. Please pay attention to the warnings and as always, I hope you enjoy :D

Tags: @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @420bakubaby, @tomurasprincess,

Sleeping and cuddling with Natsuo in the summer was probably the best feeling in the world, his cool exterior always keeping you safe and comfortable. Who needed air conditioning after all when you had a personal cooler in the form of your brilliant and handsome boyfriend?

He’d always joke around with you, saying that you only kept him around for your own comfort, and you’d pout to which he’d laugh and sweep you up in his arms. It always made you flush when you realized exactly how strong your lover was. Sure, he wasn’t exactly his father or Shouto, but for a “regular civilian” (his words) he was extremely fit.

It always made you feel delicate and the care he had when he’d hold you, when he’d do anything with you, made you feel as if you were something precious. Something like a glass flower, or maybe a beautiful painting. It was something that carried over everywhere, whenever you were in his arms, you felt safe and you felt as though everything would turn out all right in the end.

It was a Saturday morning, and there was nothing that you had to do, no obligations and no stresses you had to confront at the moment. It was glorious, especially after the week seemed to drag on until you couldn’t even think about anything except getting through the day in front of you. Later, Natsuo would have to go out with a few friends to go shopping for a party one of them was hosting, but you’d have the morning and late evening with him all to yourself.

The two of you had been so caught up with mixtures of school and work, that it had been a struggle just to actually get some time for yourselves, much less anything organized or even just plain relaxing. Especially with the fact that the two of you were getting serious together. Marriage and children were common topics between the two of you recently, and although it made you excited, it was also huge and terrifying.

You hear a mumbling coming from behind you, as Natsuo in his sleep turns towards you and wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight to his body, still cold despite being underneath a thick blanket all night. You feel him snuggle his head into the crook of your neck, and you smile. You were so lucky to have him, and you’re reminded of that pretty much daily.

You relaxed, eyes shutting once again as you continued to doze despite the grumbling snores of the man holding you and the bright light streaking in through the blinds. Some time later you’re jolted out of your hazy mindset by the sudden quickening of your boyfriend’s breath. Still sleeping, you feel him pull you closer as he starts to slowly grind against you.

You could feel the beginnings of your arousal starting to soak your panties, the sound of just his breathing, and the friction of his hard on against your ass making you want him. You’re about to wake him when the alarm he had set up for making sure he’d have enough time to get ready to go out does it for you. He practically springs awake to go shut it off, still breathing hard and looking dishevelled with the bed head he’s currently rocking.

“Fuck…” he says looking at the tent within his boxers and then looking up at you with a pout. “I wish this had happened earlier rather than when I actually have to get up and ready for the day.”

You sigh. “Don’t you have enough clothes, Natsuo? You never wear like a third of the things you have stashed away in the closet.”

“It’s about the principle of things, baby. I’m not going to get anything, but I need to be there to help them choose their clothes and help finalize the party details.” He looks upset. “Trust me I’d much rather be here with you, especially now that I’m all worked up. I’m going to be thinking of bouncing you on my cock all day sweetheart.” He leans in to give you a quick peck on the lips.

You try to hold him close to you, whining a little bit. “So, you’re just going to leave me here all alone like this, Natsu? You’re the one who made me horny because of your dreams…” he pushes away with a light chuckle.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it wasn’t a dream, I thought it was the real thing. Although I should’ve known, your cunt feels so much tighter in real life. The dreams just can’t make it feel the same.”

You let out a protest at that comment, a little embarrassed by the crude language spewed right out of his mouth after waking up. You throw yourself back under the covers and you can hear him laughing even more than he had been before.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be like no time has passed at all!” You hear the creaking of the bed as his weight is pressed onto it once again. His voice, when he speaks, is now right beside your head. “Trust me, I’ll make it worth your while baby girl… has daddy ever left you unsatisfied before?”

You shiver, memories popping up of the things the two of you had done, the pleasure that you’d felt. You can practically hear the smirk on his face. “No…”

“Then that’s settled… I’ll see you later sweetheart.” He strokes your arm through the covers you’re curled up under and the weight leaves the bed. You hear a few drawers being pulled open, some slamming, and then the shower being turned on. Time passes and you hear him leaving the house.

A little while after he’s gone you start your day up, given the fact that it’s pretty much noon and you’ve been awake. Best to get the day going, especially with the unspoken promise that Natsuo had left you, once he got home, you’d be the only thing getting done around the house.

You figure maybe if you get all dolled up for Natsuo, he might be surprised and reward you a little bit for looking so good for him. Maybe he’d do something that the two of you haven’t done for a while… something that would leave you feeling like you’d been brought to cloud nine…

So, after cleaning and putting on some sweats so you could get changed again later, you got to work doing the house chores you had planned for yourself. You turned on some music that gets you moving, and start to get to work cleaning the kitchen. It had been Natsuo’s turn, but you offered to do it this week so he could spend some more time with friends he hadn’t gotten to see in a while.

The light in his smile had totally made up for washing a few dirty dishes, that’s for sure. Plus, it was something to do rather than just be lazy and sit on the couch watching some show that you don’t really even know the plot of. Or even just having nothing to do but remember the conversations the two of you kept having, and overthink each and every part of marriage and bearing children.

Methodically you grab the dishes, wash and scrub at them, then dry them before putting them back into drawers while you hum along to your favourite songs. There was something refreshing about the sun shining through the windows brightening the room while you made your way around cleaning. When you’re done, you flop yourself onto the couch and it squeaks a bit from the sudden impact, which you can’t help but laugh at.

Looking over at the clock, you notice that you still have time to leisurely get washed and shaved before Natsuo will get home. You grab the soaps and hair products you save for when you want to feel really smooth and sexy. You knew he loves it when you take care of yourself, make yourself feel good. He claims you don’t do it enough, that you overwork yourself too much, and you constantly put more and more pressure on yourself to be just a bit more.

Maybe he’s right, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to pamper yourself a little bit right now. So, you turn on some more relaxing music and a nice stream of probably too hot water, and allow yourself a few moments to release the tension in your body from the stressful last week.

By the time you step out of the shower, you’d managed to start feeling relaxed. All that was on your mind now was when your boyfriend would get home. You were still feeling the edge from this morning, and if anything, the need you felt was greater now than it had been before he’d left.

Maybe you could distract yourself with something. You didn’t want to start playing without Natsuo after all, you wanted to share the good times with him.

Distracting yourself when you have Natsuo and certain activities on your mind is so much easier said than done. He was running through your mind, how smooth and careful his hands are, how amazing they feel threaded in your hair and running over your body… The thoughts of him panting over you, telling you how lucky he is to have you as a wife. Saying how you’re going to be such an amazing mother for all the children the two of you are going to have. Truly, you had your word cut out for you, so you decide to put on an interesting documentary you’d been meaning to see for a while.

To your surprise, it actually does the trick. You get completely absorbed into the narrative, the piece well written and spoken. You don’t even realize how into it you are because time seems to fly past, and the sun has tilted so that beams of sun are shining into your living room from the opposite side as the morning.

Suddenly, you hear the door unlock, and you start to get excited again. You’d actually forgotten that you’d been distracting yourself during your wait for Natsuo to come home. He says a warm greeting from the front door, and you quickly pause the second feature done by the same company in order to run and go greet him.

Laughing you jump at him, arms spread, and he catches you in his arms with a warm chuckle. He sways a little with you in his arms, and you feel like a doll captured in his thick, strong arms. It always makes you swoon when you think of his arms, as they match the rest of his body, thick and sturdy. His presence just makes you feel safe.

After he puts you down, he strokes your hair, playing with it a bit. He says he loves doing it a lot. He says it feels so nice against his fingers, even despite any mess in it. He adores every bit of you and makes sure you feel it as often as possible when the two of you are together.

Finally growing impatient, you pull him down to your level by his shirt collar bringing your lips together. It’s needy on your side, and you feel Natsuo chuckle against you before he starts to take control. He caresses your face with one hand, and runs his other hand down your body until he reaches your ass and squeezes it hard.

You gasp at the action and he uses it to slide his tong into your mouth, exploring it as if it were the first time the two of you had ever gotten to make out. His attentiveness makes it feel as if every time the two of you are intimate is the first time, it brings you up and makes you feel as if you’re the most important woman in the world. If you said that out loud though, he’d definitely tell you, that to him, you are the most important woman in his world.

“Ngh, bed Natsuo, please!” you whimper as he rubs the fabric of your shorts, creating friction on your cunt and sending a jolt of want through your core.

“Impatient today, aren’t we baby?” however, he does throw your legs over his hips as you grip tightly around his neck. He picks you up with ease, his muscles flexing in a way that makes you want to swoon over how perfect he is.

Suddenly, you’re thrown off of him, and you squeal in surprise, scared as you hit the bed and bounce up. You cross your arms and scowl up at him. “Natsuo, I hate it when you do that.”

His grin is mischievous as he slides onto the bed beside you, starting to kiss your neck, now more sensually rather than excited.

“No, I’m annoyed now,” you mumble pushing him away, even though it doesn’t do anything against him.

“Aw, baby, I know this is what you like. Are you gonna to be a little brat, or are you gonna get your cunt stuffed full today?” Natsuo’s tone is teasing, but underneath is a layer of steel. You’re always on thin ice with him whenever you tried to take some control of him when he’s in moods like this.

You gulp, thinking about the punishments you’d gone through before and decide that you wouldn’t test his patience today. You needed the relief of cumming today, you needed to be a good girl and behave yourself.

“I’ll be good, Daddy.” You look up at him through fluttering eyelashes, tears caught in them, driven by your need of him building. He thinks it just makes you look all the more enticing, he loves to see your pretty face wrecked from pleasure.

“Oh yeah, and why’s that, hmm?” the smirk splitting his face should be illegal, it sends jolts of anticipation through you. “Tell me the truth, baby. Daddy’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I just want to be stuffed with you. I want to forget everything else around me, please…” you don’t mean to sound so needy, but at this point you can’t help it.

“Okay then,” he leans down kissing you softly and moving to your ear. His breath fans your neck as he whispers, “I’m going to make you feel fucking amazing, Y/N.” You can’t help the tingle of excitement that flashes down your spine at his words. You turn your head so that you can capture his lips with your own. He soon shifts so he can start kissing his way down your jawline and neck, after taking your top and bra off.

You feel your legs spreading on instinct as he makes his way down to your breasts. You whimper as he licks around your nipple slowly, eventually taking it in to suck on it while he takes his other hand to your other breast to gently play with the other one. You desperately want to beg him to stop teasing, but you know his rules. Complaining isn’t what good girls do, you need to him take care of you.

So even though you can feel your arousal growing, you try to push down the need, and let Natsuo play with your body. However, you can’t stop the little whimpers and gasping breaths, no matter how hard you try to,

“You liking this, baby? I can practically hear how wet you are from those pretty little noises.” He leaves a large hickey right on the bottom of your breast, dragging out a lewd moan you’d normally feel ashamed of.

“Please, I want to feel full of your thick cock, Natsuo…” you moan. You know that Natsuo has a size kink that rivals your own, so you hope that emphasizing how much bigger he is than you will spur him on faster.

His grin looks wicked for a minute. “Yeah? You want to feel full baby? Such a filthy little girl, I know exactly what you need to feel nice and full.” You let out a needy groan at his words, and he quickly pulls down your shorts and panties. The cold air hits your heated cunt and you try to snap your legs closed, but are prevented from doing so by Natsuo’s hands on your thighs.

He shifts his body into a better position as he brings one of his fingers across your folds, which brings a shudder down your body. You try and wiggle against him, but as you do, he brings his hand away and you let out a groan.

“Nuh-uh Y/N. You need to behave if you want Daddy’s fingers anywhere near your needy pussy.”

You feel the tears that had been building start to drip out, not a lot, but enough that showed exactly how much you needed to get off. “Please, I’ve been waiting all day! I need to feel you in me…”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get there, but you need to stop being disobedient or else we’re going to have a problem.” You nod in assent.

“I’m sorry, I can do it.” You whisper, steeling yourself so you won’t struggle against him again.

“Good. I know you can, that’s why I’m still being patient with you.” With that, he eases his index finger into your pussy, and you finally relax a bit with a sigh, feeling a little bit of relief just from that.

He starts a nice and slow pace, reaching deep into your heat with his much larger finger. He groans as he hears the wet sounds his finger is making, and decides he’s getting too impatient to keep moving along this slowly. You groan a bit as he adds a second, thick finger into you. There’s a bit of a stretch for a moment before you adjust. He starts scissoring his fingers, curling them at random moments which sends a bolt of pleasure through your senses.

“Natsuo… so good already, but please, a little more?” You manage to get out through panting breaths. You can feel yourself getting closer to an orgasm, your fists gripping the sheets hard, and your back arching on its own.

“Greedy girl, good thing I think it’s hot.” You let out a shout as he speeds up his pace with the two fingers.

You can feel yourself clenching down harder, but cry out in desperation as he rips his fingers out. Tears are falling freely now; you had been so close and denied at the last possible second.

“Shhh, you’re ok.” He says, stroking your hair and kissing away your tears. “You’re so beautiful all needy like this darling. Absolutely stunning, and it’s going to feel even better now, Y/N.”

You trust him so you nod in response, still blinking away tears.

“Good girl… so good for Daddy…” You feel another stretch as he starts again, pushing two fingers in at the start, and before really getting started, pushing in a third. You groan through the action, trying to keep a handle on yourself and last through whatever he wanted to do with you.

Except obviously, his goals are different, as he starts moving his fingers, searching for the spot that makes you cry out for him. He can find it when you cry out at a particular thrust. He slows after than, and you feel your body protest against all the teasing. You need to cum so fucking badly.

“Look at you, you look the best when you’re crying for just my fingers. Imagine how good bigger things are going to feel.” He groans as you clamp down on his fingers. “So fucking greedy, all you want is to be stuffed over and over by me… Fuck, I should just pump you full of children already, then you’ll be stuffed with me all the time. I don’t know what I’m waiting for.” Between his filthy words and the fingers hitting your sensitive spot over and over again, you let yourself go with a cry of his name.

You can feel your eyes roll back as he helps you through your orgasm. He stills his fingers when you open your eyes and give him a dopey smile, high on endorphins. He kisses your forehead and tells you how amazing that was. You can see him reaching for something on the night stand drawer, but you don’t bother caring about it, your body heavy on the sheets.

You hear a click of a bottle and you look down to see Natsuo pouring lube on the rest of his hand that isn’t shoved into your pussy. “Natsuo? What are you doing?”

“You didn’t think we were done, did you? You’ve been so needy today, and you’re done after one orgasm? I don’t think so, you’re going to take what I want to give you.” The power behind those words has you nodding in assent before you can even register the words he’s saying.

Even with the slick from your orgasm, and all the extra lube, Natsuo getting his fourth finger inside of you is difficult. “Shhh, you’re ok, you’re doing amazing, Y/N.” He whispers to you over your heavy panting. “I need you to relax for me, and then you’re gonna feel even better, okay?” You nod, focusing on relaxing the muscles that had tightened at the intrusion of another finger. His four fingers together are the size of- if not larger than- most of your toys.

Despite you trying your best to relax, part of your muscles just won’t stop tightening, and he has to use a fair bit of force to get to his second knuckles on his hand. Your lip feels raw from all the biting down you’re doing as you try to take all he can give you. You feel yourself already being worked up again, just from the stretch, and the sensations of him playing with your clit to distract you from the struggle.

“Ready?” He asks, soft and kind. You know what he means by that, and you give a nod, mentally bracing yourself. “Okay, here we go.” He does a few shallow motions with his hand before forcing through your tight opening. You shout at the pain that you feel, but Natsuo continues to rub circles around your clit, the pleasure from the bundle of nerves fighting against it and making everything manageable.

You bring your head up, wiping off some of the drool hat had gone down your face with some of the loose sheets. They needed to be cleaned anyways. You see you’ve managed to take the entirety of his four fingers. Seeing that makes you feel proud, and stirs up waves of arousal just again.

“I hope you are, but are you going to give me your whole fist, Daddy? Have I been good enough to get Daddy’s strong fist entirely inside me? It would feel amazing to be that stuffed, and I know I’d look good too…” you say sweetly, your voice slightly slurred from hazy lust and desire.

“Fucking hell, baby,” you see Natsuo has his boxers pulled down now, and is fisting his cock and groaning. “You’re so sexy like this, just a needy little slut for me. All of me.” His eyes are lidded and dilated; his cock already slick with precum. “I don’t know if I can wait for you to take my fist, I kind of want to fuck you with my cock right now…”

“No, please, it’s so close Natsuo! I want it so bad!” you beg, trying to convince him that it would be worth it. Besides, you know that you’re close to another orgasm, and that him stretching you out even more will send you over the edge.

“Is that how you ask for things?”

“Please, please, give me your fist Daddy!”

He growls at that. “How can I deny my little girl that, when she asks so sweetly even though she’s practically crying on my hand.” He starts pumping his fingers into you, pushing just a little bit deeper every time he thrusts in.

You can’t tell what you’re shouting exactly, but you do know that your throat is twinging each time you do from overuse. Suddenly, you feel something slip through your hole and you scream “Natsuo!” as you cum fiercely, body clamping down as your nerves sing songs of pleasure up and down your body.

It takes a little time for you to regain sense of your surroundings, and you see cum splattered all on your stomach and chest from Natsuo. His face is red and he’s breathing just as heavy as you are. He’s still buried to his wrist inside of you, and you can see a very faint bulge that moves with Natsuo’s hand.

It feels too much though, the movements make your extremely sensitive parts feel almost painful as he continues to ease his fist in easy movements. He looks like he’s seeing something amazing.

“Natsuo, it’s too much now, there’s too much feelings…” you whimper to him, tears starting to build at the uncomforting feeling of too much pleasure.

“That’s only twice… I think I can drag some more out of you with this type of position, don’t you Y/N?” his eyes take on a dangerous glint that dares you do disagree with him. You don’t know what to do, you can’t disagree, but you don’t know if you can handle more of this.

He must see the indecision in your eyes because he leans down to kiss you gently on the lips. “Hey, you’re doing amazing sweetheart. You know our safe word and I’ll stop if you need too, remember?”

“Yeah, I just, I don’t know if I can handle it…” you mumble, looking down.

“There’s no need to handle anything,” he says firmly. “Either you want to continue, or we stop and get you taken care of, ok?” You nod. “So, which is it, Y/N?”

“…want you to fuck me on your cock now instead,” you mumble.

“That works for me, but taking it out might hurt a bit if you’re already super sensitive.” You nod, you know you can handle it.

It takes a little over 15 minutes for Natsuo to get his fist out of you, and in that time, you cum twice more. You feel drool and tears on your face and sweat everywhere. You can tell the sheets on the mattress are soaked from your activities. Though, what had made it especially hard for Natsuo to pull it out was, when you came, your muscles would contract fiercely to pull his hand back a bit inside you. Throughout it all, he stroked your face with his hand, praising you for how good you’d been doing for him.

“Such a good girl for me, you impress me with everything you do.”

“You look gorgeous, Y/N, I love seeing how wrecked you are because of me.”

“I wish I could tell you just how much I love you, you make everything amazing, whether its in the bedroom or not.”

“Shit, I’m going to treasure every moment we have together. I hope we get as much time as possible.”

“God, you’re perfect, I want to be able to call you my wife.”

“I want to have a family with you, I know you’re the love of my life…”

His words aren’t only comforting and extremely honest, but they make you feel important, loved and pretty. Hearing him be so affected because of how you look makes you feel powerful, and there’s nothing that you want more in that moment, but to have him inside you again.

