#my hands are like icicles i need some warmth babes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

super-secret-sick-fics · 3 years

Note

hii i requested the last fic and i loved it very much! excited for pt 2 :D

OH and it wasn’t even out of character it felt like exactly how they would react! you write suna especially well aquarius twins

Thank you!! I’m so glad you liked it :) Here’s part 2!! I didn’t proofread this at all, so I apologize for any mistakes.

I tried to make it so that they could each be read independently. Also I am bad at endings sorry lmao.

Sick & Delirious: A SunaOsa fic (part 2 of Sick at School)

Pair: Sick Suna, Caretaker Osamu

Word Count: 3,028

Warnings: Vomit, panic attack, swearing & fluff

Part 1 Here

___________________________

“Rintaro, you poor, poor baby!” Osamu’s mother cried as soon as she showed up to the front office of the school.

Shortly after the nurse agreed to let Osamu go home too, Suna and Osamu were escorted (slowly and with a small bin in hand) to the front to await Miya-san. They sat down and Suna almost immediately curled into Osamu’s warmth. If he wasn’t so sick, he’d be utterly embarrassed at how clingy he was being. Their hands had been joined since they left the classroom and Suna squeezed Osamu’s every time a cramp rolled through his body.

Now Miya-san was there, her hands immediately cupping Suna’s face and brushing back his hair.

“Geez, Ma. Give him some space. Bet ya won’t be that nice to me and I know you’re not being that nice to Tsumu,” Osamu scoffed.

“Well of course not,” she deadpanned, “yer both idiots. Rintaro is much nicer to your poor mother than her ungrateful children.” Osamu scoffed again.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you, Miya-san,” Suna interjected, undeterred by the Miya’s usual show. She looked over at him again and smiled gently.

“Of course. I’ve spoken with yer ma and she’ll bring over some clothes for ya when she’s off work. Now let’s go boys.”

***

“Shit, Rin,” Osamu woke up from his nap when Suna started heaving beside him. He sat up and rubbed Suna’s back as he leaned over the bed and threw up in the bin beside it. The crinkling plastic and splattering sounds reverberated painfully in Suna’s ears.

“S-sorry,” he spluttered.

“Don’t be,” Osamu whispered.

This was the third time in the last two hours that Suna and Osamu were awoken by Suna’s stomach. When they got back to the Miya’s house, Suna was directed to the guest room. Osamu leant him some clothes so he could change out of his uniform and brought him some water, crackers, and a bin. When he was getting ready to leave, Suna grabbed his wrist and asked him to stay. He wasn’t good at being sick and felt much better knowing Osamu was around to help.

When the fit let up, he rolled back into bed and wrapped his arms around Osamu’s stomach. He was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t because of the fever.

Honestly, he wanted to cry. He was so exhausted and his stomach ached so badly. His migraine was relentless. His body didn’t know whether it was cold or hot and all he wanted was to sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.

It didn’t help that Atsumu had set up camp for himself in the bathroom that was shared between the twins’ room and the guest room. He said that he didn’t mind the sleeping on the floor as long as it meant he could flush the vomit away immediately, instead of having it sit mocking him in the bin beside his bed.

The two of them seemed to be on opposite cycles. Every time Suna thought he could get some sleep, he could hear Atsumu start puking in the bathroom. Then every time Atsumu had quieted down for a bit, Suna’s stomach attacked him. He felt bad, knowing that Atsumu felt just as bad as he did and had to deal with the same things. Never in his life did he think that he would ever feel bad for stupid Atsumu. His fever must be pretty high.

“Rin,” Osamu sighed. Whenever they were both awake, Osamu’s hands were on Suna’s body somewhere, comforting him with little touches and gentle pats. Suna’s favorite thing was when one of his hands was in his hair, the other moving, ghosting his fingers up and down his back. Right now, one of his hands propped him up in the bed and the other was lying dormant on Suna’s head.

“Rin, are ya crying?”

Suna nodded. Osamu sighed again.

Slowly and carefully, as to not jostle Suna’s stomach he was sure, Osamu wiggled himself into lying down and repositioned Suna so he was laying on Osamu’s chest. Then he started ghosting his fingers up and down Suna’s back and caressing the back of his head. Suna wondered if Osamu knew that was his favorite.

“I’m sorry, Rin. I wish I could help ya,” he soothed and something inside Suna squeezed. He whimpered pathetically and curled further into Osamu’s chest.

With that, the dam broke loose. Hot tears started soaking Osamu’s shirt as Suna sobbed quietly.

“I-I don’t f-feel good,” he cried. His throat hurt, from the bile or being ill in general he wasn’t sure.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” Osamu comforted. If Suna were more cognizant, he probably would’ve blushed at the pet name.

He was sure that he liked Osamu and that Osamu liked him back, but they had never addressed it. They were both content to let things happened naturally, not minding the little more-than-friend’s touches here and there or the less-than-platonic-flirting they did at practice and in class. Being in this situation though and having Osamu being the one to take care of him really solidified how Suna felt.

Osamu let him cry for a while before Suna started hiccuping dangerously again.

“Rintaro, yer gonna make yer self sick again,” he exhaled. As if on cue, Suna gagged.

“N-no,” he moaned. Osamu sat up, taking Suna with him and reached down to pick up the bin beside the bed.

“Ya gotta let it happen, babe.” He put the bin on Suna’s lap. Suna glared at it half-heartedly before he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably and a gag forced its way out.

“How is there even anything left?” Osamu lamented. Suna answered with a painful heave. He also wondered the same thing.

Suna’s stomach felt hollow and yet nausea continued to plague him. The room spun as he heaved. His throat was scraped raw. At this point, he was barely aware of Osamu’s presence behind him. Through the fog, he knew he was there though, and that was reassuring enough.

A gurgle came from his stomach and he moaned. Within a few seconds, a wet, crackling, burp brought up the blue sports drink Osamu gave him to try and keep him hydrated. A few more painful heaves brought up more blue tinted vomit before his stomach seemed to allow him a break.

He collapsed into Osamu’s side, panting.

“My poor Rin,” Osamu cooed, but it was muffled, like he was talking to Suna through a pillow. He pulled Suna into his side and kissed the top of his head. The movements were happening in slow motion though, and Suna was, for the second time that day, thoroughly confused.