He moves to sit up on his knees, while you shift to go onto your stomach. You arch your back dramatically, and Natsuo can barely contain himself as he roughly grabs your hips. He brings the head of his cock toward you, dragging it across your slit to pick up slick. You whimper, the small touches enough to send sharp shocks through you. He lines his dick up, and gently pushes the head into your already abused hole.

You grab the pillow and use it to muffle your screams as he keeps pushing his cock within you. You feel tears flowing freely into it, the coldness of his dick along with the veins doing wonders to your sensitive walls. You clamp down hard when he gives a last thrust and bottoms out inside of you.

“You alright, baby?” he gets out. You can feel him fighting so hard to stay still, despite how good you know it feels for him. A wave of love crashes through you for the man behind you. You want to stay with him for as long as you can.

“Yes, please fuck me as hard as you can, Daddy~” you grind your hips back into him as you look back, trying to catch your breath but failing miserably.

He growls out a quick “Fuck!” as he pulls out until only his head is still within your warm cunt. “You’re going to need to call in Monday then, cause by the time I’m done with you, you’re going to be stuck in here for a few days at least.” You wiggle back again at that, wanting him to make good on his promise.

“Anything for you, my-“ You’re cut off by your own shriek as he slams himself into you, his hips harshly meeting your ass. You don’t even have time to recover because he’s out and slamming back again before you can form a single thought.

It feels so good, you barely tell what’s going on, all you can do is hang on as the waves of pleasure hit you, sending your eyes rolling back.

“Such a needy little slut after everything. My cock’s just the best isn’t it, sweetheart?” All you can do is furiously nod, drool slipping out. “Answer me, I want to hear you.”

You swear you try your best to actually respond to him, but the words just don’t come out. All that does is a mixture of mumbles and moans with the odd “Natsu” slipped in. All he does is laugh and thrust harder.

On each thrust he snarls out; “Such… a whore… for my cock… I love… watching you… drool like… the slut… you… ARE!”

On the last word you clench down hard on your… fourth? fifth?... orgasm of the session. In response to that, Natsuo moans like a porn star as he pushes into you. You feel cool cum fill you up, as his hips still rock slightly, as your walls milk him dry.

It takes a little time for him to finish, apparently, he had been very worked up, but after he turns over with you in his arms, still inside you. You snuggle into his arms, as you feel him soften within you. He brings your face into your neck to kiss there sweetly, it tickles a bit.

“So, do you need me to go get some plan B? I know I got a little carried away today.”

“Natsuo, we’ve been talking about having kids if we get married for a while, besides, one time doesn’t mean I get pregnant.” You say gently. He takes his dick out of you, and you bring your legs together to keep the cum from dribbling out and making more of a mess.

“Still, I know we keep talking about getting married and stuff even though I’m still in med school and you have to mainly support us right now…”

“So? I told you I’d be the luckiest woman in the world to be your wife, Natsu.”

“I guess I’m just worried that I wouldn’t be good enough yet.” You scoff a bit at that. He squeezes you tight in response. “So if I were to propose, you’d say yes?”

You laugh a little. “Of course, you dunce. I want to have kids with you, why wouldn’t I want to be married to you?”

“I love you a lot.”

You hum, “I love you too Natsuo.”

#jays writes #natsuo x reader #Smut #bnha x reader

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kareofbears · 3 years

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 1/5

“Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

The sweat on the back of Ryuji’s neck is thick as he climbs the stairs to his apartment after a lengthy run.

It’s hot for spring, mild for summer, and now that it’s late June, it’s finally starting to teeter into real heat. He escalated slowly, gripping the guard rail like an old man to make sure his legs don’t give out, in no rush to head back to an empty apartment. His mom’s been doing back to back shifts, businesses booming like it does during this time of the year.

Normally, that would make him miserable. Nothing worse than hopping back from a day of fun shit only to come back to an empty living space with laundry piled to the nines and the TV left running. He doesn’t blame his mom because he’s not an asshole, but he never dealt well with being alone. But nowadays, he’s actually starting to like it. Crave it. Maybe a little too much.

It’s easier to deal with being alone than getting that sinking feeling he gets whenever he talks to his friends.

Shoving his hand in his basketball shorts, he pulls out his keys when something makes him pause. The plastic plant beside the entrance had been moved. Ryuji squints. Quietly, he grabs the knob and turns. It’s unlocked.

“Hey.”

Ryuji lets out a frustrated sigh, tension leaving his shoulders as he kicks the door closed. “Fucking hell. How’d you get in here?”

Seeing Ann sit primly with her legs crossed in a dining table that’s barely big enough to put two plates down evokes a feeling of nostalgia in him. She holds a key between her fingers idly. “Spare key hasn’t changed since we were thirteen.”

He walks to the fridge, pulls out a carton of milk and drinks it straight, ignoring her grimace. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he offers it to her.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugs, putting it back in the fridge. “I’m gonna shower. I think we might have some chips in the cupboards if you want some. Might be stale though.”

When Ann speaks again, her tone is flat. “You haven’t been hanging out with us. Or even talking to us.”

He tries not to let the annoyance show in his face too much. “Yeah, well, what part of ‘I need some alone time’ was confusing to you?”

Wood creaks, and he can feel her presence right behind him. “Cut the crap, Sakamoto. Something happened, I know it did. It’s not like you for your big mouth to be shut like this.”

Shaking his head, he strides to his room, praying that Ann will take the hint.

She doesn’t. “Okay, so I’ll just keep talking until something happens.” She leans against his door frame as he rummages for a change of clothes, listing off with her fingers. “It’s summer vacation, so it’s not a school thing. Phantom Thief stuff has been done for a while, so it’s not that either. I saw your mom last week, and she’s doing great. Congratulate her on the promotion for me, by the way. And the only other thing in your life that’s important is—” he hears her pause suddenly. “Are you and Akira doing okay?”

The sudden sharpness in her voice is enough to make his irritation ebb away for a second. “We’re fine,” he answers, pulling a probably clean shirt from the bottom of his drawer. He knows just how much she’s invested in their relationship. She’s pretty much a third member given how desperate she is to make them work. “I would’ve told you if we weren’t.”

“Thank god,” she breathes. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” he rolls his eyes. “A big fat load of nothing with nothing sprinkled on top. You want me to say it again?”

“If it’s nothing, then why aren’t you over the moon that Akira’s finally visiting tomorrow?”

His stomach does a weird flop inside of him. He can’t tell if it’s a good flop or a bad one. “I’m over the moon,” he defends. “I’m crazy excited.”

“Then show it!”

“Okay! Damn, sorry I wasn’t happy enough for you.” Giving up on finding clean shorts, he picks one up from the floor and hopes it isn’t too gross. “I’m headed to the shower.” He rounds on her, giving her a glare. “And do not tell Akira that anything’s going on with me, ‘cause there isn’t anything going on. You’re just gonna make him worry for no reason and he’s gonna be all—” he frowns, overexaggerated. “—About this, so cool it.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. He won’t hear about it from me.” Ann gives him a long stare, and he refuses to look away. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks, softer this time.

“Never been better. Now scram.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, and don’t be late!” she calls as she marches through his apartment, foot out the door. “Noon! Leblanc!”

“I got it!” he yells back.

When the lock clicks back into place, Ryuji leans his back against the wall, letting his eyes slide shut. Is he that obvious that Ann would notice? He rubs his eyes with palms, frustrated. If Ann noticed, Akira’s definitely going to notice, and that isn’t allowed. He’ll just have to do better.

Going into the bathroom, flicking on the shower, he realizes he forgot his towel in his bedroom. Stupid Ann, distracting him.

Padding back to his room, he nabs it from the side of his bed, refusing to look at the letter collecting dust on his desk as he flicks the light off once more.

—

Akira came home to a face-full of streamers, two pots of curry, and six arms tackling him. Smiles and hugs were passed like a bottle of wine after a war has been won, and Akira shrugs it all off like he isn’t soaking up each and every exclamation of how much they miss him for a rainy day. Morgana gets his fair amount of head scratches, Akira gets enough noogies to warrant a concussion, and even Ryuji somehow manages to forget his problems for approximately three minutes.

It’s evening now, and while everyone had already left (not after slamming down two plates each and Yusuke brazenly asking for tupperware after the fact), Ryuji decided to linger.

“So,” he starts, sleeves rolled up as he washes the dishes while Akira dries. It might not look like it, but he doesn’t mind doing his chores; especially not with the way they both purposefully knock their knuckles against each other whenever they pass a plate between themselves.

“So,” Akira repeats. “I’m home. That’s cool, huh?” Even with eighteen layers of nonchalance layered on top of each other, there’s no hiding the lilt in his voice.

“Pretty damn cool,” he rinses a mug and hands it to him. Ryuji pauses as he watches Akira dry, lip quirked up. “I like seeing you like this.”

“Cleaning?”

“No, you bastard.” He reaches forward, unable to help himself as he pinches his cheek. “Smiley.”

Akira slaps his hand away. “I’m always happy,” he says, voice fond.

“I didn’t say happy, now did I? I said—” Ryuji wipes both hands on his jeans before pinching his cheek with both hands. “Smiley!”

He doesn’t fight back this time; instead, he lets Ryuji knead his face. “Your hands are wet,” he complains, slightly slurred.

“Suck it up.” His skin is mesmerizingly soft. Probably softer than even a girl’s. He would hold him like this all night if he’d let him. “This saves you from washing your face tonight, so you’re welcome.”

With one last tug, he reluctantly sets him free. Akira’s face is red and blotchy from the assault, but somehow he pulls it off because of course he does. “Thanks,” he deadpans.

“Don’t sweat it, dude. You know I got you,” he laughs, and for a second, he feels good. Light. Being with Akira does that to him, a pendant that wards off all evil. The pendant must’ve had some fine print in the contract though, because his stomach drops again when he remembers again. Ryuji turns around and starts scrubbing the pan harder than he needs to. Chill out, chill out, chill out.

Arms encircle his waist. “Sojiro’s gonna smite us if we don’t finish these before he opens tomorrow,” Ryuji says.

“I know.” A chin hooks around his shoulder blade, sliding in place. A perfect fit. “We’ll get to it.”

Ryuji leans back, far enough to smell the shampoo in his hair. He breathes in deep. It’s not what he’s used to, probably different brands in his hometown, but it still smells nice.

With the water still running, a group of businessmen’s laughter booming from just outside the cafe, Ryuji nearly says it. To take that weight off of his weakened knees and share some of the burden with someone who’s never complained about carrying some of his baggage. It would be embarrassing, humiliating, fucking mortifying, but it would be better than this, right?

He opens his mouth. “Missed you,” is what comes out instead.

“Missed you more, I think.” A beat passes, and then Akira continues, quietly: “You don’t know how good it feels to be back.”

That was all it took. The final piece, the last lock. The words he needed to convince him that this was the right thing to do. If he was on the fence of whether or not to tell Akira, this was the tug that took him over the edge. Because Akira came here for one reason: to have fun. To feel good again. To feel like Akira again. Is Ryuji really going to be the one to shit all over that? To fuck up his summer vacation with his problems again?

Yeah. Fuck that.

He wishes he can pull Akira impossibly closer. “Welcome home.”

It can wait until he leaves. After that, the world will just have to explode, taking him with it.

—

Ryuji’s in bed that night, tossing and turning, blanket tangled in his legs and head underneath his pillow, when he finally caves.

Smacking around for his phone, he pulls it to his face, squinting against the bright light.

SR: futaba

The response was immediate.

SF: what SR: that was fast. whatre you doing up SF: im always up. why are YOU up SR: just wanted to talk SF: ok

He waits a few moments to see if she’d continue the conversation. She doesn’t.

SR: hows school? SF: ?????? who cares, its three am SR: i care SF: ugh, go to sleep. we’re meeting tomorrow anyway SR: yeah but you dont talk about school during group meetings much SF: alright weirdo SF: schools cool. people mostly leave me alone, and i think akira must’ve tipped off kawakami cause she is wayyyy too nice to me even after bullying her in front of the class SR: what did you do lmfao SF: she said that whoever could recite pi to ten decimal points can get a bonus ten percent in the final SF: and i kept going until the bell rang SR: damn! SF: its mostly okay though. better than i thought it’d be for sure SR: and how about actual school stuff SR: like classes. Math, science, english, all that shit. SF: sheesh, easiest part no doubt. could do all that stuff in my sleep SR: really? even though youre a year behind? SF: uh yeah? i could be eight years behind and still dunk on these clowns with one hand tied behind my back and watching a live stream

Ah, right. Futaba’s a literal genius. As in ‘Make A Documentary Of Her In Twenty Years In A Movie He’d Never Watch But Makoto Would Love’ kind of genius. He forgot.

SR: nice SR: thanks, im gonna sleep now SF: kk see you SF: (¯﹃¯)

—

“Okay, this is getting a little ridiculous,” Ryuji says when he opens the door to his apartment.

Ann is sitting in his dining chair once again, this time donned in hot pink shades and a comically big sun hat. He tries not to let annoyance and panic flare inside him. He loves her, because of course he does, but he was banking on stocking up some energy and alone time before they hit the road. Maybe even shed a couple of frustrated tears, who knows? As long as he’s alone, it’s fair game.

“Hey, don’t give me any of that,” Ann says. “You and packing your luggage is like mayonnaise and my flawless complexion—it’s not good, buster. Remember Hawaii?”

He feels his skin heat up, and slams the door harder than he should. “How the hell was I supposed to know I’d get randomly checked? ‘Sides, I didn’t do anything illegal.”

“A backpack filled with condoms and a toothbrush might as well have been illegal.” Ann reaches into her pocket, whipping out a wrinkled piece of paper. “You can’t pull that kinda crap now, and if I know him as well as I do, I’m sure Akira’s already packing for that.” She laughs at her own joke and raises her hand enthusiastically. He can’t help but grin as he high fives her. Hey, even if his life is falling apart, at least he’s still getting some, right?

“So I’m here to help,” she continues, shaking the sting from her palms. “I finished packing a day early and everything, so I better get some thanks after this.” Before he can complain, she holds up a finger, expression stern. “I know you don’t need help. Yes, I’m still worried about you. Yes, I’m doing this because I’m worried about you. Let me do this stupid little thing, okay? It’ll make me feel better.”

His stomach churns, more intense than usual. “You’re still worried about me?” he asks, breath hitching. What? No. Did he fail at that too? Does she know? That must mean Akira knows, right? And if Akira knows, then—

“Whoa, hold on!” A hand grips his shoulders. “Deep breaths, Sakamoto. Don’t spiral on me now.” Gently, he’s led to a chair. He sits gratefully and waits for his heart rate to drop. The entire time, Ann stays quiet.

Eventually, when the room stops closing in on him, he sighs and leans back against his chair. “Sorry,” he says, feeling really stupid. Damn, what happened to him keeping this on the down low?

She slaps his knee. “Shut up, don’t apologize for that,” she scolds, and he almost smiles. It’s easy to forget how good Ann is at this sort of thing. For better or for worse, she’s had plenty of practice while talking to Shiho. The grip on his knee tightens. “Ryuji…”

He shakes his head. “No.”

And, for better or for worse, she absolutely does not let things go.

“Look, buddy.” The grip is starting to hurt, and it means business if her red acrylics are anything to go by. “I just saw you have a teensy little panic attack two damn minutes ago, and you’re expecting me to just leave you to it? Are you a clown? Are you a clown in a circus, Sakamoto? Is that what you are?”

“I just don’t want to fucking talk about it.” He shoves her hand off his knee, and before he knows it, his voice is raised. “Christ, can’t you just leave me alone? All you do is get up in my business when I clearly didn’t ask you to. Just cause we did this whole Phantom Thief crap together doesn’t mean it gives you the right to everything going on in my life.”

He loathes the ringing in his ears from his own voice. He hates it when he yells in the apartment, but hates the silence that follows more. Too much like his dad, too much like his exhausted mom.

Ann is staring up at him, hard and unwavering. “You’re such a piece of shit sometimes.”

“Huh?”

“If you want me off your tail, you’re gonna have to work harder than that.” She gets on her feet, glaring at him. “‘Piss me off and make me leave in tears’ was your tactic, right? Boring. Overdone. Try again.”

The way she’s standing, shoulders pushed back and chin jutted out like she’s ready for a shoot in some kind of army magazine, means she’s dead serious.

“Ann, just get the fuck out of my house. You’re really starting to get on my nerves.”

“Ooo, classic 'angry and make me storm off’, right? Better, but not good enough.”

“What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m saying that you could say whatever pops into your bleached head—” she flicks his forehead, viciously sharp nails digging into his skin. “And I wouldn’t go anywhere. You could call me names, or threaten me, or try to hurt me, but I am not going anywhere.”

Her eyes are bright blue, but he can still feel the heat of it like Carmen was inches in front of him. His throat quivers when he swallows. She’s really not going to give in.

“My knee’s been real bad lately,” he relents, making a fist and lightly knocking it against his thigh. “Normally it acts up during bad weather, but the sun hasn’t left in weeks and it still sucks. I didn’t wanna tell anyone, ‘cause I hate talking about…” he trails off, but she doesn’t need him to continue. They both know damn well who he’s referencing.

Ann’s face crumbles. “That’s horrible,” she says, absently rubbing the red mark on his forehead. “I’m sorry I was mean.”

He waves it off, the same way he does whenever his mom asks him if he’s getting enough sleep. “Don’t sweat it. I know how crazy you get.”

It’s a real testament to how worried she must’ve been when she didn't take the olive branch. “I know you probably don’t want to worry the group, but you should tell Akira.”

“Ann—” he starts wearily.

“You know I’m right about this. Now that the Metaverse is back and we’re going to be running around more, he can’t not know about this. Your boyfriend aside, he’s our leader. Something really nasty can happen if we’re not thinking straight.”

“...Sure.”

Ann gives him a weird look. “That was surprisingly easy. I thought you’d complain more.”

She’s getting way too sharp. “What, you wanted me to be a dick about it?”

“I guess not.” Leaning against his kitchen counter, she chews her lip like it’s bubble gum. “Can I do anything to help?”

“Yeah.” Ryuji stands to stretch, ready for this conversation to be over. “You can keep this between us—”

“—Except for Akira,” they say in unison, Ryuji exasperated and Ann insistent.

“Fine. I’ll back off if you think you have it under control.”

“Hallelujah, she’s finally giving me space.”

“But,” her gaze is harder than steel. “Never, ever keep secrets from me again, got it?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes. “Gotcha. Can we get started now? I’m over talking about my horrible past so that we can finally have a straight-out-of-an-anime summer vacation.”

Her eyes brighten up. “Yes! Okay, I made this huge list and I know for a fact we’re gonna have to go for a quick shopping trip—”

“Quick? So, like, three hours going by your standards?”

“Don’t interrupt me. We need to pack some swim trunks, toiletries, and I know you’re worried about your mom so we’ll go grocery shopping for her before we leave in the morning.” Feet tapping excitedly, “This is gonna be so fun. You start packing, I’ll go shopping. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Before he even gets a chance to put a word in, she’s already out the door.

—

Later that night, when everything is messily thrown into one oversized backpack and a rucksack and the fridge is chock full of groceries for his overworked mother, he gets a text.

TA: i know you said not to bring it up but i dont care TA: i searched it up and apparently cold and hot compresses can help with the pain on your knee TA: also getting shoes with really good support would help too. i modeled for some shoe brands, i can def get you some discounts!!! TA: like, i know this is all base level stuff and you know this already, but i bet you we can ask sophia for more help. maybe she can access top secret doctor stuff for knee injuries?? :O

Ryuji stares at his phone for a long moment, before shoving it under his pillow.

Great. Add ‘guilt’ and ‘keeping up with a lie’ to the list of shit he has to worry about.