“‘Samu?” He tried, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth and he wasn’t sure that he made any sound.

“Yeah?” Osamu asked, rubbing up and down Suna’s arm. And wow….no. He didn’t like that. It set all of his nerves on edge. He tried to squirm away from the unwanted touch.

“Rin?”

Suddenly, everything was Too Much. He pushed on whatever was wrapped around him. The soft fabric beneath his hand itched painfully.

“Rin? What’s wrong?” A loud voice boomed in his ears and he flinched away.

“Le’ go...” he gasped, his chest felt like it was on fire. He weakly pushed again. Whatever was encasing him did not budge. His eyes burned and his surroundings swirled alarmingly.

“N-no,” he choked on something hot and sticky.

Then he was released from the bindings holding him and he felt the world tilt forward for just a second. His chest landed on something and it stopped. He was forced upright, and his field of vision changed. A blurry figure appeared in front of him. Maybe a person?

Something captured his face on either side and his eyes blew wide. Cold. No. Scratchy? No.

“Rinta...he...loo..me...whas…ong?” The voice exploded through his brain again and he whimpered. What was happening? Why was he so hot. It was so hot.

“Ho-t…”

Why was he alone? Wasn’t someone helping him before? Where did that person go? He needed help.

“Shit,” a voice cut through his haze. Osamu?

“It’s….I’ve go….”

Too quickly, he was moving. Whatever caged him before was back around him and he tried in vain to break free.

“‘Samu?” A new voice. He whined.

“Move,” too loud too loud too loud. He was released from the bindings again for just a second before being captured again. This time they were hot. And wet. And they torched his skin. He wriggled in yet another futile attempt to get free. What was that roaring sound?

“Whas...on?” The new voice again. Closer. It hurt his head.

“Hi….feve...high…”

Suna was in a new space. Things were different around him now and the sudden change made him dizzy. He coughed and then his mouth was full. He dropped his jaw heavily and his mouth was empty again.

“Fuck!” A screech and he moaned in response.

He was moving again and then his entire body was being pricked with icicles. It put his surroundings a little more in focus.

“Cold!” He shrieked. He tried to get away from the ice, but was held down.

“Tsumu….sorr...ease..” Another force held him down. It wasn’t as strong, but Suna couldn’t get away from it.

“No no no no…” he repeated, his entire face felt heavy. Was that possible? He writhed in pain. It hurt it hurt he wanted out.

“I’m sorry, Rintaro, I’m sorry,” the first voice shook. It was clearer now. It still pounded in his skull.

“Please please please please,” he said and it hurt his throat.

“Rin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It was Osamu. He thrashed harder.

“I’m sorry, Samu, I can’t—“ oh that was Atsumu. One of the heavy things holding him down was gone. He fought against the last one. He almost won. It was gone for a second before there was a splash and something behind him grabbed him around his waist and held him down.

“No please it hurts please.” He begged. Someone was crying.

“Rin, it’s okay. Please calm down.” Osamu was behind him now. Behind him. Oh he must be what’s holding him down. Okay okay. That was fine. But why was he torturing him like this?

“Samu no…” he tried to push away. He was really really tired though.

“Yeah, Rin it’s me. I’m trying to help. Please let me,” Osamu said. But his voice was wrong. It was shaking and tight. Was he upset? He was trying to help? Okay okay. He trusted Osamu. He relaxed into Osamu’s hold. It got tighter.

Suna wasn’t sure how much time went by. He tried really hard to trust Osamu, even though the ice prickled and burned at his skin. Eventually, the pain lessened.

There was a soft whimpering sound and he couldn’t figure out who it was for a while. Then he realized it was him. Next, he felt the tears on his face and his entire body shivering.

Slowly, his environment came into focus. He was in the bathroom, more specifically a bathtub.

Finally, the fog in his brain cleared and he put two and two together. Osamu put him in a cold bath to bring his fever down.

“Osamu,” he said through chattering teeth.

“I’m sorry, Rin, I’m sorry,” Osamu said. His face was buried in Suna’s shoulder, but even still, he could tell hear his voice shaking from the cold. More than that, he sounded desperate. Almost defeated.

Suna hated it. He brought a hand up behind him and placed it on Osamu’s head, letting his own collapse back onto his friend’s shoulder. Osamu stiffened before whipping his head up.

“Rin?” He choked and Suna nodded lethargically.

“Can we please get out?” he whispered. Osamu nodded quickly. He got out and wrapped himself in a towel before helping Suna up. It was then that he realized he was still wearing his clothes. They clung to him and he grimaced at the feel. Osamu enveloped Suna in a fluffy towel and hugged him tightly.

Suna relished in the warmth for a second.

“C’mon, let’s getcha outta these wet clothes,” Osamu murmured and let Suna go. He lead him back to the guest room and sat him down in the desk chair. Suna’s teeth chattered noisily.

Osamu left, only to return a minute later with new clothes.

“Do ya need help?” he asked. Still unnaturally soft. It was starting to unnerve Suna. He nodded in response.

A little while later, Suna and Osamu were both sitting on the bed, dressed in dry clothes. Osamu sat in front of him, rubbing a towel over his hair, trying to get as much of it dry as he could. He was quiet. Suna was content to let things settle before he asked what was wrong. He knew Osamu would either talk to him when he was ready or if Suna pried a little.

His hands stopped moving and Suna was about to ask if he could lay down when Osamu bent forward and buried his face in Suna’s neck again.

Suna was a little lost, but put a hand on Osamu’s still damp hair anyway.

“Still too warm,” Osamu mumbled. He nuzzled his face into Suna’s shoulder. He was starting to get really worried and really agitated at Osamu’s weird behavior.

“Samu,” he demanded softly, “what’s the deal?” Osamu tensed in his hold then he sat up so abruptly it made Suna a little woozy. When the vertigo passed, he was face to face with a furious Osamu.

“What’s the deal?” Osamu seethed. Suna looked at him with wide eyes.

“Rin, you were gone!” Osamu shouted, making Suna’s head pound. Osamu stood up ferociously and started pacing the room. Suna wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Osamu, please I don’t feel good. Can you just be straight with me?” Suna complained. Osamu turned on him. His face was contorted and Suna was taken aback when he saw tears rolling down flushed cheeks.