—

“A lake!” Yusuke cries, kneeling in front of the body of water like a man discovering a desert oasis. Gently, he cups the clean water and cradles it against his cheek. “You are nothing like the garbage-infested sewers in Tokyo. You are crystal clear. You are divine. You are salvation. You are—”

“Akira, Inari’s being a weirdo again,” Futaba points an accusing finger at Yusuke, who’s shirt is slowly absorbing more and more of the water. “At this rate, he’s gonna have to change.”

Makoto grunts as she lugs out the grill singlehandedly, a loud clang ringing out when she nonchalantly sets down a family-sized piece of machinery. “Alright, here it is.” She catches the look of awe that Ryuji’s giving her. “Does it still shock you that I can probably bench press you twice over?”

“I’m just trying to figure out where you’re hiding all that muscle, prez,” he snorts, and it’s the truth. Her and Akira must be the same breed, considering they’re both way too lithe to be this strong. He’s seen the way they throw a punch in the Metaverse—they could probably disintegrate a dude in real life if they really wanted to. Like yeah they workout, but not that much. Maybe they’re dieting too? He’s tried dieting, but ramen is just way too good, even at the expense of muscles.

“Ryuji, when you’re done spacing out, can you grab the ingredients?” Akira calls out.

“Ugh, cut the mind reading dude, it scares the hell out of me.”

He shoots him a signature Kurusu Akira smile; small yet disarming all the same, and it never fails to get Ryuji’s heart to do weird flips. “It’s not mind reading once you realize that I’m just obsessed with you.”

Instead of answering, Ryuji grumbles as he stalks off into the RV. Damn him and his genuine words and compliments.

He pulls out their luggage from underneath the table. Akira doesn’t need to say what ingredients he needs to grab—he’s helped out enough times during Leblanc’s afterhours to know the curry spices by heart. Ryuji might be a failure, but hey, he can do this no problem.

Grabbing bottles and shakers and balancing them on top of his arms like an overworked waiter, he glances left and feels his heart dropped. The envelope from his room—dust-free from rubbing against the rest of his luggage—is sticking out of his backpack. After a quick adjustment, he uses his free hand to shove it deep in his bag, hearing the paper crinkle in on itself.

It was a spur of the moment decision to bring it along with him, one that he’s still half-regretting. Why’d he do it? Maybe he was worried that he might enjoy this trip a little too much? Maybe he was some kind of masochist that likes having his problems and anxiety follow him literally everywhere he goes? Maybe he was scared to hell and back that his mom would find it before he had a chance to tell her himself? Fuck if he knows.

Poking his head out of the door, he yells, “Heads up!”

Throwing a bottle of black pepper, Akira catches it without looking. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Too late, I already sweat a little bit.”

Ryuji squints. “It’s sweated. Right, Ann?”

“Don’t look at me. I went to America for modelling, not a spelling bee.”

“I won all my spelling bees in middle school,” Makoto says, chest puffed out in pride.

“Were you the only one who joined?”

“That’s not important.”

Akira’s phone beeps enthusiastically, and Sophia’s voice rings out. “Got it! According to the internet, ‘sweat’ and ‘sweated’ are both grammatically valid. Technically, both Ryuji and Ann are correct.”

“Can we all just shut up for a second about sweating, for the love of god,” Futaba fans her face weakly. “It’s already sooooo hot. I feel like my skin is melting. Yusuke, is my skin melting?”

He looks at her for a moment, peering closely. “Yes.”

“How about we go in for a quick dip in the lake?” Haru offers, and Ryuji suspects that she can feel the same energy that he’s feeling when the group gets like this. “We were all talking about how beautiful it was, and it would cool down Futaba-chan no problem.”

She leans down, swirling her hand in the water. “It’s a little chilly, but it’ll definitely take care of the heat.”

“Good idea!” Futaba jumps up and throws off her shoes, ready to march in. “This is gonna feel so good.”

“Socks!” Akira reminds her.

“I know that!”

Haru and Yusuke follow suit, eager to get away from the heat, Makoto going in to change to shorts. Ryuji guesses it’s probably not an easy feat to roll up leather pants. Probably makes it either to ride motorcycles, or whatever people with leather pants do.

He feels a poke in his side. “You hopping in with them?” Akira asks.

No. The answer is already at the tip of his tongue, ready to roll out. Given how cramped the RV is, keeping up the trademark Sakamoto energy while lugging more baggage than an airport employee is brutal. It’s barely been a day since they started the trip, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. Already his chest feels heavy with something, and whenever all the windows are rolled up, it gets weirdly hard to breathe. But if he says no, Akira would definitely know something was up.

“Uh—”

“Actually, I think we’ll take over the curry for you,” Ann cuts in.

Ryuji turns to her, startled and wide eyed.

“Why?” Akira asks, just as confused as he is. They both know how much Ann loves being in the middle of things, especially in group hangouts.

“Because you look like you could use a break. I know for a fact that you had to pack Yusuke’s stuff for him, or else the van would’ve had fifteen canvases and an easel, and you had to grocery shop for everyone, and talk Haru out of a guilty spiral because she wasn’t confident enough in her driving. And all this before—” Ann looks down at her wrist to peer at a non-existent watch. “Five o’clock.

He frowns. “Sure, but I’ve done twice as much during our prime. This,” he gestures at the pot. “Is a walk in the park. Thank you, though.”

Ann sighs, heavy and contemplative. “I didn’t want to say it out right, but since you’re being difficult…” She places a hand on his shoulder. “You should hang out with Futaba more. Being gone from her for that long has been rough, and yes, we took care of her while you weren’t there, but you’re different.” Her hand tightens. “You know, Wild Card and all that.”

“That’s not what that means, but I appreciate the effort,” Akira says. Despite his words, it’s clear that what she said bothered him. Eyes flickering to Futaba, enthusiastically kicking the water to see how far the droplets would go, he directs his gaze to Ryuji. “Is it okay if…?”

Ryuji rolls his eyes, pretending like relief isn’t crashing through his body. “Go.”

Akira kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” When he pulls away, he gives Ann a hesitant look.

She grimaces. “Thanks, but no. Go hangout with the gremlin.”

He gives her a salute and saunters off, rolling up his jeans to wade through the water, making sure to splash Futaba on the way there.

After a moment of silence, he sighs. “Fine, I’ll say it. Your acting classes are actually doing you some good.”

“Ha!” she points at him triumphantly. “And you said it’d be a waste of time!”

“I didn’t say that.” Ryuji slouches into a nearby camping chair, the one that Sojiro forced them to lug along, hoping that some of his fatigue would seep away. “We both know that Futaba’s never been better, so what’s up? Why’d you throw out Akira like that?”

“It’s not for me, stupid,” she scoffs, but he can’t help but feel the weight in his chest get even heavier. He sinks even deeper into his chair. “The water was cold, right? That would make your knee even worse.”

“Yeah,” he blinks, having already forgotten the whole fucked-up knee story. “Thanks.”

“I won’t chew you out for not telling Akira, even though I should. But like I said,” she ruffles his hair. “I got your back. I know it must be hard, but you’re still acting all normal. We’re lucky that it’s only affecting you in the real world, too.” She had come up with that one herself, and thank god she did, cause he wouldn’t have known what to say if she had confronted him on how he could easily do flips and sprints in the Metaverse. “That just takes a lot of guts, and even though I know for a fact this would make you feel so much better once you tell him, I trust that you know what you need better than me.”

“Quit trying to look all cool,” he says, and prays to fucking god that the red on his face comes off as embarrassed gratitude rather than earth-shattering guilt. “And aren’t you supposed to be cooking, curry master?”

“Hey, he asked you to do it, not me. I’ll help you get the ingredients, but no way I’m doing the whole cooking shebang.”

“Ugh, fine,” he says, as if he doesn’t secretly love the idea of getting to cook for Akira this time instead of the other way around. Pushing himself up, Ann reaches out to help him. “You don’t gotta baby me, Takamaki.”

“I’ll baby you for as long as I need to, and then eventually Akira will be the one babying you. We come in shifts.”

“I hope you’re unionized.”

Makoto pokes her head out of the RV, wearing a showercap. “Did someone say unionized?”

“What the hell?” Ryuji staggers back in shock. Crap. “How long have you been there?”

“And why are you wearing that?” Ann gasps.

“Not long, and I don’t want my hair getting wet in case I fall in. We have no idea what’s been in here.”

“Were you going to fall in a bathtub?”

“Did you want me to push you in?”

“No, ma’am.”

—

There wasn’t a problem initially. Well, not one in Palaces, anyway. Wait, they’re called Jails now, which is really confusing. Ryuji’s just gonna have to avoid using those words so he doesn’t make himself look like an idiot.

Back in Shibuya, it had been...fine. Attacks landed, punches were dodged, Batons passed like his life depended on it (and it did). Like clockwork, instinct came to him and the weird nostalgic normalcy of fighting Shadows made it bearable.

Ryuji was off his game, and he could tell.

But he was barely off his game. If anything, he still had a foot on his game. Maybe even an entire leg on the game if he was being generous. He was still enough on the game that even Akira doesn’t notice.

But the weird part was, he doesn’t mind the fact that he’s off his game. In an even weirder way, he’s never been more on his game in his entire life.

“There!” Futaba’s voice crackles through the comms. “Uncle is open wide!”

“Her name is Ante, Oracle,” Makoto responds, brass knuckles jammed into the throat of some poor Shadow. “It’s open, but it’s vicious.”

Ryuji calls for Kidd just as she pulls away, wiping out the rest of the weaker ones with ease. “This thing’s like a goddamn mousetrap.” Ante’s serpent body slithering on the cool tiles so fluidly that it gives him the creeps. Her tail has tiny spikes etched into it, like mini knives hot glued onto a tetherball. The minute any of them even come close, she strikes outwards. “How vicious is vicious?”

“Depends on how fast you are.”

Akira’s head jerks up, and when their eyes meet, cracks a smile. “Fast, you say?”

Ryuji grins wider than he has in days. Joker relying on him? How can someone not feel a little giddy at that? “Say no more, leader.”

He stretches quickly, and feels eyes piercing the back of his head. Ann, probably. Shrugging it off, he sprints low towards Ante. As long as Ann doesn’t say a word, there won’t be a problem.

She’s taken hits from where Akira’s been concentrating on her. A mixture of bullet holes in its scales mixed in with cross slashes from where his bless attacks hit had left her delirious and pissed off. When he’s close, she bares her fangs and strikes, only for him to skid on the smooth tiles, rugged hands touching his mask.

“Come on out, Captain!”

His blond hair ruffled from Kidd’s attack, a crack of lightning came down from his Persona’s mangled hand, and a split second later her tail had been sliced clean through. And another crack comes, her neck landing on the tiles with a muffled thud. An attack that should’ve just been enough to incapacitate Ante had instead completely decapitated her.

A beat of silence passed as everyone processed what had happened. Ryuji’s mouth drops open, but he can’t muster any surprise.

He doesn’t know how, or why, but for some reason his attacks have been at least five times as strong as they had been back before the Metaverse was still intact. Moves that he didn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue, as if he had practiced them all his life. Normally this would only happen after rigorous training for months, adding up in tiny increments.

Now it happens every day.

“Well, looks like someone woke up on the right side of the gym today,” Futaba laughs awkwardly.

“What on earth was that, Skull?” Haru asks, eyes wide. “I had never seen you do something like that.”

Morgana’s tail swished. “She makes a good point. When’d you learn that one?”

“I don’t know.” He calls back Captain Kidd, eyeing the drop that Ante had left behind, but doesn’t move forward to snatch it up. “But whatever the reason is, it’s awesome as hell. I mean, did you see that? Sliced that thing open like a stuffed bear.”

“Let’s not bring stuffed animals into this, please,” Makoto frowns.

Akira’s giving him a look again, and it leaves Ryuji unsettled. “What is it, dude? I got something on my face?”

“No,” he steps closer, and his voice drops. “Are you alright?”

“Am I alright? I’ve never been better, man.” He flashes him a grin, hoping that it’s bright enough to distract Akira’s ever-searching eyes. “Come on, let’s get moving. Natsume’s heart isn’t gonna change itself.”

After one last glance, he nods, and Ryuji can see the minute Calculating Joker comes back. “You heard him. Let’s get moving, everyone.”

They all follow him up the stairs, eager to get moving past the eternally bleary and uncreatively written setting of Natsume’s Jail.

“Psst!” Ryuji hisses at Ann, who turns to him with a question in her eyes. “Panther! Get your ass over here!”

“What?” she whispers back.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I fucked up my knee when I rushed her, and I still haven’t told Joker, so do you mind…?”

An expected look of disapproval emerges from her expression, and Ryuji hurries to beat her to the punch. “I know, I know! But I can’t tell him in the middle of all this, now can I?”

“Fine,” she grumbles before calling Carmen. “I’ll cover you for now, but only ‘cause I’m a good friend and I’m super cute.”

“Yeah, the cutest, prettiest, whatever.” He glances over to Akira, swooping down to grab Ante’s drops before heading up. “Quick, before he looks back.”

Diarama washes over him, and even though relief floods through his body, he can feel a bead of sweat running down his temple. He’s not sure if it’s from her inherent heat or from the stress of lying to her again.

“Better?” Ann asks.

“Way better. Thanks.” He catches Sophia looking at them curiously. “The kid’s watching us. You better move ahead before she starts analyzing our personality types or something.”

Her eyes light up. “You think she’d do it if I asked? I really wanna know.”

“Just go!”

Ann hurries to catch up to Sophia, and while she’s distracted, Ryuji gently rolls up sleeves—he had gotten nicked by Ante as he slid. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem; he had gotten thrown through walls, been hit by mini hurricanes, been blown up by a boat, and walked away from all that still swinging.

Yet lately, any tiny, fractional, miniscule injury is enough to shoot unbearable pain throughout his entire body. It’s as if he was back in Kamoshida’s Palace, where every punch thrown at him had been life or death.

Glancing down at his forearm, he sighs. The cut was gone, but he can’t keep asking Ann to heal him in secret every time.

“Skull?”

Hurriedly pulling down his sleeve, he glances up to see Akira standing in front of him.

“Everyone’s waiting for you,” he says casually, as if those words don’t mean the entire goddamn world to Ryuji. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “My bad. Let’s go.”

They clambered up the staircase, and Ryuji decides that all of that stuff—getting injured and having it hurt like hell—just isn’t too important.

That just means that he’ll be fine as long as he doesn't get hit, and he’s had plenty of experience dodging punches that were thrown at him before.

—

“Cheers!”

All of them raise their red plastic cups, clinking it against each other in a way that they see adults do all the time on TV. Apple juice and iced tea slosh as they gulp it down eagerly, excitement so prevalent that they can hardly taste the cheap, convenience store-esque quality of their drink.

“This isn’t too bad,” Makoto muses, leaning against the faux-leather seats of the RV. “Though it would probably taste better if it wasn’t room temperature.”

“Does it look like this place has a mini fridge?” Futaba says, legs swinging down from her top bunk. “That’s a good idea though. I should’ve bought mine from home. Can you imagine we’re halfway through a six hour road trip and you want iced coffee and boom! Two feet behind you is Futaba’s Ice Cold Cafe, one hundred yen per use.”

“I hope you’d be ready to sleep on it, because this place is cramped enough as is,” Akira slaps the wall a few times, the way a rancher would a sturdy horse. “We’re lucky with what we have.”

“I know that! Without this thing we never would have been able to conquer Natsume’s Jail.” She reaches down to muss Yusuke’s hair. “I’m sure Inari feels good about that.”

He smiles, hair sticking up in all directions. “Of course I feel satisfied. Though I understand his struggle, being able to stop a fellow artist into becoming a true monster is always something that will bring me joy. Justice will never stop feeling good.”

“Cheers to that!” Ann raises her drink. “And you know what? This wouldn’t have been possible had Ryuji not kicked some major ass in that Jail.”

The group whoops and hoots loudly, and Ryuji can’t help but scoff when Ann winks at him. “Aw guys, you’re making me blush. I’m fucking awesome, sure, but we’re all pretty amazing.”

Haru shakes her head. “She’s right, Ryuji-kun. WIthout you, defeating dragon Natsume would’ve been much more difficult.”

“Even I can admit that you’ve gotten much stronger, Skull.” Morgana leaps onto the table, licking up the bowl of apple juice that Haru had left him. It feels wrong to let an animal drink that, but he’d never say anything about it. “Have you been training?”

Ryuji shrugs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Ooo, look at Mr. Humble all of a sudden,” Futaba jeers.

“I’m always humble!”

Ann grimaces. “I don’t think so. Remember when you finally got Akira to go on a date with you—”

“How dare you. He was begging me to go on a date with him—”

“And you wouldn’t stop telling us about how you had nabbed the coolest guy in Tokyo—”

Ryuji nearly jumps over the booth to put a hand on her mouth. “Quit yammering, Takamaki, I’m begging you.” He feels something slimy on his hand, and pulls back quickly. “Ew, did you lick me?! That’s so effing gross.”

“You’re gross.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back, warm and familiar. “I don’t think you’re gross, Ryuji,” Akira says. “I think you’re very clean.”

A harmonic beep rings through the air. “Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia’s clear voice cuts in. “But Akira, you got an email.”

“Thanks Sophie.” He points to where his phone is perched on the windowsill, propped up so she can see them celebrate their victory. “Can you…?”

Ryuji wordlessly passes it to him as everyone breaks off into smaller conversations, chatter blending into each other until it sounds like the kind of white noise he would queue up when he’s desperate to get some studying done. Immediately, Akira begins scanning through his phone, gray eyes focused.

He props his head against his shoulder to read alongside him and makes a noise of interest. “You signed up for cram school?” he asks, surprised.

“I did,” he replies, thumbing through the details of his admission.

Ryuji stares at him. “But you’re so fucking smart. Why are you paying who knows what to learn shit you already know?”

“Because Tokyo U barely cracks a 30% admission rate, and chemistry is hell incarnate.” With one last few clicks, he sets his phone down with a wince. “Sure is expensive though. We might have to reform the heart of someone in the education committee.” When he continues to stare at him wordlessly, Akira turns to him. “Don’t worry, I’m still leeching off of the Thieves' money from last year, so it’s not too bad when you take into account my part-time back home.”

“No, that’s not—I’m just—” he shakes his head and forces himself to start over. “Since when did you decide on Tokyo University?”

It’s Akira's turn to look taken aback. “What do you mean? You’d never leave Tokyo, especially if it meant leaving your mom.”

“That’s not the point. The point is I’m making you choose between me and your hometown!” he exclaims, but he already knows in his heart what Akira’s choice is going to be. It’s stupidly obvious. For some reason, the longer this conversation goes on, the tighter his chest feels.

The feeling doubles when Akira’s eyes, always focused and always sharp, subdued at his words. “Are you really comparing yourself to that place? You know I’d choose you over anything.” He reaches forward and combs through Ryuji’s hair, hushed and gentle in a way that only Akira can manage. “I’m so excited to live life with you again.”

The white noise, so comfortable before, abruptly turns overwhelmingly loud—grating and unbearable and painful to be around. Ryuji stands abruptly, barely reacting to Futaba’s yelp when he backs into her.

“Hey! What gives?”

“I…” his eyes dart around, flinching when he accidentally makes eye contact with Akira, and again when he locks eyes with Ann.

The sudden silence from the group is somehow worse than the noise from before, and if the tightness in his chest gets any more painful, his lungs are gonna burst into a million pieces and he’s not gonna be able to pick it all up from the ground if everyone’s watching.

“Trash,” he blurts out.

“What?” Makoto blinks, glancing up from her map.

“This place is disgusting and it’s way too cluttered and it’s bad to leave such a big mess so I’m gonna—” Ryuji grabs the plastic bag filled with garbage, haphazardly tossing empty cans and plastic cups into it. “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up.”

Before they can question him, he’s already out of the RV, towing trash and leaving his friends behind him.

—

“What the fuck was that?!” Ryuji screams into the sky.

He was far enough from the trailer that he knew they couldn’t hear him even if they had strained their ears, and it was late enough into the night that even the tourists weren’t poking around to look at the shrines or the Great Masamune himself.

“Keep it a secret’, my ass! That was the second dumbest thing—no, the third dumbest thing you’ve ever done in your entire life. Do you know how high that threshold is, Sakamoto? High! Higher than you can see with your own two eyes! Higher than Yaldabaoth’s goddamn crane-sized spine!”

Swooping down, he grabs a fistful of pebbles and throws it as hard as he can. “You are so selfish! What happened to keeping ‘Kira happy, you effing asshole?” Relishing in how far it went, he takes another two more. “You are so annoying. You are—” he throws, the rocks landing with a little plink. “Insufferable. Stupid. Selfish. A fucking—” this time, he doesn’t even know where it lands. “Gah!”

Turning on his heel, he glares up at the statue and grits his teeth when he sees Masamune’s stoic expression. “Don’t give me that look—you’re dead. You ain’t got nothing to complain about. Everyone’s remembering you as the guy who saved Japan, or whatever. But guess what? You’re probably a loser. A dumb, stupid loser who convinced everyone that you’re good for something when you’re worth jack shit!”

Before he can stop himself, he takes the garbage bag full of cans, glass bottles, and crumpled chip bags and hurls it at Masamune. It hits the base of the statue, far below damaging the One-Eyed Dragon himself, but the glass cracks under the force of being thrown, tearing through the plastic and causing trash and shards to explode all over the steps. Ryuji’s chest is heaving as he stares down at what he’s done.

“Impressive.”

He whirls around at the voice behind him, stomach lurching straight to the ground when he sees who it was. “In his years of war, I doubt that anyone’s ever tried throwing waste in his direction in order to defeat him.”

“Yusuke,” he breathes, feeling his frustration draining away to make room for even more guilt, if that was even possible. Ryuji cannot possibly look any more of an asshole than he does right now—tearing his throat raw in a public space, surrounded by the garbage he had thrown at a national monument in front of a guy who clearly worships and respects art that’s old as hell. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up, I promise. I was just…” he hesitates. “Talking to myself.”

Yusuke hums, unconvinced, and carefully approaches the mess in front of him. Ryuji waves him off. “No, don’t. Broken glass is a bitch, especially the little pieces. If that gets in your skin, it’s game over. You’d have to go into the hospital for sure.” He grimaces. “Trust me. My dad used to throw beer bottles at our place like he was in a ball game, and that ain’t fun, I promise you that.”

“I see.” Turning around, Ryuji hoped that he was magically going to head back to the group and not mention this to anyone there, but instead Yusuke stopped in front of a water fountain. “You’re right. If you’re not careful, it could be very easy to hurt yourself when dealing with broken glass.” Pulling out a handkerchief from his breast pocket in a way that only Yusuke can, he soaks it in water before crouching down at the shards glimmering under moonlight. “But if you use wet fabric to dab it on the shards itself—” he pats the concrete and flips the fabric over, revealing the moist and glistening pieces stuck on its side. “You can clean up the pieces with little to no danger.”

“Huh.” After a moment, he realizes that he’s making Yusuke do the dirty work for him. “Pass me that. Thanks for the tip, but I can take it from here. I mean,” he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s totally my fault that the glass is here anyway.”

He doesn’t look up from his task, eyes focused and movement meticulous. “No need. If you’d like to help, you can start picking up the non-dangerous litter around us.”

Ryuji does as he’s told, wincing as he has to pick up sticky, pop-soaked wrappers with his bare hands but he doesn’t complain. Karmic retribution has never held back against him. “The glass thing,” he starts, squatting down and picking up empty cans and plastic utensils with curry remnants still stuck to them. “They teach you that in Kosei?”

“No, from one of Madarame’s past pupils actually.” Yusuke shifts over to dab at another glass-covered section, concrete looking clearer with every pat. “Sensei had a rather violent habit of hurling canvases at the wall if they do not meet his standards, and his actions had led to many of our more fragile belongings being shattered when he did.” His tone doesn’t change, but Ryuji can see his shoulders tighten. “At least it allowed me to move away from that house very quickly, considering I had very little to pack away.”

Ryuji opens his mouth to comfort him. Instead, he finds himself speaking in a low tone. “Glad that bastard is rotting in jail,” he resists the urge to spit on the ground. “Then afterwards, I hope he rots in hell, just to really cover all of our bases.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Yusuke. “Thank you,” he smiles, and all Ryuji can do is nod. There isn’t much you can say after that without making it weird. But how weirder can it possibly get when the two of you are off towing around someone’s perception of the world on a daily basis?

They continue to work in silence; the wind is gentle, but it��s enough to rustle the leaves and allow Ryuji to feel some relief from the summer heat. He’s picking up wet paper tissues, and it’s gross, but it’s nice to be doing something with his hands.

He’s just about done his part of the clean-up when he can’t take it anymore. “Aren’t you gonna ask?”

“No,” Yusuke answers without looking up. That’s another thing that Ryuji really appreciates about him—playing dumb has never been something that he’s done to get out of an awkward situation. To be fair though, Yusuke himself is an awkward situation.

“Why not?”

“Did you want me to?”

That question makes him pause, and Yusuke doesn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve always been the most vocal in the group, and while many a time it has been our downfall in terms of secrecy, I have always considered it one of your strong points. And if you, Sakamoto Ryuji, are indeed struggling with using your words,” Yusuke’s eyes turn to him. “Then it must be very difficult to talk about.”

A beat passes. “No,” Ryuji mutters. “I don’t want you to ask.”

“Then I won’t,” he says easily. “But I do have a question.”

“Lay it on me.”

Yusuke shuffles to crouch down next to him, and it’s kinda weird seeing someone as elegant as him pose like some kind of hoodlum. “Does Akira know about your struggle?”

His mind flashes back to the confused look back in the RV and he scratches his neck roughly. “I bet he does now.”

Yusuke leans back, shocked. “He doesn’t know?”

“I’m getting there! Don’t pressure me, man. You said it yourself, I’m fucking struggling.”

“Well, yes, I did say that, but it’s Akira,” he says the name almost reverently. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t sense that something is askew.”

“I just said that, didn’t I? Goddamn, you and Ann are just two of the same peas in the same freaking pond, aren’t you?”

“It’s ‘pod’, Ryuji,” he corrects. “Ann is aware?”

“She—” Ugh, how does he explain that she thinks she knows, but really he had lied about what he told her? “She basically knows.” And because his fat mouth just keeps getting fatter, “She’s sort of part of the problem.”

Yusuke’s eyes widen and Ryuji hurries to cover up for his mistake. “She’s not a problem, it’s just that I didn’t explain…It’s really my fault, and how I deal with internal shit, you know what I’m saying? And Ann’s just kind of in the crossfire, so what ended up happening is when I talk to her about what I’m feeling, I end up just feeling worse.” He winces. First he lies to her and now he’s shit-talking her? “I did not say that. What I really mean is that, uh, feelings...and actions...are complicated,” he finishes weakly.

“I see,” he says finally.

It seems that even Yusuke has a threshold for uncomfortable moments, because he rises to his feet. “Thank you for sharing all of that with me.”

“Uh, yeah, for sure. Thanks for the glass trick.”

“No need to mention it. It’s much easier to clean up a mess when you have someone helping you.” He points vaguely behind himself, “Would you like to head back together? I’m sure by now the festivities are winding down, and the trash you were so keen on disposing of has definitely been thrown away.”

Ryuji blanches. It grossed him out that he forgot he was holding an armful of garbage in his hand. “You go ahead. I just need to,” he rocks his arms, almost cradling the wet garbage. “Throw this out.”

“Very well. I’ll see you when you get back, then.”

He waves at him, and Ryuji wiggles in response (unless he wants it all hitting the ground and restarting that whole process again, which, no thanks.) After dumping it all into a nearby trash can, the process of which lasts several minutes since he still had to sort out the recycling, he feels a buzz in his pocket.

KA: come back when you can KA: i miss you

He takes a shaky breath.

SR: on my way

#p5 #p5s #ryuji sakamoto #akiryu #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #akira kurusu #pegoryu #happy birthday ryuji this ones for you

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 3 years

Text

BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved.

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM.

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope.

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings.

You failed the exam.

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel.

This day could not get worse.

Famous last words.

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag.

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state.

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache.

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought.

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head.

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal.

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes.

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace.

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner.

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes.

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish.

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets.

Interesting.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body.

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes.

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt.

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you.

First the dishes, and now a bath?

The boys are definitely up to something.

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom.

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable.

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!”

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?”

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist.

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.”

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year.

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.”

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now.

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name.

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward.

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.”

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.”

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath.

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person.

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones.

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on.

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest.

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.”

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.”

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room.

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.”

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit.

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you.

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.”

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin.

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played.

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.”

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.”

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.”

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home.

You are home.

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling.

You are the luckiest.

And you realize that every single day.

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.

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thorne93 · 4 years

Text

The Stars Made Us (Part 8)

Prompt: In this world, you’re one of the “lucky” ones who got a soulmate, but what if the universe gives you more than you bargained for?

(Prompt challenge – You live in a world where your soulmate can write on their skin and you will get the writing on your own and vice versa. Where they can wash away the ink on their own skin, however, the writing is forever scarred onto your skin until you meet face to face)

Word Count: 2606

Warnings: angst and language throughout

Notes: This was supposed to be for @sorryimacrapwriter and their challenge like a year ago, I think? I still loved the prompt though and have been working on this story for quite some time. This aesthetic was made by @dontshootmespence, thank you so much! Beta’d by @like-a-bag-of-potatoes, couldn’t have done it without you, as well as @carryonmyswansong and @arrow-guy and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Also, I’ve never really liked the whole soulmate AU thing idea, but this felt so right and it was amazing to write. I hope y’all love it too!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a week now since you arrived at the Xavier residence.

You were successful in getting him to back off the alcohol until 5 pm. You had gotten him to eat a real meal at least once a day, which meant emerging from his room for some social interaction. Unintentionally, you two had spent quite a bit of time together. You were walking near the pond, reading when he appeared beside you. He began to ask you what you thought of the book and you two got into a long discussion over books you loved and hated. The next time was while you were cleaning the kitchen after breakfast and he was watching you. You didn’t know it at first until he spoke and you jumped slightly.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” you noted, wringing out the sponge in the sink before going back to work.

“No, I should apologize, I was the one staring. I just… I’m not used to anyone being in here, well not like this. Growing up I had a chef and a full kitchen staff. My mother never stepped foot in a kitchen in her life.”

“Ah, so I’m a strange sight then, hmm?” you asked as you worked away.

“Just a little bit. But I like it… It’s refreshing.”

“Really? Typically men want a woman just like their mother.”

“My mother was an exceptional woman, she had very few faults, but I think it’s essential for everyone to know how to cook, and cook well.”

“Oh,” you noted, huffing out some air as you finished scrubbing and wiping the counter. “So, do I? Cook well, that is. You’ve had my food now for a few days. What do you think?”

“Well some of the flavors and dishes are new to my taste, but I have yet to eat anything I outright don’t like.”

“Progress then,” you said with a grin.

“Yes, it would seem so.”

The next time was when you were working on something your colleague had sent in. It was on a patient of yours and they had questions about it. You asked if you could use his study privately to talk to her and do some work. He granted you the room but he lingered in the doorway. He must’ve thought you couldn’t tell because your back was turned, but you knew he was there. After your brief two hour work session, you emerged and he approached you.

“You sound as if you really care for your patients,” he commented.

“I do. They’re my patients. They look to me to feel better, to ease their symptoms, to make their life easier. Why wouldn’t I care for them? You cared for your students, yes?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I imagine it’s the same thirst to make sure they’re properly cared for.”

“I suppose it is, yes. Sorry for eavesdropping I just--”

You put your hand on his arm and smiled. “It’s fine, Charles. I understand.”

He smiled and nodded.

Of course you understood. He missed a year of you, you missed a year of him. You two were desperate to know every little thing about each other. Whether or not he was at fault for losing that year, he still wanted to know you, know about you, know how you ticked, and what made you tick.

He still misused his serum, but thankfully, Hank had finally gotten the first batch ready to try on him.

“Are you sure it’s ready?”

“I’m pretty sure this is it. It might need some minor tweaking, but this should do it.” He handed you a fresh needle and serum.

You nodded, huffing out.

“You ready?” Hank asked. He knew this would be the biggest feat yet. Getting Charles to eat wasn’t hard, everyone had to eat. Getting him up at a reasonable hour, no problem. Even limiting his alcohol was relatively easy.

But asking him to accept the voices which he desperately seemed to want to forget -- this would be your biggest mission.

“I guess as I’ll ever be.”

You took the needle and serum and found him in his study.

“Hey, Charles, time for your meds,” you announced, trying to hide your nervousness.

“Ah, thank you, it was starting to wear off,” he noted with a grin. He took the serum and needle from you and began to load the needle.

Part of you honestly wanted him to take the serum and see how he reacted, but every ethical part of you was saying that was wrong.

“Uh, before you take it, you need to know it’s a new kind.”

He was just finishing loading the needle and pulling his sleeve up when he stopped to look at you. “I’m sorry, new? What do you mean?”

“It’s…” you began wringing your hands, “it’s supposed to make you walk, and use your powers.”

He immediately put the bottle and syringe down on his desk and faced you, his expression one of confusion and anger.

“And why is this new?”

“Because I asked Hank to make it.”

“Why in the bloody hell would you do that?” he demanded, whipping around and pacing behind his desk. “The other serum was fine, it was perfect. It got rid of the pain--”

“And made you forget what living is like,” you countered.

“How would you know what my life was like?” he argued, clearly angry.

“Because like it or not, I know you. We talked for ten years, and you can bullshit me all you want that you showed me what I wanted to be seen. All I know is you went from being educated, compassionate, funny, sweet, eloquent, to an asshole who sits around all day doing nothing. I know that the man I loved was amazing and I envied him for all his hard work and dedication. You inspired me. When med school got too hard, I turned to you. Sometimes you sent me words of encouragement, other times I told myself ‘If he can do it, so can I’. I know it hurts. I know you lost friends and practically your sister. I know you’ve had a lot of shitty luck in your life, you told me so. I’m not denying that you should be angry, or hurt, or feel grief. I’m saying it shouldn’t stop you from living your life, from feeling the pain.”

“What the fuck would you know about pain? Do you have any idea what it’s like living with this power?”

“No. So why don’t you tell me?” you demanded, getting closer to him, less than arms length apart.

“It’s excruciating. It’s like a thousand screaming, helpless voices in your head. Would you want that? Would anybody want that?”

“No, but you dealt with it before, so why does it bother you now?”

“Because it’s hard, alright?”

“No, Charles, you handled these powers for nearly twenty years, so why now? What is so hard about controlling them now?”

“Because I can’t handle them,” he stressed, his hands gesturing desperately towards you. “Don’t you get it? I can’t. I don’t have the ability to quiet them any more. It’s just so loud, there’s so much pain--”

You closed the gap between you two as you put your hands on the side of his face.

“You did it once, you calmed it once, you can do it again. I’ll help you. You won’t be alone this time. Hank and I will both help you. I know it’ll be hard. I know it’s scary. I know the easy road is to just shut them out and not face the pain, to wall yourself inside this fortress and shut everything else out. But I’m giving you the option to stop the physical pain and accept who you really are. Your powers are a part of you. You shouldn’t shut them out. If you shut them out, you’ll be living a lie. You won’t be allowing yourself to be who you were born to be.”

“I...I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, I know you can. You’ve got two Ph.Ds. You committed yourself to a phantom for ten years. You are not a quitter. I’ll be with you every step of the way…” You pursed your lips in thought. There had to be a compromise here. He didn’t want to return to normal, but you needed him to at least try. So you proposed something. “And, if you take this dose, and you just can’t withstand what happens… we’ll go back to the other serum. Is that a deal?”

He eyed you up and down as you let go of him, peering at him with hope and pleading in your eyes.

“One time, and then we go back to the other one if it doesn’t work?”

“Absolutely. I’m not here to put you in agony, Charles.”

He nodded. “Alright, darling, I’ll try… Once.” He lifted the syringe, found the vein, and then peered at you while he injected the serum. Neither of you said a word as the medicine took effect.

After thirty seconds, his face went from a calm serene mask to an expression of anguish.

“It’s...so...painful,” he rasped out as his hands slowly slid to his head.

“It’s alright. It’s okay. Just focus on me, focus on my voice,” you encouraged. He began to stumble back, gripping his head as he sat in his leather swivel chair. His eyes on yours as it looked as if he were about to cry.

“I--I--I can’t,” he cried out. “I need the other one.”

“Charles, please? Please,” you begged, kneeling before him, your hands on his knees. “It’s alright. You did this for years. Focus on one thing. Focus on me, my face, my voice.”

His breathing started to even out as he stared at you.

“That’s it,” you encouraged with a grin. “My voice, just think about it. Focus on the sound.”

“You really did miss me,” he suddenly said, his brows furrowing as he stared at you. He was talking as if he was only speaking to himself. He continued to stare at you as his hands loosened their grip around his head. “You thought I was dead. You cried yourself to sleep every week… You thought you did something wrong.”

You frowned, realizing what he was doing. This hadn’t really occurred to you, stupidly. Of course when he got his telepathic powers back, he’d be able to read your mind, why wouldn’t he? It was a bit unsettling, but he needed this. Swallowing your pride and discomfort you let him read your mind, as if you really had any other choice.

Eventually, his face smoothed out.

“There you go. There you are.”

He stared at you, his breathing finally back to normal.

“Are you okay? Is it as overwhelming as you thought it would be?”

He shook his head and swallowed. “No, no… I think I can… I think I can stand it.”

“You sure?” you urged. “Because if you can’t, we’ll go back to the other one if--”

“I’m fine. You’re right. I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

You smiled at him. “I’m glad. We’ll help you. It’ll get easier with every day.”

“I’m sorry I, uh--”

Shaking your head you waved him off as you stood up. “No, it’s fine. Your powers, they do that. I knew that. I just… I forgot. It took me aback, for a second, that’s all. Well, I’ll let you get to the rest of your day. Remember, no alcohol until 6 pm.”

“I don’t want any. If I’m going to kick the bad habits, I need to do it right. I can’t lean on the alcohol for a crutch while my powers are going.”

“That’s good,” you agreed, nodding. “I’m proud of you. I’m not sure if that means anything or not.” You gave a soft smile and left him for the day.

You worked on cleaning, worked a little bit on patient files sent to you in your bedroom, and by nightfall, you were telling Charles and Hank goodnight.

-----------------------------

By nightfall three nights later, you were in Charles’s room, telling him goodnight as you helped him tidy up. He was done dusting his books and said he was ready to hit the hay. He climbed into bed as you waited for him to get rested.

“How are you feeling?” you asked, referring to his third day on the new serum.

“I’m coping… getting through it,” he assured. “It’s like muscles you haven’t flexed in a long time.”

A slow nod came to you. “I’m glad you’re working them out,” you said with a slight laugh.

“Me too.”

“Well, goodnight, sweet dreams,” you bid before walking to his door. You opened the door, just about to step out when suddenly he said something to stop you.

“I missed you too, you know?” he remarked, his heart and tone full of sadness.

You turned back to him, your hand still on the handle to the door.

He continued, not giving you a chance to talk. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me. I’d been so successful so far, I had so much to offer you. Then suddenly, I was a man with nothing. No legs, no powers, no school, no ambition, no future. I had nothing to give you. I was so afraid that if I did tell you the truth, you’d reject me. I knew in my heart you wouldn’t, you’re not like that. It didn’t stop me from thinking the worst though. And I knew if I told you about everything else, I’d have to tell you about my mutation and I really wanted to wait until we met in person.”