“Osamu, what—“

“Rin, ya were gone. Ya were here but ya just weren’t. Ya didn’t know who I was or who Tsumu was and ya didn’t know where you were and fuck. It was terrifyin’. Ya screamed when I put ya in the tub. Saying that I was torturing ya and that ya were caged and shit,” Osamu sobbed. Suna’s chest twinged.

This was not his Osamu. He brought this man to this state?

“I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. Ya kept throwin’ up but it didn’t seem like ya even knew it was happenin’,” Osamu continued. He fell to his knees.

“Yer fever was so high and it happened so quickly. Tsumu tried to help, but he’s still sick. My mom left to go get more medicine and I felt so helpless,” he whimpered before devolving into a fit of heart wrenching sobs.

Suna stared at the boy before him, shell-shocked. He eased himself onto the ground and crawled over to Osamu and hugged him. It wasn’t long before Osamu’s arms were wrapped around his middle and he started crying into Suna’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he soothed, “I don’t remember a lot of that. I remember being confused and cold and feeling like I was being held down, but I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry, Osamu. I’m so sorry.” Osamu nodded, but kept crying and that was okay.

They stayed like that a little while longer, Suna shushing Osamu gently. Eventually, Osamu pulled back and wiped his face. Suna smiled softly at him and he chuckled sadly.

“Sorry,” he sniffled. Suna shook his head.

“I really need to lie down,” he said. He was starting to feel really heavy and nauseas again and it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open.

Osamu nodded and helped him back to the bed. He lay down and Osamu quickly followed, enveloping Suna into his chest. Suna nuzzled his face into the soft fabric of Osamu’s shirt. He felt Osamu place a kiss into the top of his head and give him a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry again,” he mumbled, half asleep already.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad yer alright. I’m sorry I freaked out on ya.” He stroked his hand up and down Suna’s back.

“‘S’okay. I’m just that important,” Suna yawned. Osamu chuckled and it warmed Suna’s heart and calmed his mind.

“Ya sure are. Go to sleep. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Osamu said. With his blessing, Suna fell asleep.

***

Later that night, Atsumu would show them a picture of the two of them cuddled up and drooling on each other that he took when he mustered up the strength to come check on things. Osamu yelled at him but Suna asked him to send it to him. He may have set it as his phone’s home screen.

By the next morning, Suna woke up to the sound of Osamu heaving beside him. It was unpleasant and made his stomach turn. Before he realized what was happening, he was sprinting to the bathroom and pushing Atsumu out of the way and emptying his stomach into the toilet.

“Sunarin, please,” Atsumu choked before turning to the bath tub.

Miya-san ran into the room and surveyed the situation.

“My poor boys,” she sighed, “I’m gonna go set up the livin’ room so I can watch all three of ya.”

And so Suna spent the next few days camped out in the Miya’s living room. Soon enough, Atsumu was well enough to help out his mom here and there. And when Suna was feeling up to it, he returned the favor and rubbed Osamu’s back as he puked disgustingly.

“Ya can go home if ya want,” Osamu panted between rounds. Suna shook his head.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you, stupid.”

Osamu smiled gratefully before his cheeks puffed out and he turned back to the bin. Suna laughed and kissed the back of his sweaty neck.

Maybe they didn’t define their relationship with labels, but Suna was pretty positive that he wanted to stick with Osamu for the rest of his life.

#I wish this ending was better #oh well #My fic #haikyuu sickfic #sick suna #caretaker Osamu #sunaosa #tw vomit #tw panic attack

43 notes · View notes

johobi · 5 years

Text

When You Least Expect It | 12

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 8.2k

Warnings: angst, angsty-angst, dramaTIC ANGST, anxiety, depression, fear of going mad. i swear it’s not all that bad though!!!!

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: thanks, as ever, for all your encouragement, love and patience. i truly treasure you.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

"Need to get my⁠—mmm⁠—keys."

Taehyung's argument was solid, but your lip-lock took precedence. "Nuh-uh," you murmured to his saliva-slick lips, eager to taste from them again. "Do it blind."

Your lover fished futilely for his keys, eyes closed for kissing. His body angled away when you only wanted it flush. Selfishly you clung to him, arms fast around his neck, compelling him closer. Oh, but you needed more. Needed his touch. It was painfully absent. Taehyung’s long-fingered hands trawled the depths of his pockets when they should have been defiling you.

He snorted through the meagre space between your faces. "I can't find⁠—mmgh⁠—find them."

"Here," you offered in devilish whisper, plunging a hand into the pocket of his jeans. Shamelessly grasping a little too close to his left-leaning dick.

"Ah⁠—"

Your fingertips grazed metal. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"It will be."

It was your turn to scoff. Right into his hot, nasty mouth.

Despite Taehyung's ineptitude at locating his own keys, it was spellcraft how easily he unlocked the door, with his back to it and his tongue thrust far past your lips. As the lock gave way, you threw yourself into his freshly-freed arms, urging he embrace your touch-starved body. But Taehyung was already around you, on you, fondling the breadth of your thinly-clothed ass. He broke away to whine: “God, you drive me crazy.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

You stumbled into his apartment as a mass of roving hands. "You’re gonna get it again, noona," Taehyung hummed around your earlobe. Tugged it between his teeth. Whispered obscenities while his hard cock pressed close. “You feel that, babe? You want it?”

Breath tumbled out. “Y-Ye⁠s—”

"It certainly sounds like she does," a wicked voice sang. It was high-pitched and heavy on the dialect and its source unmistakeable. You wished you were mistaken. "Whatever it is. I'm gonna hazard a guess that it's⁠—"

The two of you repelled like magnets.

"Oh, fuck. Jimin, why are you still here?" Taehyung made no attempt to smother his exasperation. His erection, on the other hand, he smothered actively, obscuring it with the hem of his shirt..

"Good night without me?" the redhead side-stepped. Consistent with his character, the conversation became depraved, and all about him. You found yourself on the receiving end of an unwelcome eyebrow waggle. "I was only one phone call away."