“I… don’t blame you. I can understand. I just missed you, that’s all.” You walked toward the bed, sitting down on the empty side.

He let out a sorrowful laugh. “I missed you more than words can say. Who knows, maybe if I had talked to you I wouldn’t have fallen into this depression. In fact, I’m sure if I hadn’t ignored your texts, I would’ve been fine, relatively speaking.”

“I wish I could’ve been there for you.”

“I know you do,” he said with love in his voice as he reached his hand out, and you took it happily. “You don’t have to be here, by any means. You’re not obligated to be here. I was just a coward when it comes down to it--”

“Charles,” you started, shaking your head, objecting.

“No, it’s true. You’ve been nothing but open and honest with me and I didn’t return the favor. I just...abandoned you. You had no one, no one who understood what you were going through. You were all alone. I, at least, had Hank.”

“It’s okay,” you assured.

“No, it’s not. You deserved better. You do deserve better, and I’m so sorry for that. I can’t make up for what I took away from you, for what I took away from us.”

You cast your eyes down, unsure what to say.

“But we can salvage what we have, right? We can still try to make up for lost time, right?”

“Right,” you agreed with a smile, tears brimming your eyes.

“Good. I’d like to at least try.”

“Me too.”

“Thank you for being here, I truly appreciate it. I know you’re here for me, not for some destiny fulfillment. I know you care for me. I know that.”

“Good, don’t ever forget it,” you chided with a grin as you squeezed his hand.

“Never again,” he promised before pulling your hand up to kiss the back of it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the stars made us #charles xavier x reader #charles xavier fic #charles xavier #stephen strange fic #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange

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a-lonely-tatertot · 4 years

Text

Finding Home

A/n: Hey this will be a multi chapter fic with a bunch of different ships and characters in it (expect them to all be gay in some way) this is based off of a set of hcs from @linhamon-roll as always this was betaed by the lovely @bookwyrminspiration and I am extremely grateful for faer help! (Also if you guys like this enough tell me if you want a tag list for it, @everyonehasthoughts whoops posted this one instead)

Tw: talk of nightmares (if there’s more please tell me)

word count: 2760

Chapter 1: Back to the Beginning

Breathe.

“I’m not going to the upper levels,” the words spilled out of her mouth before she could stop them. Wide eyes stared at her from all around the room. She managed to count three breaths before the inevitable outburst.

“What?!” Grady shouted. He’s not angry at you, she reminded herself, just surprised.

“Are you kidding?” Fitz whispered in confusion.

“You have to go to the upper levels. How else do you think you’ll become a part of society?” Alden said in his perfect no-need-to-worry voice that just made her want to smack him more.

“Sweetie I know it’ll be new and it’s normal to be scared-” Edaline started before she cut her off.

“I’m not scared okay? I don’t give a damn about being a part of society, and no I’m not kidding. This is my decision,” Sophie snapped. She was so done with this, with the stares, the names, being “Sophie Foster” and “human-raised”, a “war-hero;” she just wanted to be no one again. Maybe that made her a coward, but that’s who she was.

“Sophie, you’re not making sense,” Alden said, shaking his head, smiling that horrible venom-filled smile that barely contained the storm. Ever since she’d learned what Alden had done to his family she’d hated him almost as much as the Neverseen. Because he and Cassius were the same, but only one paid for it.

“Did I not speak clearly enough for you?” she asked, letting the hatred seep through her words and relished in the surprise on his face. “I am not going to the upper levels. I am not staying here either. Here I’m always going to be Sophie: the Moonlark, the leader of Team Valiant, the war hero. That’ll always be me. Here I’ll be stuck picking up the council’s mess for my entire life and I wanna be a kid still.”

“So what do you plan on doing?” Biana spoke up after a silence.

Breathe. “I’m going to go back to the Forbidden Cities, I’m gonna go back home.”

The uproar came back twice as loud as before. She was hit with hundreds of “no”s and “you can’t”s and the occasional “that’s illegal” but in between it all she locked eyes with Fitz. They didn’t need to be Cognates to understand what the other was thinking. She held his gaze and didn’t back down, this was her decision. Fitz smiled a bit at her stubbornness and nodded slightly. There wasn’t any danger from him, no “You can’t do this!” Nothing that the boy she used to know would do.

He’s different now, Sophie realized, how had she missed it?

Her eyes drifted to Biana who was staring at the middle of the room with a blank expression. It was like she wasn’t there, lost somewhere in an ocean of thought. Finally, she looked up, “It’s your decision Fos-boss.”

A hundred times before those words had been directed at her. When deciding the fate of the world she was always plagued by uncertainty. But for once, it felt right; she was going home. Alden and her parents would say no as many times as they could to make her stay, and Fitz and Biana would try at some point, but one way or another she was leaving. She’d be back eventually, but for a while, she wouldn’t have to be Sophie Foster.

The next night they had gathered everyone. Well, not everyone, just the people she cared about. Della and Livvy stood off to the side and Sophie smiled at their intertwined fingers. Maybe, just maybe they would be fine without her. Keefe stood quietly, his face blank, and it made her rethink everything. But Linh placed a steady hand on her shoulder and she was back. Stay focused, don’t lose it, Sophie told herself sternly.

Grady and Edaline watched her, and she wondered how the house would feel without her. She took a breath and turned to Dex. He, out of all of them, wasn’t quite ready for her to leave.

“I can’t make you stay, can I?” Dex asked. His voice wavered slightly and there were tears in his eyes. There were tears in all their eyes.

Sophie shook her head slowly, “Not this time.” Everything was in place, all she had to do was just leave. That was the hardest part. To make it real.

“C’mon Soph, we did it; it’s over,” his eyes pleaded with her. “Let me come with you.”

They had all tried this. In different manors, in different ways, except for Linh. All she did was wrap her arms tightly around her and squeeze like she would never let go. Some part of her, buried under many many layers of protection, knew that if Linh tried she could make her stay. “That’s the problem Dex,” she had said this so many times before, “We are always going to be fixing things and we’re always going to be fighting, and I am always going to be Sophie Foster the human. I just want to be normal, for a few decades that’s all. I’ll be back soon, just make sure to keep these idiots in check while I’m gone alright? I gotta do this alone.” Her voice caught on the last word as it dawned on her that it might be the last thing she would say to them for a long time.

Dex wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, picking her up slightly. “I’ll miss you dumbass.”

She nodded mutely into his shoulder, “Likewise asshole.” It’s time now. She stepped away, flash drive in hand, because if Dex couldn’t join her he would always help her. And she loved him for that.

She turned away from them. She dug her heels into the dirt and braced herself.

Three. Linh’s hand left her shoulder and she could feel all their eyes on her.

Two. It wasn’t the first time she had done this. It was teleporting. It was in her bones, literally.

One. Dex sucked in a breath in sync with her. The feeling of the tension running through her, becoming her, was intoxicating.

Zero. There’s no looking back now. And she ran. Her feet pounded the ground, her heart seemed to get faster with every stride. Dirt bounced with every thud of her shoes and she was free. And she jumped.

Falling. Floating. Landing.

The stale, polluted, stiff air greeted Sophie on the other side and she had never been more relieved to step into a broken world. Her broken home. From now on, she’d be Amilia Ruewen and that was okay.

“The hell you doing here kid?” an old woman stared her down from behind the counter. She had wrinkles; on her face, on her apron, on her surprisingly steady hands that held an outrageous stack of plates.

“Uh,” Amilia said nervously, “I need a job.”

The woman’s dark eyes narrowed further, “And you came here.” It wasn’t a question.

“That I did,” she muttered, it took every bit of her not to yank out her eyelashes.

With a huff, the woman set down the plates and walked out from behind the counter to march up to her. Amilia swallowed hard as the woman grabbed her hands from her sides. Her stark white hands seemed too pale and clean in the older woman’s dark hands. Amilia felt like she was under a microscope, like this woman could see every bit about her life as she stared at her hands.

“You’ve worked, you’ve fought,” she said quietly, and dragged her eyes up to hers. “If you can clean you’ve got a job.”

Something exploded inside her and couldn’t’ve been happier. But wait, “No cooking?” Amilia called out as the woman went behind the counter again.

She chuckled lightly, “Clean first, then we’ll see. Chop chop, it’s almost time for the rush and these tables still haven’t been washed.”

“I don’t even know your name ma’am!” Amilia realized suddenly.

“You want a name, new girl?” she said. fixing her with another hard stare, “It’s Mari, you’ve got a real name?”

Amilia closed her mouth tightly, “It depends on your definition of real.”

Mari let out a harsh laugh, “Less philosophy more cleaning.”

A smile tugged at her mouth as she caught the wet rag the woman tossed her.

By the end of the day, she had been introduced to the regulars as nothing more than “the new girl”. She had scrubbed the counters over and over and Mari still managed to look unimpressed. Her sweeping skills got corrected and she became more familiar with the crappy sink than she would’ve liked. If you turned the old fashion handle too far right, then the water was basically boiling. If it was too far to the left, you got ice. There was one temperature that was decent and it was not moved from that spot. Amilia had found that out the hard way.

When Mari flipped the paper and probably homemade sign from “open” to “closed”, she flopped down on one of the booths. She was tired and wiped, but it was good because she was happy. She couldn’t have done this in the Lost Cities. And she wouldn’t have done this in San Francisco. Because this was normal, and no one knew her name, and that was the opposite of everything she once was.

“You going home yet kid?” Mari asked from the lightswitch. She hadn’t thought about that, where she’d stay for the night. The booths weren’t optimal but they would work.

“Can I stay here for the night?”

“In these shitty booths? Not happening,” Mari responded, shaking her head lightly. Amilia’s heart fell to her stomach and Mari sighed at her probably pitiful expression, “You really don’t have a place to stay?”

Amilia shook her head. “Fine, come on. You can borrow my couch for the night.”

The night turned into two, to a week, to a month and eventually Mari stopped asking about her family.

“We’ve all got secrets,” she’d say, and Sophie wondered what her secrets were. Mari stopped asking about where she was going too.

“This is a pit stop town,” she said one night while they put away dishes.

“It wasn’t for you.”

“It’s where you find yourself when you’re young and get pulled back into when you’re old and broke.”

“Maybe I’m finding myself,” Amilia said only to get a hum in response.

The words that Mari had said when she first met her came to Amilia often. Could she really tell what she had gone through? Or was it some weird old lady thing she did to freak her out?

There was one night where the nightmares came back worse than ever. She woke with sweat soaking her shirt and barely breathing. There was soft clinking in the kitchen that sounded too much like throwing stars. She remembered how they felt in her hands, drawing her own blood as she cleaned them. The sweet release as they left her hand to make a soft thunk in her target. How the rush it gave Sophie was always followed by a thick sense of dread. Because if it made her excited, how far away was she from the monsters she fought?

“I thought it’d be a rough night,” Mari said leaning on the doorway.

“How did you know?”

“You’ve fought wars, those don’t go away easy. Come, I brought sugar, thought you would need it.”

So she stumbled her way into the kitchen, tired and trying as hard as she could to keep her tears in. Mari had pancakes and shakes and had brought them out to the front porch. The best thing about this place was you could see every star in the sky.

“How could you tell I’ve fought?” Sophie asked. The shake was shockingly cold against her hands and she tried to stop the shiver that ran through her. Mari rocked back quietly like they had all the time in the world to watch the stars move.

“You have the look in your eyes.”

“But you looked at my hands, why?” Somehow, the shake tasted like mallowmelt. The kind that Edaline would make on bad nights before tucking her into bed.

“Because your hands have been everywhere, they can tell stories if you let them.”

She decided not to ask any more questions, every answer would just be more confusing than the last. “And because they look like mine,” Mari finally said quietly.

“Oh.”

Mari didn’t look at her while she talked, “I saw a kid, who looked lost as hell with no immediate future, who had the hands of a fighter and eyes that held secrets. I thought I could do right by her.”

“I think you did,” Sophie said. For real this time, she wasn’t Amilia, she wasn’t trying to be her sister, for this night under the stars, she could be Sophie.

Over the year Amilia sometimes forgot about the demons that haunted her. Her past life- lives. They were not her anymore. Days and hours where nothing other than the simple act of flipping pancakes and washing tables were her only thoughts. The town was small and out of the way. No glittery castles and fancy houses. Only small farms, sketchy strip malls, and home. There was only one hint that she wasn’t human, the small leaping crystal around her neck.

“For emergencies,” Biana had said placing it gently around her neck.

“And when you’re ready to come back home,” Fitz had whispered against the top of Sophie’s head.

So it stayed around Amilia’s neck, night and day; a reminder that she never had and never would belong. But she wanted to; she craved it. And Mari made her feel somewhat normal.

She wanted something human. Something reckless and young, that was the human she wanted. Sitting at her computer at the table in Mari’s old yellow motorhome that had housed her, she found herself looking at colleges. When she was younger “college” was an expectation, perfect grades, perfect words, perfect scores. Sophie didn’t get to decide her future. To put it simply, it was never an option, her years were already filled with other’s ideas. But as Amilia clicked the tab for courses she realized that for once she controlled her next small forever. And in her next small forever she could just maybe belong.

Tables had been washed, the sun had gone down, and she had flipped the frayed sign. She had thought about it all day, the college she chose was far away and she didn’t know how to tell Mari this. The woman had become much closer to her than she thought she would. So as she grabbed her small packed duffle bag and held the door handle she tried to ignore the sharp pain that hit her chest. It only got worse as a soft voice came down the hall.

“Amilia?” Angie, Mari’s “friend”, whispered down the hall.

“Go back to bed, I’m just grabbing some things,” she said, wincing at how well she lied.

“That duffle says otherwise young lady,” Mari appeared seemingly out of thin air. Sophie knew this wasn’t going to end well, the feeling cemented itself as anger flared white hot in her stomach.

“‘Young lady’? Sorry did ‘kid’ just get thrown out the window? What are you now, my mom?” she snapped.

Mari gapped at her for a second, “Oh I’m sorry, right now I guess I’m more of your mom than whoever had you and left you on your own!”

“You don’t know nothing about them!” Sophie shouted. She didn’t mean too and she hated the way Mari flinched. But Sophie had pushed them away and that wasn’t their fault.

“The hell is this all about Amilia? You wanna go, go. Just don’t be a coward and leave without a goodbye.”

The tears fell fast down her face, because it was all too familiar. And she had never wanted to leave Mari like that. But she was angry, and that never ended well. “Fine, you want a goodbye? Goodbye.”

The door slammed hard behind her, and the rain soaked Sophie’s jacket mixing with her tears. It felt like a crappy hallmark movie from the early 2000s, but she was too angry to care; About the rain, about how muddy her shoes were, or how she didn’t really know where she was going.

The next morning she regretted everything. But by then that bridge was ashes in a stormy ocean; there was no going back. She moved forward because she had to.

#sorry about the chapter title I just thought of it-#kotlc #finding home #sophie foster #multific #tater writes #kotlc fic

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tiliamericana · 3 years

Text

Muay Thai: 1.10

“Does it taste okay?” asked Agatha, looking up at Nairi across the table. Her eyes looked different without the glasses, a little tireder, less focused.

“It’s really good,” said Nairi, swallowing a mouthful of her pasta. “I don’t really know what I’m doing in the kitchen, so any meal I don’t have to figure out myself is a good one, you know?”

“Well, thank you for the ringing praise,” said Agatha drily.

“I—sorry,” said Nairi, “it is good, I do mean it.”

Agatha’s mouth twitched up with a small smile. “I know. I was only teasing.”

“Oh, well, sorry for being stupid then,” said Nairi, smiling back at her.

Agatha laughed as she pushed herself up from the table, collecting their bowls. “You’re not stupid, Nairi.”

“Thanks,” said Nairi, shifting so that Agatha could move past her to get into the kitchen. Her apartment was cramped; a single bedroom tacked on to one living space, and her round kitchen table was crammed into the corner. Nairi’s legs were a little long for it. She hesitated, watching Agatha cross to the kitchen. “Do you want a hand with the dishes?”

Agatha smiled at her, running the sink. “No, I’ve got it, I’m fussy about how I wash them. I appreciate the company, though.”

Nairi nodded, getting out of the slightly too-low seat to join her by the sink, leaning awkwardly against the countertop and crossing her arms as the smell of dishwash detergent started to tickle her nose. Nairi watched her scrub the bowls and felt a slight tinge of self-judgement: she’d run her dishwasher to clean three mugs earlier in the week. “So, um, did you get much done today?” she asked instead of thinking too hard about it.

“Hardly anything,” said Agatha, rolling her eyes. “I was in two classes today. I hate dealing with freshmen so much—they’re only barelyenrolled by their own inclination.”

“You don’t like teaching much, do you?” said Nairi, fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve where it was tucked under her elbow.

“Not at all,” said Agatha, wrinkling her nose. “Especially now—I’m trying to finish prepping this article for peer review and journal submission and it’s absolutely nerve wracking. It’s only my second time trying to get published and the first paper went through two rounds of rejections before I got anywhere. How was your day? No classes for you, right?”

“No, closed on Tuesdays and Sundays,” said Nairi with a nod. “Weekends tend to be free for more people though, so if business picks up, I might change it.”

“You had a nice sleep in and a lazy veg day, then?” said Agatha, smiling as she rinsed a cup and set it on the rack.

Nairi shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I took some lunch over to Linden’s studio and we chatted.”

“Really?” said Agatha, and she paused. “Oh. That’s odd, Linden doesn’t really like taking people over there.”

“Yeah,” said Nairi slowly, trying to figure out the weird note in Agatha’s voice. “I think she wanted to talk about a painting she’s making me, she keeps telling me my living room is too boring.”

Agatha nodded, draining the sink. “That makes sense,” she said, reaching for a kitchen towel. “She’s very firm about art and atmosphere, your bare walls must offend her on principle.”

“I think so, yeah,” said Nairi, trying to keep her tone light. “She keeps telling me I’m going to go insane if all I have to look at is plaster and brick.”

Agatha laughed, stepping away from the sink. “She’s a bitch like that. Do you want to stay tonight? I don’t have to be on campus ‘til noon tomorrow, so I can promise not to rush you out in the morning.”

Oh, this was going to be a thing, wasn’t it. Nairi hesitated. “I’d like to,” she started, trying to pick out her words with care, “but I told Linden I’d stay up so she could check in after her job tonight, and she thinks it’ll be about one.”

“That’s okay,” said Agatha, smiling at her as she rehung the kitchen towel and stepped into Nairi’s personal space. “I sleep very solidly, so if you need to call her you can just step out, or, you know, wake me up if you need to sound the alarms.”

“Oh,” said Nairi, and she smiled awkwardly back at Agatha. “Cool. I guess that works out then.”

Agatha kissed her cheek. “Great. Do you want to watch something? I’m afraid I’m terribly boring—I recorded a documentary yesterday, it’s about giant squid.”

She was smiling as she said it though, and it wasn’t like Nairi found anything interesting when she turned her TV on. She’d gotten a DVD player with it, but she didn’t own any movies. She’d thought about it, but nothing really looked… interesting.

Agatha had a small shelf of DVDs next to her entertainment unit. She could always ask about it later.

“It sounds good,” she said, turning and following Agatha to the couch. “I’m afraid I’m terribly boring, I don’t know anything about giant squids.”

Agatha laughed as Nairi sat down, shifting closer to be next to her, leaning in against Nairi’s side. Nairi thought about it for a second, then wrapped her arm around Agatha’s shoulders. This seemed to be the right thing to do, Agatha kissing her cheek with a warm smile before turning her attention to the remote as she set the recorded program to play.

Nairi tried to pay attention to the show. The voice was soothing and passionate about the topic, well-informed as they tried to educate her on the probable facts about what was apparently a very controversial fish. Cephalopod? Apparently squid weren’t fish.

…Apparently squid weren’t the same as octopuses either.

Agatha’s hand was wrapped loosely around Nairi’s, her fingers a little too warm. Nairi thought about brushing her off, but her hand was really just hanging there, Agatha was the one holding it. Fuck, this was so much more to think about than it should have been. Agatha hummed as the narrator with the smooth transatlantic accent posed a question and laced her fingers more tightly with Nairi’s. Too late, damnit, how was she bad at sitting on a couch?

She’d always been bad at people, though. Staying away had been fine, she’d always been good at keeping people at arm’s length, how the fuckwas she supposed to let someone be close. She wanted this, didn’t she? It felt nice to be touched by people, without judgement, or grabbing. It didn’t hurt, and she missed it when they didn’t. Linden liked touching and being touched, Agatha did too, and god, she just felt lonely when she thought about it—

This was fine. It was fine.

Agatha’s thumb was rubbing a small circle on the back of her hand. Nairi squeezed it gently and rubbed her own thumb in return, making Agatha sigh and tuck her head into the crook of Nairi’s neck. Nairi shifted to let herself sink a little into the corner of her couch, bringing her legs up so that she and Agatha were lying almost parallel. It was comfortable. Agatha’s couch was squashy and good, and a thousand times better than the piece of shit in Linden’s studio. Not as wide as Nairi’s, but she’d just bought the most expensive couch that would fit in her apartment.

Agatha’s pulse against her fingers ticked up a notch and she shifted to lie against Nairi fully. This was actually good; the warm, reassuring pressure through their clothes, the presence of another person against her, soft and quiet. Like this she could pretty much ignore the too hot, moist sweatiness of Agatha’s hand in hers and focus on how nice it was to exist in the same space as her without being on guard.

She had no idea what the show was talking about now, the smooth accent was talking about depth and pressure units, the screen almost black with the ocean. She couldn’t hold onto the words; they slipped through her ears like she was in a dream. It felt like every breath she took was out of sync, a second behind the motion of her chest, like every normal movement was happening on a delay. Like she was just… visiting her own body. It wasn’t bad,necessarily, just… Odd.

“—ri? Are you okay?”

Nairi willed her head to move towards Agatha. It took far too long, but she got there eventually. She licked her lips, suddenly feeling like her mouth was too dry. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said.

Did she always sound like that? All distant and weirdly pitched?

Agatha didn’t seem perturbed by it, so maybe she did. She leaned in towards Nairi, her lips moving, she was saying something else but Nairi couldn’t tell what it was. She saw Agatha’s lips connect with hers before she felt them. This was fine.

Totally fine. Nairi couldn’t really focus on what she was doing; it was like she was swimming while still wearing her clothes, or that one time she’d had to wade through chest high mud. One metaphorical foot in front of the other, it was just moving, just touching, that was all she had to do, then eventually they’d stop, and she was going to get clean, and have warm clothes, and there’d be a dark, safe place where she could sleep.

Agatha was nice, nicer than her, and she couldn’t even feel how sweaty her bare skin was anymore, it wasn’t as good as through the clothes, but it was probably nice, still fine—

Soft laughter reached her ears, and Nairi muzzily turned her head, finding Agatha’s face, her glasses-less eyes unfocused and smiling. “Tired, night owl?”

Not really. Nairi nodded anyway. “I have to—” she started to say, but her words were coming too slowly. When had the documentary stopped?

“Check in with Lindy, I know,” said Agatha, kissing Nairi’s bare shoulder. “We should get some sleep first, you can set an alarm?”

Nairi tried to imagine climbing into an actual bed with another human being at that moment and her brain flipped sideways. “It’s okay, I’m not tired,” she said, pulling herself to sit upright. She just needed to clear her head, that was all. She was fine.

“Alright,” said Agatha, sounding faintly amused. She reached down and picked up Nairi’s shirt from where it had dropped, handing it back, and Nairi pulled it over her head, trying not to look too relieved. It was just cheap cotton, but it was like wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, removing some of the tension in her head and her hands. Agatha kept talking without her. “Do you want some tea? I’ve got a box somewhere, I think.”

“Yeah,” said Nairi, seeing an opportunity to get some space and clinging to it. “Thanks. I’m just gonna, wash up.”

“Of course,” said Agatha, leaning in and kissing Nairi’s cheek before she stood. “There’s fresh wash cloths and proper soap under the sink.”

“Thanks,” said Nairi, doing her best to stand up and cross the room at a normal pace.

The cold water was a blessing on her hands. She left the door open a crack so that she could hear Agatha bustling about the kitchen, and she splashed some water at her eyes as she heard the tell-tale clank of a stove top kettle being filled and the gas clicking on. Her face seemed to come into focus as she stared at herself in the mirror over the sink, and she let the water run for a moment, watching a droplet slowly climb down the side of her nose and onto her cheek.

She shook her head and turned the hot tap, letting the water warm as she opened the cupboard under the sink. There was a small selection of bottles too tall for the drawers, each labelled something like “face”, “hand soap refill”, “moisturiser: body”, in identical looking printed stickers. There was a small stack of wash cloths next to them.

Nairi hesitated and grabbed a bottle of face wash and the first wash cloth from the pile. It was soft, and the soap was gentler than hers, smelling of rose and something herbal. She washed her face and hands slowly, rinsing off afterwards. The cuffs on her shirt sleeves were damp, faintly scented once she finished, and Nairi tossed the cloth into the hamper before putting the soap bottle away. She didn’t know exactly why you’d bother to use separate soaps for your face and hands, but it felt nice.

A safe topic of conversation, probably.

It took more effort than she’d care to admit to make herself open the door and go back to the main room. She couldn’t stay in the bathroom all night though, and the window was too small to climb out of.

When she came back to the kitchen Agatha had changed into sleepwear and a robe, looking very cosy, and she handed Nairi a mug of grassy chamomile tea. The ceramic was almost too hot to touch, setting Nairi’s raw fingertips on fire as she took it. She took a burning sip, giving Agatha an awkward smile in thanks.

“It’s a little late for me,” said Agatha apologetically. “But I sleep fairly hard, so I promise not to stab you when you come in.”

Nairi forced a laugh, not sure how else to respond. “Thanks. Sleep well?”

Agatha nodded, smiling warmly at her. “I will. Tell Linden to get home safe for me?”

“Sure,” said Nairi.

Agatha leaned up on tiptoe and kissed her lightly before Nairi could say or do anything else, then padded across to the bedroom with a small wave.

Nairi watched her shadow move around in the space between the door frame and the floor for several minutes before the light shut off, leaving her alone in the main room of the apartment. She glanced at the couch, and turned on the spot, taking her tea over to the table and sitting in the chair in the corner. There was a stack of books on the counter next to her and she grabbed one at random. It was a well-worn paperback branding itself a ‘classic’, and the decidedly vintage style of writing with the cramped print demanded a high level of focus that Nairi threw herself into, determined not to think of anything else.

Between it and the chamomile her nerves eventually soothed, and by the time her phone chirped with Linden’s text her mug was empty and she was no longer hyper-aware of her own heartbeat. The quiet hum of Agatha’s electronics and the difficulty of parsing what was happening on the page kept her present and relaxed.

She set down the paperback, reading Linden’s dry check in.

Lind A: out safe omw home Lind A: very boring dude no danger except for warts :p Lind A: gonna bleach my feet lol grabbed a taxi no mugging i promise xox

Nairi tapped out a quick response.

Glad I don’t have to kill anyone. Agatha says get home safe.

Lind A: safe and comfy :) Lind A: tell her she’s a bitch lol Lind A: get some SLEEP!!

Will do.

Nairi waited a few moments, but there was no further response. She set the phone down and looked over to the dark door of Agatha’s bedroom, legs tensing a little with the shift to move to stand. She chewed her lip, staring, then picked up the book and leaned back in her chair again.

#serial fiction #lgbt fiction #110 #series honey tree #book muay thai

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cutieodonoghue · 4 years

Photo

dark gray (3/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

///

Three

When Emma wakes up, it is to the sound of a door slamming shut.

She bolts upright on the couch and her eyes are wide, her heart racing with confusion and fear, before she realizes that it is the morning and that her one-handed friend must have just left the tiny house to start his chores.

She sighs as she sits there, contemplating lying back down and sleeping for a while longer, but then she chooses to get up and search for the bathroom instead.

Logically, she searches the bedroom first, but finds nothing but piles of things lying where she swears they hadn't been the night before.

On a groan, she starts limping her way back through the living room, where she realizes that the man whose distorted version of kindness she's taking advantage of is living in filth.

There is trash everywhere and things aren't exactly in tip-top shape for a Navy Man, so she wonders as she walks through the disaster area of a kitchen, if he just doesn't clean.

There are flies swarming an overflowing trash can in the kitchen by the front door and there are scuff marks everywhere from his boots, which makes her roll her eyes. If he'd just pick up his feet, the floor would be less of a tragedy than it is.

She finds the bathroom, a tiny little thing, tucked back by the kitchen table, which is itself cluttered in dishes, beer bottles, and piles of notebooks and papers.

When she opens the door to the restroom, she is overwhelmed by the scent of grime and scrunches her nose as she manages to drop the toilet lid.

Emma examines the little room as she stands there, wincing at what looks like the start of mold on the wall of the shower, and she discovers a colony of ants that are nonsensically marching their way along the crumbling molding.

This man lives in a pigsty and she is being forced to share it with him for four weeks. Great.

After she discovers that he doesn't have any soap and that the water only runs cold in the sink, she pulls open the squealing door and studies the rest of his kitchen and pantry.

She finds that the ants continue to march into the storeroom, where he's left some food haphazardly spilt on the floor. She huffs and shakes her head, then goes to see if he has any cleaning supplies tucked away anywhere.

Emma discovers that he does have some cleaning supplies, but they appear to have never been touched or even considered as useful. They're crammed into a portion of the storeroom behind light bulbs and barrels of water that she has to work at to grab them. He has a vacuum cleaner, but she doubts it would work without the cord that has clearly been cut off for some reason.

She looks through the shelves of food and finds that there isn't much here. She figures he must have an emergency stash somewhere, and she decides she'll ask him about it later. If they're going to be stuck here together for a month, she's not going to be the one that suffers because they don't have enough to eat.

On her way back toward the living room where Henry's silence indicates he's sleeping, Emma stares at the bathroom door, at the paint chipped walls, and the ants marching along the cracked crown molding.

Almost compulsively, she goes to work cleaning the house right away.

She starts in that disgusting mess of a bathroom and scrubs every surface until she is satisfied that she won't contract a disease if she were to visit it again and it smells like a cleaning solution, a clear sign that it has been sanitized.

If her mother were here, she probably wouldn't believe that Emma Nolan would ever risk another injury while nursing one already in order to scrub behind the dusty, grimy toilet base.

Her leg is in a lot of pain by the time she finishes tidying up the kitchen and storeroom, so after wiping the dust off of the shelves of the bookshelves in the living room, Emma tends to Henry and then lies down again.

Killian hasn't returned yet, which is probably for the best, and she closes her eyes with the duster still in her hand.

When she opens her eyes again, it's because Henry starts fussing. It doesn't feel like it's been long enough for her to have slept long at all.

Suddenly, she understands why her parents only wanted one child.

She immediately goes to help and care for him, taking him into her arms with a slight struggle. His cries almost offend her. Emma definitely hasn't spent enough time around children to know what to do, but she thinks she should get him something to eat.

It's much nicer with the room clean and the trash taken out. She can actually make out what is where and the smell isn't overwhelmingly rank.

She'd discarded all of the garbage to the back of the house in what appeared to be a landfill-type pile that he'd started.

She hadn't seen Captain Hook then. She's sure he's off sulking and keeping to himself right now instead of dwelling near them.

Emma opens up the curtains to let light into the living room as she feeds Henry and then, when he's finished and burped, she settles him back into his bed of pillows so she can clean the rest of the man of the house’s mess.

She throws her hair up into a bun atop of her head using a rubber band she'd found in one of the drawers in the kitchen and hobbles around as she moves piles of garbage and creates a cleaner smelling and looking place of dwelling. She wonders if he's ever actually cleaned as she discovers a pile of clothes on his bedroom floor.

"Looks like I'm doing laundry now, too." Emma mutters, throwing the clothes onto the bed so she can wrap everything up in his probably horribly dirty bed sheets.

She carries everything out into the kitchen and throws out the garbage before she takes a tub from the storage room and fills it with water. She finds some soap and gets to cleaning everyone's clothes outside, by what appears to be a good enough place to hang the wire to set things to dry.

She handles her and Henry's clothes with care and makes sure they smell exceptional before allowing them to dry on their own line, pinned down with some clothespins she discovered in a miscellaneous drawer in the kitchen.

She keeps her eye out for Killian, but doesn't see him anywhere amongst the smattering of trees and shrubbery.

Her gaze goes to the lighthouse at the end of the beach. It's tall and white, appearing a little worn for its years. The waves rolling in against the shore remind her of the night she stood on the side of the ship and was tossed from the upper deck and to the lower one.

Her leg hurts when she thinks of it and she takes a deep breath. All she sees when she closes her eyes is her parents in mourning over the loss of their only child and it makes her want to throw up what's in her stomach.

After she goes back inside, Emma starts to prepare herself a meal of oatmeal and bread, returning to Henry to give him some attention as she makes her food.

He’s a good baby, she thinks, because when he’s properly taken care of, he doesn’t complain. She sings a little to him when she sits down to eat her food with him in her arm and pokes at his nose, laughing a little when he makes a face.

"You're too cute, Henry."

She just barely reaches for her spoon when the front door squeaks on its way open.

Killian stares at her first, his mouth open as if he was about to reprimand her for something, and then he looks around the room.

"Did you clean?" he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

"You were living in filth. Of course I cleaned." Emma scoffs.

He just looks confused and bewildered as he searches over the room.

"The clothes and your bed sheets should be dried soon and I'll have those folded up and replaced as soon as I can." Emma takes a bite of her oatmeal. "Oh, and you had mice living in that storage room, by the way. I got rid of them. Or… tried to. I think you need to patch up the wall in there."

His eyes widen at that and she smiles smugly, looking down at the bowl in front of her again. "You shouldn't... you didn't have to do all of that."

Emma hums. "I'd thought you would have been more appreciative that I'm doing housework. You know, being a woman and all, I have no other good use." He stares at her with a clenched jaw and steps inside, allowing the door to clatter shut. "You're welcome, by the way."

He scowls a little and wipes his feet on the mat she'd discovered in the bedroom under a pile of other misplaced items. He walks over to the kitchen appliances and sets to making something.

Emma ignores the feeling of underappreciation and attends to her own meal and Henry, whose attention rests on his own toes.

"How do you get warm water for baths?" she asks. "I should give Henry one."

He doesn't answer her. He opens and closes drawers like a man plagued by fury.

Emma sighs. "Plates are by the stove. Silverware in the drawer by the sink."

He stills and she hears the two open one after another.

Killian takes a seat at the table across from her a short while later and she watches him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for her answer.

He's made himself a sandwich that he eats as if she isn't here with him. He doesn't have any regard for manners or her, it turns out, and he makes little noises that infuriate her between hard swallows of breath through his nose.

"Boil it over the fire," he tells her gruffly. She's looking at Henry, biting on her lip so hard she thinks she could draw blood, and keeps her gaze down. "Shouldn't be using that leg, though."

Emma looks up at him. "I do what I want."

He sighs, pushing the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. "Your funeral."

Killian stands up and disregards his utensils into the sink, thankfully, before he storms back outside, the door slamming shut roughly.

"Your funeral," Emma mocks, sticking her tongue out toward the door childishly.

Killian sucks in a deep breath of the ocean air as he walks back toward the lighthouse.

His fingers twitch by his side and he reaches up to drag his hair out of his face. It's getting too bloody long, but he doesn't feel like cutting it.

He opens the door to his lighthouse and studies the pile of wood he has set up on the floor. He has decided to build Henry a bed, because it doesn't feel right forcing him to sleep in a cradle of pillows.

Even though Henry's cries can be a bother, he'd rather be able to look back at this time and say he did the proper thing.

This was the proper thing to do, right?

With a heavy sigh, Killian sits down in the chair in front of the lumber. He switches on the record player and the slow, quiet tones of the melancholy guitar begin to echo around the small circular base of the lighthouse.

He knows the song by heart, but he doesn't sing, he just listens as he works the wood and finishes shaping the cradle for the little one.

Memories of a time years ago flashback in his mind and he closes his eyes sorrowfully while he leans back.

There are letters ingrained in the wood from where he'd put his chisel years ago, the initials of a child he'd never get to meet.

Sometimes the memories come and he drowns them out in alcohol, but when he considers the present- how he has a woman and a child in his home now, and how that woman cleaned his home from top to bottom without him asking- he figures he should stay as far away from the bottle as he can.

Killian scrubs his hand over his face and averts his gaze to the photograph sitting on the edge of his desk- of he and Liam years ago. They're both grinning, but Liam has it worse, his arm wrapped around Killian's shoulders, and Killian has his uniform on. The two of them stand in front of the lighthouse while a boat sits tied off to the dock.

Killian feels a pang of regret settle in his belly and he closes his eyes as he turns away from his desk and instead toward the door.

"Apologize, you git." Killian mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily and hesitates for a few moments before he steps forward.

As soon as he stands outside in the cold, with the sound of the ocean roaring against one side of him, he hears Emma's screams and hums a laugh.

"I told you, didn't I?" he shakes his head, but rushes forward regardless.

#cs ff #cs au #dark gray #my writing #captain swan

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nctwd127 · 4 years

Text

Arranged Marriage.

Chapter Nineteen.

Warnings: Mentions of depression and suicide, sexual assault (AO3 link). With the scene taken out, it’s still a heavy chapter in general so please do read with caution.

This chapter was really hard for me to write because I had to get into a different kind of headspace than I'm used too. And even after finishing it, I was still there for a week.

Please always remember to take care of your mental health first and take a break when needed.

Word Count: 3068

In the midst of me cleaning the kitchen from the mess of making lunch, the doorbell rang. I walked down the hallway and looked through the peephole, it was Jaehyun.

With caution, I opened it just enough so I could see him through the crack, “Jung, what are you doing here?” I asked feeling nervous of having him near my home when Yuta wasn’t here.

“I came by to see Yuta.” He answered with an almost sad look on his face. Completely different from the fuckboy look he always has on. His aurora didn’t even feel like it always does, heavy and sickening.

“He’s not home though.”

He rocked back and forth on the ball of his feet with his hands in his pocket, “I know, he told me to wait for him, it’s kind of important.” He answered with a small smile.

Jaehyun’s voice was also different from his usual flirty sickening tone, the one that made me want to punch him in the neck. His eyes were soft and he looked like he couldn’t even hurt a fly right now.

“Oh um, okay. You can wait for him in the living room then.” I opened the door believing him and moved aside so he could come in. He walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch. “You can watch tv if you’d like.” I offered.

He turned to look at me and gave me a small smile nodding his head okay. He reached over for the control and turned it on. Feeling no way about him being here in the house, in my comfort zone, I went back to the kitchen.

I finished cleaning and then went up to the second floor, when I passed by the living room, Jaehyun was still watching whatever was playing on the screen. Instead of going to my room, I went into the guest room. Deciding that maybe we could make it into something more than what it was.

No more than ten minutes later of cleaning around the room, my world fell apart. I should have closed the door, I should have locked it. I should have done something, anything.

“So Yuta and you, huh?”