Taehyung's hand flew to his face. Dragged down his features. "I told you I didn't know when I'd be back. If at all. Couldn't you have gone home, dude? What did you even do all night?"

As Jimin dithered and whined, you surveyed the damage the bachelor had inflicted upon Taehyung's usually immaculate apartment. Takeout trays, beer bottles and indiscernible spills surrounded the little imp. Insult to injury was his occupation of your beloved red slanket. It coupled his hair so garishly he resembled something of an angry pimple. You glared at Jimin from behind his 5'11" handler.

"I thought you were coming back!" Jimin finally exasperated. His wrists emerged from the slanket-holes when he gestured to his nest of trash. "I had to eat twice the amount of food. And I got drunk alone. You know how sad that is?"

"Got a glimpse of your future, did you, Jimin?" The snicker that shot from you almost took the contents of your nostrils with it. To say you were a little sniffly this morning was to minimise it. It took all your nasal strength to prevent a flood. Probably all that rain yesterday.

No, don't think about yesterday.

Luckily, your dignity remained intact for discard another day. Jimin's however, had long been abandoned. Tact, too. "So—" He watched, beady-eyed, as you busied yourself in the undoing of his mess. When you reached for a pizza box: "You guys having an affair? Or is this some kinda friends-with-benefits deal?" The slanket rode up his offensively nude thighs as he leaned toward your stooping form. "Any chance of making this a three-person thing? Or four, if that Jungkook guy is still in the picture."

It was like an icicle through your poor, hollowed heart. You froze, bent at the hinges, pizza grease becoming palm sweat. "W-What?"

“Actually, was he even real? I never saw him.”

Was he even real?

Taehyung was quick. Was there in a second, striding to your side, affixing a hand to your lower back. His fingertips, too, were quick. Quick to find that sliver of exposed skin where your jeans and shirt met. To give you the warmth of reassurance that came only with his touch. "Jesus, Jimin. I know this is your shtick, but no-one's in the mood for your bullshit today. Just go home dude, I'll text you later."

An expression you'd never encountered warped Jimin's delicate features. Hurt. "What the fuck?" he grumbled, complying despite his injured feelings. Coming to a stand, he stuffed himself into his night-before skinny jeans, plump lips pursed. "What got into you? She peg you or something?" Jimin’s hmphs continued, punctuating his impromptu Get Ready With Me throughout. Without the care it warranted, he slung off the slanket and began turning out the couch.

“Very funny. What are you looking for? I’ll help.” Taehyung offered, placidity masking his vexation incredibly well. Antagonising Jimin would only prolong his being there, after all, and the scenario was already unbearably awkward. Especially now, when he was flaunting a good inch of his ass-crack in the hunt for some misplaced possession.

"My wallet. Y’know, the pot leaf one. Where did I put the damn thing?"

In that gaping crevice, maybe? It wasn’t aloud.

"Okay, look⁠—" Taehyung, too, looked to have had his fill of his friend's butt-cleft. "I'll bring your wallet 'round your place later. You got your phone and keys, yeah?" The outline in the redhead's jeans confirmed it. "Go home, sleep off the rest of the booze, we'll talk this evening."

Despite his grievances, Jimin suddenly brightened. He never was one to hold a grudge. He was a Pisces, after all. "You're gonna come over? Cool! I'll get more beer in." The fact he'd consumed a dozen only two hours prior didn’t appear to deter him. "You coming, ____? We gonna have another game of Never Have I Ever?"

The sincere sparkle of his eyes threw you a little. "Uh, I don't think so. Not today. Sorry, Jimin. Next time, okay? I've got some things to sort out later. Plus, I think I’m getting sick." A sniffle for illustration.

"That's cool." He hummed, shrugged on his signature varsity jacket. The world would burn before he conceded college was over. "See you later, Tae. Happy smashing," was his parting comment as he sashayed out the door, mildly uncoordinated. Taehyung was charitable enough to relieve his friend of the quandry of closing it.

And when it was closed, your lover turned back. Had a pensive purse to his lips. "Uh, sorry about that. You okay?"

"Don’t apologise, I’m the one that disrupted your plans in the first place, Tae. But yeah, I’m good."

Taehyung couldn’t see the extent of that untruth. Not when you averted your eyes so swiftly. Pinned them to your busy hands as you continued to collect up Jimin's litter. Why had it been so easy for him to speak his name? Like it was nothing but breath? Just two syllables, plucked from an alphabet of indifference?

When it was sand and salt on open sores?

When it was woe so heavy it rasped the soul?

"Alright." It wasn't, but what mattered was that Taehyung knew it. Knew it, and didn't pursue it. Instead, he fluffed a trashbag for you in which to deposit your greasy collection. "He's always like this. A mangy raccoon." The comparison hit humorously enough to curtail your anguish. Momentarily, at least. A genuine laugh came from you. At that, Taehyung looked up. Caught your smile. "He's always like this. Always leaves me to clean up. His metaphorical and literal messes."

Trash collected, you straightened. Inelegantly, and with a groan. You'd have to scrape together the pennies for some sweet chiropractic adjustment. "Yeah? That doesn't surprise me," you smirk, prodding at the knots in the small of your back. "All I know is he's a gross, unashamed pervert that could be a good guy if he grew up a little. You haven't really told me too much about him. I guess you'll—" the reality of your and Taehyung's changed relationship hit you, then. It had transfigured into something far more intense. Far more beautiful. Potentially volatile. "—you'll have to tell me more. About him. Your other friends I don't see much. And about you, stuff I didn't get to know until we—well. You know."

Taehyung's head came to a tilt. His downy locks strayed into his eyes, softening them into a squint. "It's weird, isn't it? Being like this. Good weird—" he added with haste. Had he been suddenly struck by the revelation, too? Your two combined brain cells continued to surf one wavelength. It was uncanny. "You're standing there, I'm standing here. We look the same. But it's all different. I look at you different." A contemplative pause. The trash-bag knocked noisily at his knees as he rocked. "And all I know is I want to learn about you. Again. Inside and out."

"Yeah. I'd like that very much. I'm hardly a treasure trove of alluring secrets, but I'm sure I have a wild story or two from my college years. Ugh—" The ache that'd been no more than a dull tapping at your skull suddenly came to the fore. Your head throbbed like a blunt force concussion.

"You okay?" The trashbag left Taehyung's hands and crumpled to the floor. You felt them on you shortly after, palpating your oddly sensitive forearms. "What's up?"

"Headache. Think I was bent over for too long, or something." But then came a torrent of sneezing. And it was also then that Taehyung's proximity was suddenly, intolerably stifling. "Ugh. Maybe not. I’m definitely getting sick. Sick-sick."

A satiny palm left your shoulder and found your forehead. Your vantage saw only Taehyung's mouth. It opened into an O. "Oh, shit. Yeah, you're burning up, noona. We should get you into bed."

"No, no. That won't be necessary." You waved away his clammied hand and instead peeled off your - his - jacket. The last thing you wanted, on a day as emotionally strenuous as this one, was to find yourself physically compromised, too. "I'll be okay. I just need to cool down a bit. It's probably just a cold, and I can soldier through those. Uh—I'm a little hungry, though?"

"Aha! Want some French toast or something?" Taehyung leapt at the opportunity to tend to you. Like Yoongi, you shied away from showing weakness and instead showed a reluctance to lean on others. It must’ve been frustrating for Taehyung, an unashamed empath who wanted nothing more than to accompany and comfort you during your times of adversity. But he understood that it could not be the case with you. That less was more. That the key to helping you was when you asked for it. Yes, even when it was something so small as the common cold.

And when it wasn’t just the sniffles, but world-ending woe, Taehyung embraced your diversions from the difficult topics. Didn’t push it. Best friends never pushed. Yes, he was still your best friend. Something more, now, too, but forever your gentlest, most attuned of friends. "Don’t you like French toast? I could make something else?" He prompted, peering into your faraway face with those precious eyes of his.

"You can make French toast?"

"Of course I can. I can make you anything, within reason. I've been practicing. Takeout's giving me a belly." In illustration, Taehyung molded his hands to his mildly rounded flesh. Strained it out further, like an expecting mother.

"I like your little belly." Your hands fell to his, pressing his stomach back to flat.

"Yeah?" An errant quirk of his eyebrow. "It likes you, too."

You smiled so, so wide. And then you became certain:

Last night had been the right decision. One made in a swell of volatile emotion, yes. But this day - this moment - in which it was still possible to smile, proved that. Taehyung conjured it to your face with so little effort. It took so little effort to be with him. To just be.

And that was indeed a feat.

Because inside your mind, there was no reprieve. Barbed words and self-abuse clattered about your brain, painting you unworthy of Jungkook. Worse yet; deserving of his treatment.

Every second since your waking hour you’d been assailed by volleys of it. But your self-loathing didn’t end its assault there. In your darkest seconds, it even dared to suggest that you proclaimed your love for Taehyung too hastily.

That you instead yearned for that other man.

By some mercy, you were already adept in handling intrusive thoughts. Because that was all they were: Intrusive. Unwelcome and unwanted. There could be no truth to the doubt or longing.

Not when your new horizon stood before you, a sunshine smile dawning across his cheeks. Taehyung. The once boy, now man, you'd forever coveted.

He was yours. Your desperate words a night ago sealed it.

Puzzlement mingled adorably with Taehyung's bright features. "Babe?"

Yeah. It was the right choice.

"Sorry, Tae." In spite of your climbing fever, you intertwined your idling fingers. Looked down at the union with a contented smile. "Thanks for letting me stay here for a bit. I didn't want to go back to my apartment yet." The reason why remained unspoken. "I know I can't avoid it forever, but for a little while at least, I just wanna not think."

Soft, familiar lips were on your forehead. Spoke against the skin. "You stay here as long as you need. My apartment and I are at your disposal." It was Taehyung's turn to loose himself from your febrile embrace. Your perspiration lacquered his fingers. "We're getting you some painkillers for that fever, at the very least. You don't have to stay in bed, but I want you on the sofa so I can keep an eye on you while I do some marking."

"Okay, dad."

Taehyung’s tongue danced over the tips of his teeth. "That's daddy to you, noona. Get those damp clothes off and get some of my pyjamas on, there's a set on the bed."

----

Your sentencing to the sofa had initially been met with resistance. Especially when Taehyung hovered, ever-watching, an eye on his papers and the other on your recalcitrant form. Your every attempt at productivity - even a surreptitious attempt to fold his laundry - had been met with soft but stern eyes and an escort back to your cologne-saturated prison. Jimin's stank had ingratiated itself with the fibres of Taehyung's cushions. No amount of deodorizer could reduce its cling. It did nothing but intensify the thudding behind your eyes.

And at first, you attributed your worsening nausea to that silly little redhead. But the lightheadedness followed swiftly after, and then the chills, and then that horrid, off feeling encroached, like your soul lagged behind every of your body's movements.

In the end, you begged for the bed. Taehyung's memory foam mattress and sweet-smelling pillows. Only, the sweet made you sick, and the memory foam only exacerbated all your indistinct aches. By early afternoon, despite his dutiful nursing of you, you tapped out of your brave-facing. Practically begged him to return you to your apartment, where all your remedies resided.

If there was something that united the men of your world, it was their haphazard approach to health crises. Taehyung possessed a pitiful two (2) painkillers. The nasty, round, chalky type that got you gagging. Expiry date: Last year. No hot water bottle, no frozen goods to improvise a cold compress. When questioned about his unreadiness in the face of illness, his reasoning was ridiculous. Sound, but ridiculous. 'I never get sick, so I don't need it.’ The painkillers were Jimin’s.

Hoseok and Yoongi were much the same. The former would simply turn up on your doorstep and check-in to your veritable inpatient clinic and expect private-tier care. For the latter, you'd have to make a house visit, because he never got sick, and he didn't need you fussing over him so. And yet he was the one that fell ill the most. The one that needed the most tender of care.

Sigh.

Today, you required it. And that was how you now found yourself back home, a day earlier than you would have preferred. You tottered out of Taehyung's car in your royal red slanket, pyjama pants dragging on wet asphalt. It took what waning stamina you possessed to gaze upward at the same balconies Jungkook strode yesterday. It was like looking on an untouched crime scene; as gloomily lit and ominous as it had been then.