The world around me stopped when I heard that tone of voice. That damned flirty sickening voice that made want to throw myself off a bridge now. I turned to face Jaehyun who was standing in the door way.

Blocking my only exit.

Everything that I hated about him before I let him into my home was back. The smug look on his face, his cursed smirk. And worst of all, the lust and want in his eyes whenever he looked at me. Whoever I let in earlier was no longer here, he was a completely different person.

“What…what are you talking…about?” I stuttered, feeling my breathing pick up and the anxiety start to kick in with my sweaty palms. The room felt like it was getting smaller and the walls were closing in on me.

Jaehyun stepped away from the doorframe and walked closer to where I was near the bed. He saw the way I wanted to move away from him but I was frozen in place. He was feeding off the fear that was in my eyes, he waited for this moment.

“You should have made sure we left that night princess.” He circled around me, his finger brushing away the hair that was on my shoulder. With my body frozen in fear, I could only try to shudder when his finger traced my collar bone.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I breathed out and forced every ounce in my body to move away from him and walk towards the door. But he reached it before I did and closed it, standing in front of it.

I watched him lock it and walked towards me again with a smirk on his lips and his eyes overflowing with lust. My body couldn’t move, it wouldn’t. The weight of the world was holding me down to the damn floor.

Jaehyun stood behind me and placed his hands on my waist, setting my whole body on fire. “Don’t worry though, I won’t say anything.” One hand left my waist and moved to the button of my jeans. His cold fingers grazed the skin of my stomach.

“Just give me what I want and I never heard a thing.”

AO3

Those words hit a nerve that made my body react partly again. My eyes burned and the tears finally spilled down the sides. But I couldn’t use my voice still, my throat felt so dry it hurt. I wanted to clutch the bed sheets under me but my fingers wouldn’t close.

Jaehyun gathered his clothes and got dressed. When he was done, he walked to the door and left. But before he did, he assured me that he would say nothing about the past and thanked me for the great time.

It was up until I heard the front door open and close that I found my voice again. I painfully sat up, naked and cold and yelled to the top of my lungs. I yelled into the empty room and cried into the mattress how much I hated him, this house, this life, Yuta and myself.

My legs hurt and I couldn’t move the rest of my body without it screaming at me in pain. All my clothes were scattered on the floor. The sight of my torn underwear made me to crawl out of my abused skin.

This situation made me feel something I haven’t since the days of the accident.

The want to end my suffering.

With no energy and a body full of pain, I cried myself to sleep in the same bed that took away my sanity. Everything played itself over again in my head. My mind was banging against my skull wanting to be set free, to forget this ever happened.

Hours later, I heard the front door be opened. And then the commotion of boys being over. He came back, I just know he did. He came back to torture me, to taunt me. Knowing that I’ll never say anything about this because of the damned past.

The same past ruined my life then. And the one that ruined my life now. But now it was worse, I didn’t feel safe in my own home, in my skin. In my own fucking skin I felt in danger. I wanted to rip my skin off and set it on fire, I wanted to burn away his touch.

In agony, I got off the bed, my body sore and aching with every move I made. I wrapped the blanket around my naked abused body and walked to the door. When my hand reached for the knob, I heard steps coming up the stairs.

“(Y/N), are you home?” Yuta asked, assuming standing outside my bedroom door. He knocked on the door when he heard no answer. He’s never had a reason to come near this room but still out of fear, I locked the door quietly.

His footsteps suddenly got a little closer to the door I was standing behind. But then they stopped and faded away. I waited another five minutes till I unlocked the door. Opening it quietly and carefully, I peeked through the crack to see if anyone was in the hallway.

Once I saw that I was empty, as quickly as I could, I made my way to my room. The door was closed as I had left it so I tried my best to stay quiet because I didn’t want someone to come up here and see me like this.

Inside my room, I closed and locked the door. I hated with my whole being that much like eight years ago, behind this door, trapped in these four walls was the only place I felt safe now. Everything felt like a nightmare again. Like a terrible fucking dream.

Standing naked in front of the mirror felt like I was someone else. I didn’t recognize myself, not my body or face. My neck was covered in blues and red, bite marks on my upper chest. Fingertip bruises on my hands. There were small marks inside my thighs that I don’t even know how they happened.

When I cleaned myself down there, there were stains of blood on the toilet paper. The area was red and sensitive, it hurt to touch. At this point, it hurt to even breathe. My lungs felt squeezed together.

My shower was scorching hot, the fog intense I could barely see my hand in front of my face. The tears mixed with the water and soap when I washed my body. Trying hard to rub the bruises and marks off me.

Not only was my body covered in marks that would take a while to fade but so was my soul. My soul was forever tainted and scarred.

I spent an hour in the shower trying to clean myself but to no avail. My skin burned from the water, my eyes hurt from crying. I scrubbed myself raw it hurt when my clothes touched my skin. I felt like there was nothing in my soul.

My phone rang all night long as I laid in bed starring at the ceiling with tears still running down my face. I have no idea if I was even making sounds, I just knew that I was crying. I wanted to die right now. I wanted to end all of my suffering here. I wanted nothing to do with life.

Three knocks came from the other side of the door at four in the morning. I didn’t speak, I didn’t move. I did nothing but lay there and wait for it to go away. But it didn’t, it just kept going and going.

“(Y/N)? Are you there? Your phone has been going off all night. Are you okay?” Yuta worried with his fist meeting the door and then the jingle of the door knob.

Looking at the door I wept loud enough to hear myself, realizing that I was living the same life I lived eight years ago. I was broken, hurt and in an agony I couldn’t put into words. And worst of all, I still couldn’t go to Yuta for comfort.

Because he couldn’t fucking remember. He didn’t then and he doesn’t now. Everything was the same it was before. I was living in the past.

No one was to blame but our parents for what I was going through right now. And so was Yuta. I hated all of them. Each and every one of them put their wants and desires first before anything else. And I was the one paying for the broken dishes.

The sun started to pour into my room and that’s when I realized it was morning time already. I don’t know when my phone stopped ringing, it was probably dead and it was going to stay like that. There was nothing and no one I wanted to deal with from the real world.

The only place that existed for me was the space in these four walls, nothing else. I was never going to leave my room again, I was never stepping foot outside of my comfort zone again. The damn door to the outside was never going to open again.

My eyes burned and hurt, I could feel the swelling begin from crying all night. And somehow I didn’t even feel my body anymore from lying still since the moment I got into bed. Sleep was unknown to me scared of what the dreams could be.

Masterlist

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movedvalkyriesryde · 5 years

Note

Bucky x clumsy!reader with #3?

I’d like to formally apologise for this, it’s probably not what you were looking for but it’s what came to me so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ is also slightly longer than anticipated lol

3. “Are you stuck?” “Yes...please help” Modern au

warning: swearssssss because everybody says fuck

Every Tuesday you made dinner for the gang. It probably should be called a feast more than just a dinner because over the years the numbers had grown and you were now feeding between 10 and 12 a week.

In the beginning it was just you, Nat and Wanda. Then Wanda made friends with Pepper and where Pepper goes Tony follows and where Tony goes Rhodey is normally trailing behind picking up the pieces.

After that you met Carol and Clint and with Clint came Laura and suddenly your small Tuesday dinners for three turned into eight. And that's where it stayed for a couple years.

Then Nat met Sam and everything got a bit more crazy. The first couple weeks it was just him but then Nat decided it would be nice to invite his friends along as well. So in rolled Steve and Bucky and now you were cooking three different meals every week for everyone as they crammed into your apartment happily with booze and money to pitch in for the meal.

You weren't complaining. You would never complain. These people were your family and this was your tradition. Not everyone made it every week, you all had classes and then work and partners/family but most of the time it was all of you together. A big dysfunctional family.

Traditions like that always stuck. And more, smaller traditions, joined it. Like how Bucky always came round straight after work to help you cook, how he had a draw in your closet to change into after he showered and then sat at the bench and cut vegetables or stirred the pot while you ran around him doing everything else.

Nat claimed it was because he was smitten for you, Sam said it was because he had no game. Bucky argued quite defensively that the last time he wasn't here when you were cooking you had tripped over your own feet and spilled curry you'd made for the night all over the floor. Bucky had walked in to find you sat in the mess clutching your knee. He said that he was there to make sure you didn't hurt yourself again, he was there to catch you before you fell most of the time.

Bucky even went as far to having a first aid kit on him at all times, in his gym bag, his work bag, his car, he even always had at least one plaster in his pocket.

Today you were making a giant roast for everyone. Both vegetarian and meat were cooking away in the oven but there was no Bucky. No one to help you clean up, no one to talk to while you waited for everything to cook. He hadn’t even called or text to say he wasn’t coming, he just wasn’t here.

At first it worried you, when it was ten past five and he still hadn’t turned up. Then it was five thirty and you were past the point of worried and starting to get angry, people would start turning up in the next half hour and you still had to clean the entire kitchen. So you took your anger out on the dirty pots and pans and mixing bowls.

Music blasted as you scrubbed at the pan, the damn thing was being a stubborn bitch but you were much more stubborn. You reached up without looking and fumbled around the bench for the bottle of soap, you felt it with your fingers and went to grasp the bottle but it slipped through your fingers, and then it slipped again and you fumbled trying to catch it, catching your bracelet on the handle of the pan and pulling it off.

The soap was forgotten and you lunged to catch the bracelet before it went down the sink but you were too slow.

“FUCK” you yelled following it down the drain with your hand, you grasped the bracelet and pulled but to your surprise your arm wouldn’t budge. You were stuck. “Fuck” you sighed.

It had been two minutes but it felt like ten. You’d tried reaching across the bench to get your phone but it was just far enough that you couldn’t get it. So now you had just resorted to kneeling on the tiled floor, you arm and hand still stuck in the drain holding tightly onto the bracelet with your head leaning against the cold bench. This was it, you were going to die and this was how they were going to find your body. Or worse, Nat or Clint will be the first ones to come over and you will NEVER live this down.

Bucky trudged through the front door, his shoulders were slumped and his head hung low. He was angry, annoyed, fucking fuming. His last client of the day came in fucking five minutes before they closed then demanded they fix their car, fucking Karen. Then, THEN, he missed his window and got stuck in the five o’clock traffic which was a goddamn stand still. His phone died, he left his charger at home, he was hot and sweaty and angry and just wanted a shower and a nap and to see you.

Yea, that’s what would make everything okay, if he could just see you. Bucky perked up a bit at that, he dropped his bag and moved right past your room and the bathroom, he can shower and get changed later, he was on a mission now.

You were too busy cursing yourself and imagining each of your friends reactions to finding you dead in the kitchen with your hand stuck in the fucking drain to hear the door or the stomping feet walking towards the kitchen. You were too busy cursing Bucky because this wouldn’t have happened if he was here to do the goddamn dishes that you didn’t hear the footsteps come to a stop in the doorway and you didn’t look up when the figure cleared their throat. It wasn’t until Bucky crouched down beside you and pulled some hair back from your face that you noticed his presence and jumped, letting out a scream and almost, almost, letting go of the bracelet.

“Bucky what the hell!” You hit his chest with your free hand as he leaned against the cabinet and laughed. “Where have you been! Why the fuck did you sneak up on me like that?! You know you can’t do that, you’re like a fucking cat I swear!” You rambled on as Bucky’s laughter died down and he took in your position.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up at work and my phone died, then I got caught in traffic. And uh,” he let out a chuckle, “because it’s funny. Now, why are you kneeling on the floor like that?”

You sighed and stood up, Bucky following to stand beside you.

“Geez, are you stuck petal?” he asked biting back a smile. Classic. If his phone wasn’t dead he’d take a photo.

“My bracelet fell down the drain and, ugh. Yes, please help?”

“Have you tried letting go of the bracelet?”

“I can’t Buck,” Bucky’s looked at you confused before nodding understandably.

“Is it your-”

“Yes.”

“I can buy you a new one,” he offered.

“You said it was one of a kind.”

“I’ll get you another one of a kind petal,” he crouched down again and open the door under the sink, inspecting the drainage like he knew what he was doing. Mechanics and plumping can’t be that different he thought. “You’re gonna have to let go Y/N”

“Bucky -”

“I know you don’t want to but I don’t think you’ll lose it.” He looked up at you from his position on the floor to see you leaning on one hand looking exhausted and a little scared. “I think I can get it out of the drain but you have to let go.”

“Really?” Bucky smiled at you brightly and nodded.

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

“I’d wash it first but I got it out,” you walked back into the kitchen after showering as the timer went off, there was chatter coming from the living room but you weren’t paying much attention to it.

“Thank you again Buck,” you said opening the oven and taking out the contents, it still needed to sit for a bit.

“Hey, it’s what I’m for isn’t it,” he smiled brightly at you, “looking after your clumsy ass,” Bucky winked before making his way out the door with a pile of plates to set the table.

“You love my clumsy ass,” you called after him. You looked at the bracelet that sat on a paper towel, slightly damp and a little dirty but it was there.

The delicate silver bracelet that Bucky had given you as an early present the Tuesday before your birthday. The one he said he’d gotten made specifically for you from a friend of his. That he’d designed himself, because he wanted it to represent you. One of a kind, he’d said when you picked it out of the box, your fingers brushing over the small flower that was the centerpiece, ‘made specially for you petal’.

You smiled turning your attention back to the feast, your actions dealing with the food before you but your mind reeling with nothing but Bucky.

It’s a shame you missed what he said when he walked out the door with that pile of plates. But it is his fault for mumbling it under his breath.

“Fuck I really do.”

#valkyries drabble week #marvel drabble #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes modern au

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choerrypuffs · 5 years

Text

and stupidly, us.

pairing: vigilante!sicheng x nurse!reader

genre: angst, fluff, it gets a little hot and heavy but no smut

word count: 5.5k

synopsis: your boring, routine life takes a turn when you find a man bleeding to death by your apartment.

author’s note: this was originally going to be written for another member but then the take off teaser was released, so here we are (update: the mv was released halfway through me writing this so everyone go stream it!!!)

additional: read the yuta spinoff here

A wave of humidity hits you as you leave the air conditioned convenience store. Cringing, you ignore the disgusting feeling of your t-shirt clinging to your sweaty back and begin your trudge back to the apartment. The dark sky is riddled with bright stars, and it would genuinely a gorgeous night if it weren’t for the atrocious weather. The plastic bag you’re carrying keeps brushing against your leg and sticking to your skin. Annoyed, you swing it over your shoulder and let it hang from your fingers.

You easily dodge a couple of drunken college girls who are stumbling down the street, in search of another night club to get even more drunk at. You wonder if they’re going to the one your co-worker, Chaeyeon, is at. All of the ER nurses (that weren’t on-call) were out partying tonight. It’s been a hectic week, so Chaeyeon suggested that everyone come out for shots tonight. Of course, you declined because downing shots of tequila in a loud, smelly night club is not exactly your thing. You’re more of a curling-under-a-warm-blanket-with-some-cheap-bottles-of-soju-and-a-pint-of-ice-cream-while-crying-over-cheesy-movies-on-Netflix kind of girl.

By the time you arrive back at your apartment complex, you are debating on taking another shower. It’s so hot outside that your three minute walk to the convenience store has you soaked with sweat. Fishing your keys out of your back pocket, you begin to unlock the door until you hear a soft groan. You freeze mid-lock turn and slowly turn your head in the direction of the noise. It sounds like it’s coming from the small gap that separates your apartment building from the next one.

Every rational part of your entity is screaming at you to run inside and lock the door, but the nurse in you can’t help but notice that it sounds like the person is in pain. You mentally argue with yourself for another couple of seconds before you inhale, taking a small step toward the direction of the noise.

“H-Hello?”

There’s no response, but you’re close enough to hear someone panting. Exhaling the breath you took in, you peek down the narrow space. It takes your eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, but you finally see it. See him.

There’s a guy, who didn’t look much older than you, crumpled over on the ground. His back is against the side of the apartment building, his hand clutching at his side. You can see the rapid rising and falling of his chest as he drifts in and out of consciousness. Without blinking, you squeeze yourself through the small space and make your way towards him.

“Sir, are you alright?” you ask, awkwardly trying to kneel. The space is so narrow that you end up nearly toppling onto him.

Once again, he doesn’t say anything. His eyelids are fluttering, which is a good sign. You place your hand against his cheek; his skin pallor with a sheen to it and he’s cool to the touch. You furrow your brows, lowering your gaze to where his hand is. Pushing aside the bomber jacket he’s wearing, you gasp out loud when you see the amount of blood pooling through his shirt.

“Sir,” you say, a little louder this time, “you’re losing too much blood. I’m going to call an ambulance, okay?”

You begin dialing emergency services, but before you can even enter the first number, the stranger grabs your wrist and yanks it to the side. Nearly dropping your phone, you shoot a bewildered glance at him.

“Don’t,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Sir,” you say slowly, “if you aren’t transferred to a hospital, you will die of blood loss.”

“Don’t,” he says again, shaking his head.

You bite your lip. It’s clear that he’s growing weaker by the second, yet he used the remaining strength he had to stop you. There’s obviously a reason, and a very serious one at that, why he’s refusing medical care, but you don’t have the time to question him about it. Without another word, you stand up and haul him out from the gap. Dragging him to your doorstep, you shakily unlock your door and pull him inside. With a considerable amount of effort, you manage to get him on your couch. You try not to look too depressed as you watch his blood seep through the white suede.

“I’m a nurse,” you explain, slightly out of breath, “I’ll help you stop the bleeding.”

The stranger looks up at you warily and nods, and you’re struck with how handsome he is even when bruised and battered. His dyed hair is disheveled and slightly matted with dried blood, and his luminous skin glows even with scratches all over it. His plush lips are perfectly kissable, despite the cut on it.

Get it together, you chide yourself, are you seriously ogling a dying man?

You grab the first-aid kit in your bathroom and a couple of clean dish rags from the kitchen after you wash your hands, before sitting down beside him on the couch. His eyes are closed but he opens them again when he feels the couch dip with your weight. Without looking at him, you grab the hem of his shirt and yank it up until you see the wound. There’s a long gash marring his pale skin, but luckily, it’s a shallow one. For the most part, the edges of it has already been caked with dried blood, but you can see fresh blood glisten through the gash whenever he breathes.

Wetting one of the rags with warm water, you try your best to clean up his wound. You frown when you notice that the gash is starting to bleed a little more profusely without the barrier of the dried blood stopping it. You quickly grab another rag and firmly press it against the gash.

“What’s your name, by the way?” you ask, feeling a little awkward in the tense silence.

He says nothing, just watching you. Though you suppose you should be, you’re not really that bothered by it. There is no malicious intent in his gaze. He’s analyzing, looking at you with a curiosity and perhaps even a little fascination.

“Well, mine is Y/N,” you answer yourself, huffing at his rudeness.

“It’s...better if you don’t know,” the stranger says quietly, low voice rumbling deep within his chest. Now you’re really curious, but you know better than to pry.

“Well, you could at least give me a fake one or something. I’m saving your life, you know,” you point out.

He’s silent for just another moment before, “Winwin.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winwin. Out of all the names you could’ve given me, that’s the one?”

“It’s an old nickname of mine,” Winwin explains, a small smile on his face. “In fact, you’re the only one I’ve told about it in a very, very long time.”

“Well, I guess I’m honored,” you tease.

Winwin gives you a full-fledged smile, and suddenly, all the moisture disappears in your mouth and you find yourself at a loss for words. His eyes trail down to the floor, where your stuff from the convenience store lay. Most of it is spilling out of the bag due to being haphazardly tossed, including a lone bottle of soju that had rolled away completely.

“Do you mind if I drink that?” Winwin asks, pointing at the bottle. “As you can probably tell, I’ve had a rough night.”

You snort. “Let me finish bandaging you up, and we can both help ourselves.”