Taehyung came to your side, and then a little in front, surveying that same sight. "Looks like he's gone, noona."

The relief that surged was medicine in itself. "Thank God. Let's go in, quickly." Your teeth chattered animatedly during the climb, even though you burned like the sun incarnate. Taehyung's arm was fast about your waist, steadying you on each of your Everestian steps. Collapse felt close at times, but when your vision began to fail it was the image of Jungkook's guilt-ridden face that rallied you onward. To fall, here, was to expose yourself to the risk of seeing it again.

And that could not happen.

"Do you have the keys—"

"Got 'em." Taehyung was ahead of you in every sense. With the dexterity he was inhibited from displaying earlier, he had your door open before you could reach him. "In you go, babe."

"Thanks." You loped past, unsteady. Unready to climb the flight of stairs immediately within. "Why do I have a maisonette?" The question was to no-one, or God.

Taehyung answered anyway. “Because you’re a woman of discerning taste.” Large hands found your blanketed backside, lending you their support. “Plus, when the bedroom’s upstairs, the neighbours can’t hear.”

“A valid point,” you ceded, beginning your ascent. Even with Taehyung - quite literally - bringing up the rear, your legs felt like those of an unpractised infant. It was astonishing just how quickly the virus had incapacitated you.

Still. The higher you climbed, the handsier Taehyung became. He stole squeezes of your rump with every step. Said it was incentive to keep going.

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

After much of his unscrupulous groping, the laughter finally broke free. "Oh my God, you're being so shameless right now." Another shaky step. "I wish I had a stairmaster."

He wasn't done being outrageous. "Sit back and I'll stairmaster you all the way up, babe."

The giggling became painful. Welcome, but painful. "Stop."

At the top of the staircase, you stopped to compose your failing limbs. It was alarming just how vital you'd been this morning. This afternoon, you felt one laboured breath from death. "One sec."

"I knew this was a bad idea. You shouldn't be going anywhere in your condition." His two, warm hands stabilised you from the back, preventing an inevitable tumble. "I coulda just bought more painkillers and whatever else you needed."

"It's alright, Tae. I had to come back at some point soon, anyway. My keys for the cafe are here and I'm opening tomorrow." Blotting the sweat from your brow, you advanced on unstable legs to the sofa and immediately crumpled onto its familiar comfort. "Plus, when I'm sick, I like to be sick at home."

"I don't think you'll be going into work tomorrow." By the time it took you to maneuver yourself onto your stomach, Taehyung was stood over you, hands emphatically on hips. "Look at you. Can't even get comfortable without exhausting yourself."

"I don't wanna let Hoseok down." Nor did you want to enlighten him to your current romantic quandry, though. Ugh. "But I do feel terrible. If I’m no better later, I might text him."

"Wow, I thought for sure it would take far more convincing than that," Taehyung snickered, eyes round with mock shock. He'd accumulated a number of dirty dishes from your coffee table in his hands. "Glad you're prepared to rest. Stay there and let me get whatever it is you need. I'll clean your place up a little as well, so don't stress about it."

"No—Tae—"

"Hush. Get the pyjama bottoms off, too, they're wet on the bottom."

You'd been shouldering so much discomfort that your freezing wet ankles had eluded you. A glance down. "Oh. Yeah. I don't know if I can, though." You flopped your feeble arms. "Too far to reach." Plus, Taehyung could undress you now. To disrobe in any other way was to squander the opportunity.

His mouth curved villainously. "Okay." Clap. "Let's see if I can do this in one swift move. Like a magician pulling a table cloth."

Before his proposition had entirely processed, he pinched the hems of your sodden pyjama bottoms and snatched them from your legs. "Wh—"

"Open sesame!"

Wheezy giggling filled the air. "Oh, it hurts to laugh. Fuck." Being semi-naked and comically incapacitated only heightened the hilarity. Taehyung straddled your legs, twirling the wet pants in triumph— "Oww. Oh my God, stop, I can’t—” More rasping laughter. “What even goes on in your head? Also, magicians don't shout open sesame when they do that shit."

"I do. That's why other magicians suck. They say the wrong words." He spoke it like he believed it, and for a moment he was again the boy from childhood, proclaiming the weirdest - but sincerest - of things. And now he was your loveable oddball. "Daddy's gonna get you some dry ones."

And there was the gross-ass man he'd grown into.

Nevermind.

"Okay, you're taking that in a direction I don't want to go in, Tae," you protested, flimsily, through persistent laughs. With a half-hearted kick, you nudged him toward your bedroom. "Hurry up, my ass is getting cold."

“A cold ass will do you good,” was his nonsensical retort. He wriggled out of his own, damp jeans as he went, gifting you the sight of his luscious ass in curve-hugging cotton.

You were appallingly close to catcalling take the boxers off too!, but in your current state you could barely lift a pinky, let alone give him the vigorous fucking he deserved.

---

A little channel-hopping later, Taehyung returned. Armed, coincidentally, with your favourite flannel bottoms. Yes, it was likely just coincidence, but the romantic in you posited destiny. "Legs up," he commanded. You did try, but the attempt was laughable. Taehyung's sigh hit the back of your thighs. "Listen here, lazy," he crooned, turning your body with the care one would an undercooked omelette. Pyjama pants in hand, he glowered down at your defiant face, brandishing them like a threat. "You gonna co-operate?"

"Nope." You turned your attention to the TV to stifle further laughter. Why you were hindering his attempts to help with your misbehaviour was anyone's guess. There was something irresistible about making trouble for him, though. Probably because Taehyung, too, was an unrepenting rascal.

"Okay then," was his equivocal response. You scrutinised him through narrowed eyes, waiting on his next, underhanded move.

Which was to tickle your feet. Underhanded indeed.

"Oh, God, no!" you yelped, cried, rasped for breath. Flailed your legs like a fawn on skates.

"Thought you couldn't move, huh? Huh?" Taehyung caught your ankles amidst their thrashing and pulled them through freshly-laundered flannel.

Once the pyjamas reached your knees, you relented in your nonsense and shot him a buoyant smile. "Thanks."

"Hips up."

This time, you were obedient.

And Taehyung was thankful. A fine smile shone back at you as he settled the waistband around your hips. Your smile, however, drifted. Awe replaced it as you stole glances at his beautifully-hewn features. He truly was sublime. The bridge of his nose was high and strong, its tip hosting the most precious of moles. Beneath his bottom lip there was another. These little details, of course, hadn’t escaped you before, but it was something to see them so close now. With time, you would kiss each and every of his chaotically placed moles.

When you recalled your gaze upward, Taehyung was watching you. The chocolate of his eyes was molten with feeling. Love and warmth irradiated him. "Can't believe you're mine now."

It was crucial that you kiss him.

You moved to do so. His lips were only a breath away. But then—

Three, distinct knocks.

You traded looks. Yours, petrified. His, outraged.

"Wait—"

But Taehyung's weight had already left you. An intimidating energy lingered in his wake as he strode toward the staircase, fists clenched. "I'll get that."

"Tae, no—"

The difficulty with which it took you to extricate yourself from your slanket was all the more frustrating for the urgency of the situation. You staggered, almost toppled, to catch him, but he'd already descended the steps by the time you reached the top. Damn those lovely, long legs of his. All you could do now was brace yourself on either bannister to prevent a gruesome fall. Because no amount of honeyed pleading was going to stop him. You peered, lightly nauseous, down the expanse of stair as Taehyung slung open the door.

It came as no surprise that it was Jungkook stood there, his doe-eyes wide.

It eviscerated your guts, nonetheless, to see him.

“Noona!”

At first, he lit up in elation. Perhaps he thought the door-answerer to be you. When Taehyung’s identity became clear, however, that elation morphed. First, to shock. Your long-legged lover wasn’t wearing pants, after all. But when Jungkook spied you at the back all shy, sadness again descended upon him. It was a sadistic hope that your sickly appearance intensified that upset. That it fueled his guilt for having decimated you. With every, shredded fibre of your being, you wished Jungkook hurt.

“Thank you for answering the door,” he began with an earnest bow, as though he didn’t know just how much you abhorred him. “H—”

"I answered the door. What do you want?" Taehyung straddled the doorframe, asserting his dominance over the territory. Jungkook's every attempt to look past him was foiled. The lissom man angled himself obstructively, and yet you sought Jungkook's face, too. Wanted to glimpse the heartbreaker for yourself, like he was some loathsome thing of legend. Like it was hard to believe you'd looked into that face just yesterday and seen the world. "Don't you ever give up?" he added, his patience sounding pencil-thin.

After several, weighty seconds of silence, Jungkook eventually acknowledged Taehyung's existence. Addressed him earnestly. "I know I'm not welcome here. I just want a couple of minutes with ____ to explain what she saw—" A derisive snort threatened to cut him off, so he continued hastily, and louder— "—Not for my benefit. For hers. I don't want her to—to—" Choked with frustration, Jungkook thrust himself into your sightline. Implored you with large, gleaming eyes. "I don't want you to blame yourself in any way."

You despised how pregnable you were under his gaze. Like imminent, avoidable death, it became impossible to look away. The void called. There, in his desolate eyes. He wanted you to join him.

No, Jungkook didn’t need you anymore. What he wanted was absolution. At great personal cost to you. But whatever he wished, no matter how detrimental, you would likely grant.

Because as much as you hated him, you loved him.

“I—”

But you loved Taehyung, too.

“____?” And he was there, soft voice enticing you back toward the light. Back toward his pretty face and tender-hearted intentions. There was no hurt to be had with Taehyung.

"I don't,” you spat, clear-minded once more. “I don’t blame myself, Jungkook. Only you.”

But you did blame yourself. Every second since, in fact.

Too fat, too boring, too ugly, too old, too much baggage—

It mustn't have been too convincing an outburst. Jungkook's mouth remained a thin, grim line. And those fucking eyes of his were so fucking ridiculously big and sad and—fuck!

It was all too much.

Mercifully, Taehyung was composed enough to mediate. You, however, were on the brink of emotional - and physical - collapse. "You heard her." Again, he filled out the doorframe. Stood provocatively close to the man in front. "You fucked up majorly. Actually—" Taehyung leaned in. His baritone dived lower. "You're lucky we're not alone right now."

Jungkook did not recoil an inch. Neither did he square up, though. He just stood, toe-to-toe with Taehyung, receiving the vitriol.

"You've imparted your message. You’re too late. You shouldn’t have done it in the first place. Are you finally going to go?"

At that, something bubbled within Jungkook. It shook his frame, balled his fists. Blinking came more rapidly. And then— "I know all that, dude. Look, I’m not here to fight with you. I appreciate what you’re doing, and that you’re protecting her, but I just—I need to talk to noona—to ___ a little longer. Privately. I just need a little more time. Please. Let me get the words out."

Taehyung bore impossibly close. "You don't need more time."

Jungkook’s mouth opened, combatively downturned. But whatever he meant to launch next was stymied when you took one, noodly step down the stairs. Taehyung turned toward the movement, and Jungkook peered past. It was then that he clocked just how arduous it was for you to move. “Noona? Are you okay?”

Dizzyness crowded your peripheral vision. But Jungkook was front and centre, and so painfully clear, that the influenza quietened. "I don't want to see you, Jungkook. I’m pretty sure I got that across yesterday. How many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone? What if I don’t even want to hear your damn sob story?"

He fell mute when your words reached him. Like he could scarcely believe you'd deigned him worthy of directly addressing. Palms pressed together and with his mouth agape, he looked the picture of a supplicant.

But he was unworthy.

No, I am.

You hung your head again. It was strenuous on your neck; weighing like a cannonball. "I don't want to stand here all day, Jungkook. Fucking say something. Why did you come here if—"

"Because I love you!” he gasped. “I love you, and—"

"Bullshit you do!"

It came from Taehyung, not you. He'd turned back, teeth bared, no longer saying but growling. There he was. Your guard dog. The leash was straining. "You don't love someone and hide a fucking fiancee, you piece of shit." Jungkook flinched at Taehyung's ferocity, but remained stalwart on his spot. Curled his lip instead. "You blew it. Now go."

Jungkook shook his head suddenly, violently. Flung rain from his hair and onto the walls. "This has nothing to do with you!" The bridge of his nose scrunched tight and bared not bunny teeth, but fangs.