He gives you another grin, and you wish he’d stop (not really).

Once the bleeding is under control and the gash is disinfected, wrapping Winwin’s injury is a piece of cake. After that’s finished, you toss him the bottle of soju and he catches it with one hand.

“I still strongly suggest you go to a hospital and get it checked though,” you advise as you clean up everything.

Winwin shrugs noncommittally, cracking open the soju and drinking straight from the bottle. You’re slightly concerned and yet impressed all at the same time. By the time you have everything cleaned up, the bottle is empty and he’s up in search of your trash can.

“Damn,” you note, pointing him in the direction of it. “That was quick.”

“I needed it,” he says, tossing it in your trash can smoothly. “Anyways, I’ll get going.”

You nod, feeling just a little sad that he’s leaving. Though you aren’t really sure why. This guy screams trouble with a capital T, no matter how attractive he is. You follow him to the door and nearly jump out of your skin when he turns to face you, the space between you dangerously close.

“Thank you,” Winwin says sincerely. “For everything. Also, I’m sorry for ruining your couch.”

“It’s an old couch,” you say dumbly, unable to form intelligent phrases due to his proximity.

You’re mentally beating yourself up for your stupidity as he steps outside. Just as you’re about to close the door, he turns again.

“Next time,” he says in a quiet tone, “don’t blindly bring strangers into your house. They could be dangerous, including me.”

The weekend passes by in a flash, mainly consisting of you watching terrible romcoms nonstop in an attempt to take your mind off Winwin. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t work.

Your alarm goes off at 5:45 AM, and you jolt awake. You’re laying on your back, arm slung across your eyes, and trying to make sense of your surroundings. The alarm continues to angrily beep until you find the energy to roll onto your side and switch it off. Lethargically sitting up, you aggressively rub your eyes before finally climbing out of bed. Your room is pitch black due to the lack of sun, and you nearly trip over a pile of dirty clothes as you stumble into the bathroom.

After you brush your teeth, you tug on a pair of semi-clean scrubs and pull your wild bedhead out of your face. You don’t look too hard at yourself in the mirror, because you know you look terrible. Though you would love to be able to get up at five o’clock sharp, take a nice shower, and maybe even put on a little makeup, you value that extra 45 minutes of sleep much more than your appearance.

It occurs to you that this is probably why you don’t have a boyfriend.

One long, drowsy subway ride later, you finally arrive at the hospital. There’s barely anyone here, but you do notice two shadowy figures near the double doors that lead to the ER. You furrow your eyebrows and begin to approach them. One of them turns when he hears your footsteps, and you recognize him as Dr. Nakamoto Yuta, a general surgeon. You’ve never spoken to him, but you’ve heard plenty about him from the giggly nurses in the ER. The figure behind him leans to the side to look at you as well, and you stop in your tracks.

It’s Winwin.

“Good morning,” Yuta greets politely, but there’s a bit of an edge to it.

You drag your eyes away from Winwin and nod. “Good morning, Dr. Nakamoto. Do you two have business in the ER?”

He shakes his head. “No, we’re just chatting. Sorry if we alarmed you.”

You turn your gaze back to Winwin. He’s looking at you with a hardened, cold expression, one that he didn’t have last time. Tilting your head, you wait for him to acknowledge you, but he doesn’t. It’s like he’s looking right past you, and it hurts more than it should.

“Alright then,” you say softly, “have a nice day.”

“You as well,” Yuta replies.

They’re silent as you walk past them and into the ER. You want to turn back and snoop on them, but something in your gut is telling you not to look back.

“Y/N! Wanna go for drinks?” Chaeyeon asks, throwing an arm around your shoulders as the two of you walk out of the hospital.

“We have work tomorrow, Chae,” you say sternly.

“Just for a little bit. I promise you’ll be home by midnight, Cinderella,” she teases.

You want to say no, but it’s not like you have anything to do at home either (other than mope about Winwin ignoring you this morning). Sighing, you relent. “Fine, but just for a little while.”

Chaeyeon is surprised at how easily you give in this time but nevertheless erupts into a loud squeal. Pulling you into a rib-crushing hug, she jumps up and down in happiness. “I can’t believe I’ve finally worn you down enough to say yes! And the other girls said I wouldn’t be able to do it!”

You wheeze in response and she finally releases you.

“Go home, get dressed in something hot, and we’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” she orders excitedly.

You nod, slightly overwhelmed. Chaeyeon lets out another happy squeal before waving you goodbye.

Just what have I gotten myself into?

When you arrive home, it dawns on you that you only have one “partying” dress, gifted to you by Chaeyeon actually. You’ve worn it a total of zero times, and you’re pretty sure it’s too small for you now since you’ve taken up the rather bad habit of snacking whenever you have nothing to do (which is all the time).

It’s a maroon velvet cocktail dress that stops just above your upper thighs. The dress has spaghetti straps, but they’re so thin that they really serve no purpose other than for aesthetics. When you wriggle into it, it’s a bit snug but not as bad as you thought. Even though you’re slightly uncomfortable, you admit that the dress does wonders for your curves. You do your makeup as best as you can without looking like a raccoon and swipe on a dark red lipstick that you had bought on impulse once when you were drunk.

As if on cue, you hear Chaeyeon honk her car horn outside your apartment. Grabbing your clutch and slipping on a pair of strappy heels, you quickly go outside. You see the other nurses in the backseat waving at you and quickly beckoning you to join them, so you do. Chaeyeon’s jeep is stuffed, and you’re basically all sitting on top of each other.

“You look hot,” a nurse, Joohyun, comments.

“Thanks. You too,” you say awkwardly.

“Alright, ladies! Operation: Get Y/N Some Dick has started!” Chaeyeon announces loudly. The rest of the girls cheer, and you feel yourself blush.

“Guys, that really isn’t―”

“Hush,” Chaeyeon shushes, “I know for a fact that you haven’t had a fling in an extremely long time, or maybe ever. So it’s our duty to get you one.”

You want to defend yourself, but it’s true.

“Don’t worry, girl. All you have to do is have fun, and we’ll take care of the rest,” Chaeyeon reassures you.

“That makes me worry more,” you mumble.

They all laugh, but you’re already beginning to plot an elaborate escape plan in your head.

Your stomach erupts into butterflies when Chaeyeon parks the car and everyone starts to get out. Luckily, Joohyun is leading you by the arm and basically drags you out of the car. The music from the club is so loud that you can hear it before you even arrive at the entrance. The bouncer takes one look at Chaeyeon and lets you all pass without a single word. You give a confused look to Joohyun and she just winks at you.

Once you walk in, you nearly go deaf from the volume of the music. Chaeyeon turns and says something to you but you don’t hear a single word of it. You’re not sure how anyone communicates with each other in this sort of environment. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to be expecting a response and makes a beeline toward the bar. The other nurses start to disperse, and you’re not really sure where to go so you continue to follow Chaeyeon.

She says something to the bartender and she gets to work, plopping a drink in front of you within minutes.

“A personal favorite of mine,” she yells over the music. You’re only barely able to hear her.

You warily pick up the drink, the strong scent burning your nostrils. Holding your breath, you down it in one shot and nearly cough up a lung doing it. It burns all the way down and lingers in your throat. Chaeyeon laughs, patting your back.

“Atta girl,” she says proudly.

The bartender makes you another one, and you lightly sip at it this time. When you turn to say something to Chaeyeon, you realize she’s not next to you anymore. She’s on the dance floor, pressed up against a random guy. Rolling your eyes, you finish your drink.

“Abandoned that quickly, huh?” the bartender asks.

You shrug, sliding your empty glass to her. “Another, please.”

You’ve always been a lightweight, so you already start to feel the buzz. You know your third or fourth one will be your limit, but the alcohol is dulling your rationality and you can’t bring yourself to care. After a couple more, you’re drunk. Your cheeks are ablaze, and everything around you is spinning. No longer having the energy to stay upright, you lay your head down on your arms.

Go home, the coherent part of your brain tells you, but your limbs don’t listen.

Suddenly, there’s a cool hand on your back, and you hear someone say your name. It’s a soft voice, but yet you hear it so clearly over the thumping bass. The hand has moved to your shoulder, shaking you gently. Letting out a whine, you try to move away.

“Y/N.”

You hum in response, finally lifting your head and opening one eye. Winwin’s gorgeous face finally comes into focus, and you giggle. You grab his cheeks and squish them together, making his lips jut out like a fish.

“Well, look who decided to show up!” you slur, swaying from side to side. “Are you suddenly talking to me again?”

Winwin clasps your wrists and removes your hands from his face. “You need to leave now, Y/N.”

“But I don’t wanna,” you say, pouting.

“You’re drunk. Go home,” he says firmly.

“Are you gonna take me?” you ask boldly.

Liquid courage, indeed.

Winwin looks almost embarrassed. “I’ll call a cab for you.”

For someone so mysterious and brooding, he can be quite cute, drunk you muses to yourself.

“I want a piggyback ride, like in the movies,” you say, crossing your arms.

He gives you an incredulous look, and you stare back at him. When he realizes you mean it, he sighs and scratches the back of his head. There’s a little pink dusting his cheeks, but he nods. Smiling cheekily, you put your arms out in front of you and wait expectantly.

Winwin looks around and sighs, turning his back to you and lowering himself to match your height. You throw yourself on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands catch your thighs, and he adjusts you a little further up his back. Burying your face into his shoulder, you can’t help but notice how good he smells. You expected him to smell like tobacco and stale smoke, but he just smells like soap and fabric softener.

He easily weaves through the crowds, even with you on his back, and you realize just how stuffy it was in there when the fresh air hits you. You cling onto him some more, the warmth of his back nearly lulling you to sleep.

“Has anyone ever told you that you give really mixed signals?” you whisper into his shirt.

His shoulders shake as he chuckles. “No, because I usually don’t give signals at all.”

“Well, you’re giving them to me. Really mixed ones. Unless they’re all in my head,” you say, “that would be super embarrassing.”

“They’re not,” he says faintly, “though I really shouldn’t be giving them to you.”

“Well, why not?” you demand.

“I can’t tell you.”

“How do you know Dr. Nakamoto?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

You sigh, blowing a lock of hair out of your face. “Of course not. You won’t even tell me your damn name.”

Winwin doesn’t respond and the rest of the walk back to your apartment is silent. When the two of you finally reach your doorstep, he puts you down. Your legs wobble and you would’ve fallen over if it weren’t for Winwin grabbing your arm. You look up at him in your drunken haze. The glow of the moon cascades over his face, and your breath is taken away by his beauty.

Once he makes sure you’re stable, he lets go of your arm. Clearing his throat, he says, “I should go.”

“You should,” you agree softly.

He nods but makes no move to leave, his warm brown eyes training their gaze on you. The weight of his stare is so intense that you have to remind yourself to breathe. You feel him reach out and curl a finger under your chin, tilting it up. Once you meet his eyes, his thumb quickly swipes at the corner of your lips, where your lipstick had been smeared.

“How much of this are you going to remember?” Winwin asks.

You shrug and he looks down at your shoulder. One of the straps on your dress has fallen down, and he says nothing as he hooks his finger on it and lifts it back up. His knuckle brushes against your skin the entire time. You shiver, letting your eyes flutter shut. He pulls you closer, hands resting on your waist and forehead against yours. He lets out a shaky breath.

“Sicheng,” he whispers, “my name is Sicheng.”

You open your eyes, reaching up to cup his face. He leans into your touch. “I don’t think you were supposed to tell me that, Sicheng.”

“I know,” he says, “I just wanted to hear you say it. Good night, Y/N.”

Sicheng steps away from you, his hands lingering slightly on your waist before his touch is gone completely, and he leaves.

You head into work the next day with an atrocious hangover and a few choice words for Chaeyeon. Though you don’t stay too mad at her because of what happened after. You can still hear his voice in your head like he’s speaking to you.

My name is Sicheng.

The rational part of your brain is scolding you for being so fixated on a guy that you’ve literally only talked to twice and is definitely hiding something serious from you, but you can’t help but be drawn to him. The way he looks at you makes you so―

“Y/N?”

You snap out of your daze, nearly dropping the files in your arms. Nakamoto Yuta is standing in front of you, hands tucked into his coat pockets. He’s smiling at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You smile back nervously. Something about him unsettles you.

“Yes, Doctor?” you respond.

“Would you mind joining me for lunch? I want to talk to you,” he asks, tilting his head. His eyes are daring you to say no.

“Sure,” you say slowly, nodding. “Lead the way.”

Yuta makes small talk with you during the walk to the cafeteria, but you can’t shake the weird feeling in your gut. He pays for both of your meals and sits at a table in the corner of the room. The moment you get situated, his face drops.

“So,” he starts, “what’s your relationship with him?”

You try to keep your expression neutral. “Who?”

“Sicheng’s never been good at lying, and I guess you aren’t that skilled at it either,” Yuta muses.

You don’t respond.

“I’m just going to get straight to the point. He’s smitten with you, not enough to be stupid about it yet, but it’ll happen very soon if this continues. We have a lot of enemies, and they won’t hesitate to use you against him. I’m sure you’re a very nice girl and you’d be good with him under any other circumstances. But not this one. So, stay away from him. For your own good and his,” he says harshly.

“I―I don’t understand. What on Earth are you talking about? What enemies?” you ask. “Are― are you guys in a gang or something?”

Yuta sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Let’s just say he leads a very different, dangerous lifestyle from yours.”

You begin to ask more questions, but he cuts you off. “Don’t ask anything else. The less you know, the better.”

“But―”

“If you value his life at all, you’ll stay away.”

Yuta doesn’t wait for your response, simply picking up his tray and leaving.

You don’t see Yuta or Sicheng for the next two weeks. Chaeyeon attempts to get you to go out with her again, but you strongly refuse each time. You’ve been spending the majority of your free time doing what you’ve always done, curling under a blanket and watching movies while snacking. But for some reason, it feels so empty.

It’s storming tonight, and a loud clap of thunder makes you flinch. You turn off the movie you’re watching and prepare for bed when you hear a loud rapping on your door. At first, fear washes over you but then a small glimmer of hope blooms in your chest. You quickly pad over to the door, looking through the peephole. When you see Sicheng, you immediately open the door.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Jesus, Sicheng,” you breathe, stepping aside to let him in.

He’s sopping wet, once again battered and bruised. His cheek is swollen, and there’s a nasty cut across his forehead. The skin on his knuckles has been scraped off, and he’s limping. For the most part, he’s in better condition than he was when you first saw him. You realize he’s shivering and you quickly grab your fluffiest towels from the bathroom, swaddling him in them.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, plopping down on your couch. Right on the spot with his blood stain. “So you remember.”

“Remember what?” you ask, drying his hair with a smaller towel.

“My name.”

You stop, looking down at him. “How could I not?”

Sicheng shrugs. “Yuta told me he talked to you. He’s right, you know.”

“Yet you’re here,” you say wryly.

“Strange, isn’t it? I had every intention of going to Yuta’s, but I found myself here,” he says quietly.

You give up on drying his hair, slapping the towel over his head, before leaning back against the couch and sighing. “Stop saying stuff like that.”

Sicheng watches you, reaching over and sliding his hand into yours. His hand is wet and cold, but it somehow warms you. You let your intertwined hands stay like that for a only a few moments before you pull away. “Are you ever going to tell me who you are?”

“I can’t,” he says again, shaking his head.

“Are you a criminal?” you ask. “Murderer? Drug dealer?”

He doesn’t answer.

“I can’t keep doing this, Sicheng. You’re the one who told me not to blindly let strangers into my house, including you, but you came to me. You’re the one who said it’s better if I don’t know your name, but you told me anyways. I don’t want your breadcrumbs anymore. If you have no intention of telling me who you are, then get out. I don’t want to see you,” you say, pointing to the door.

You’re met with another round of silence.

“Criminal,” he says after a long pause. “I guess you could call me a criminal.”

“You guess?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“We serve justice to higher-ups that are corrupt,” Sicheng explains, “just not in the most lawful way. We don’t kill though, we just simply hit them where it hurts: their bank accounts.”

“So you’re a vigilante,” you say, “a modern day Robin Hood.”

He smiles. “That sounds much better.”

“Oh,” is all you can reply with. You’re glad he’s not a murderer or anything like that, but you’re not sure what to do with this information now.

“So, you can imagine the amount of enemies that I’ve made,” Sicheng continues, “and how they’ll tear you apart if they find out that I care for you.”

“Which means you should probably go,” you finish for him, nodding and looking down at your hands.

“Yes, I probably should,” he agrees, tilting his head and waiting for you to meet his eyes.

There’s another brief pause before you do, and it’s all over from there.

Sicheng’s arms are suddenly wrapped around your waist, hauling you onto his lap. You grab his face and kiss him with a fervor that you never knew you had in you before. His hands are clutching your hips tightly as he yanks you forward, pressing you flush against him. You let out a mewl in his mouth at the friction, and he groans in response. He removes a hand from your hip and places it against the back of your head, deepening the kiss. His tongue draws out another moan from you, and you feel your lungs crying out for air.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers as you pull apart to breathe. His lips are glossy and slightly tinted from the lip balm you had on. “Tell me this is wrong.”

You shake your head, throwing your arms around his neck and bringing him in for another kiss. Sicheng doesn’t protest and kisses you back even harder. His fingers begin fiddling with the hem of your shirt, and you can tell he wants to take it off but is waiting for your approval. Breaking the kiss, you take off your shirt and toss it over your shoulder. He’s surprised at first, but his gaze quickly softens as he leans in to press feather light kisses against your skin.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbles, sucking purple bruises onto your collarbone.

You crane your neck, clutching his head to your chest. Once he dots hickeys across your chest and neck like constellations in the sky, he pulls away to look at you. His lips are swollen and his eyes are lidded.

“Stay,” you whisper, placing your forehead against his.

“I shouldn’t,” Sicheng says it like it’s physically hurting him.

“You shouldn’t,” you echo.

But he does.

When you wake up, you see Sicheng with his back turned to you as he tugs his shirt back on. It’s so early that the sun hasn’t even risen yet, and you groggily call out to him. He stiffens like you caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to, slowly looking back at you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, rubbing your eyes and sitting up. You don’t even have the energy to be embarrassed when the blanket falls from your bare chest.

He eases himself on the edge of your bed, brushing your messy hair out of your face. “I have to go.”

“Why?” You wrap your fingers around his wrist as he cradles your cheek.

“Last night was...a mistake,” he says softly, “a wonderful, amazing mistake, but a mistake.”

You knew he was going to say that. Though it doesn’t hurt any less.

“The more I’m around you, the more I like you, and that terrifies me,” Sicheng says, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

“What are you so afraid of?” you whisper, leaning into his touch.

“That you’ll get hurt. That this feeling will turn into love. That, one day, I’m going to have to choose between what I’m doing and you―”

He closes his eyes.

“―and that I’ll make the wrong decision.”

You’re silent, watching him. Sicheng opens his eyes again and looks at you, his expression a conflicting mix of longing and frustration. Wrapping your arms around him, you place your cheek on the top of his head and he buries his face in your chest.

“Come back to bed,” you finally say, after the two of you stay like that for a while.

“I―”

“Don’t worry about the what ifs,” you shush him, “worry about right here, right now. And right now, you’re here with me. We’re safe. No one is going to come through that door and try to kill us―”

“You don’t know that,” he mumbles.

“Shut up, you’re ruining my grand speech,” you snap.

“Sorry.”

“Well, now I’ve forgotten it,” you sigh, “anyways, just cuddle with me. Geez.”

Sicheng smiles against your skin and falls onto the bed, taking you down with him. Rolling on top of you, his arms cage your head as he leans down to press a small kiss on your lips.

“Should I?”

You roll your eyes, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and bringing him back down to you.

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