Taehyung swatted away the finger poised aggressively at his chest. Stepped closer, but didn't stop. No, he bumped him back toward the threshold with his chest. "It does now. Read between the lines, dumbass."

Jungkook was ineffably innocent. “What do you mean?” He stared into Taehyung’s narrowed eyes to glean more meaning.

And then he gulped.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered to Taehyung’s immodestly nude legs, and clarity began to dawn. It astounded you how little reaction Taehyung’s state of undress had initially garnered from Jungkook. But now he was giving the situation its due attention.

A few, unmoving moments later, he gulped again. Harder this time, like something tangibly obstructed his speech. “N-Noona?” It was a mere rasp.

When Jungkook looked back, eyes glossy with devastation, your heart tore again. Right along its freshly-stitched seams. You tried desperately to avert your gaze, but the void shimmering back at you was dense. His voice reached for you again. "____?"

Your name, alien in tone, was what finally closed your eyes. Fresh tears ran down established tracks. You turned away, grip on the bannisters dubious.

"You and—him?" Jungkook gasped, so quietly, so pained, it was like agonal breath.

You crumpled as if stomped on. Your chest was ablaze, and you wanted so desperately to clutch at it. To smother it. To cradle your torso as it caved once more. But you were too impaired to move. Instead, you stood there, frozen and hunched, crying uglier than you could remember ever letting anyone see. Staring at your toes as the carpet caught your tears.

But why? You should be overjoyed to shatter him as he had you.

"Get it? Now go." Taehyung sighed, all the fight siphoning from him. He backed up from Jungkook and went monotone. "You've upset ___. Again. This is your last warning. Get going."

Predictably, Jungkook didn't budge. In the ensuing silence, however, he didn't plead his case as he once would have done. No, something about him was changed. An aggrieved aura hugged him, expanded, until— "Last warning? Fuck you, Kim Taehyung." His eyes, once brimming with tears, now seared with a fury. Even Taehyung looked taken aback. The outburst came sharp despite its gentle source. Again, Jungkook thrust forward an accusing finger. "Don't pretend you're better than me. You're selfish. I knew you couldn't wait to get your dick in her. I knew it ever since we saw you at the movies and you looked so fucking jealous—"

The gasp that exited you was so heavy with outrage it almost took you with it. You gripped the bannisters tighter, wobbled down two further steps. You had to de-escalate this. Somehow. "Jungkook!"

He granted you a brief, guilt-ridden side-glance before once again affixing his target with a glare. "You were just waiting for your moment, weren't you? Didn't want her 'til I had her. Couldn't bear the thought of your closest friend not being one of your conquests."

“Shut the fuck up!”

You didn't make it in time. Not before Taehyung wound back his elbow and snapped it forward, a hard, coiled fist on its end. It landed, brutal and blunt, on Jungkook's jaw. A dull, fleshy thud resounded, but to you it was like a gunshot. And so was the way his head and body whipped away, spiralling until his knees buffered his fall.

"Oh my G—Jungkook!"

The younger man, crouched away as he was, breathed deep, coppery air. Smeared his mouth along his sleeve, leaving red where it touched. And then, standing, he glared hatred at Taehyung. His shoulders shuddered with untethered anger. "You—"

"It's more than that for me. I can't say the same for you," Taehyung cut in, surveying his reddened knuckles. He flexed his fingers for feeling. "Fucking cheater."

Distracted, Taehyung was unprepared for the solid hunk of human that caught him around his midsection. Jungkook tackled him without caution, throwing his entire, intimidating mass into Taehyung's lankier frame. The two surged into the ground, clawing and grappling at the other's limbs, eyes wild, lips stretched back from teeth.

"Stop!"

"Oh my God, stop it!"

Neither listened. They were feral. Both heard only the rush of blood.

Knowing you must intervene, you manipulated your ragdollish limbs into descending the last half dozen steps. It was then, after an elongated struggle, Jungkook clambered atop Taehyung and fisted the collar of his shirt, glaring daggers enough to maim him.

“You’re so fucking smug—”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who fucked up!” Taehyung crowed from beneath, maniacal. He taunted Jungkook with an angular grin, like he wasn’t the one at disadvantage.

“Shut up!”

Once your feet met ground, you crumbled to your knees, Taehyung's head of hair between them. The sneer he brandished fell when he caught sight of your sweat-soaked face. Pitifully you pressed against Jungkook's shoulders, dissuading him from further violence. You felt like a toreador pushing on 1800lbs of charging bull. Jungkook didn't even so much as register your attempts until you wheezed out, "P-Please stop."

He did. He went rigid, in fact. Trembled, when he became aware of your touch. His rage evaporated and the boy that sat there was no longer a bull but a meek little kit. Trepidation rolled from Jungkook in waves, and he would not meet your eyes.

Why?

Was he now repulsed by you?

How could he judge you for your indiscretion when he—he—!

No. It wasn't an indiscretion. What you did with Taehyung held no moral ambiguity.

It occurred to you, then, that the pair of you hadn't been so close since the last time you were intimate. And happy. Though damp, Jungkook's familiar, and once comforting scent, brushed your nostrils. Perhaps your proximity was what flustered him.

When he finally met your gaze, you knew it to be true. He didn't look upon you with the anger nor revulsion you expected. Not anything obvious, anyway. Instead it was the wide-eyed wonder from your first date. The shyness. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to revisit it.

But then his brows drooped low in remorse. "Noona," he called to you like you were far away. Pined for you. Taehyung's shirt fell from his clutches, and you found his hands on your elbows instead, propping up your drooping form.

Feverish before, you were positively boiling now. To have his gentle palms on you again, no matter the circumstance, was a threat to your hastily-cobbled retreat. His fingertips told you, as they caressed your inner elbow, that any other man's hands would never do. And yet - you squirmed feebly, recalling it - those hands had been on, been in some other woman's body. And that would never do. "Don't touch me, J-Jungkook. Not with those hands."

But it was his hands that stirred your heart into uproar.

No. It was simply the flu. Nothing more. It influenced your body in the oddest ways.

And there was someone that had pumped your blood for far longer.

You cast your eyes to where Taehyung lay, honey hair a halo about his head and eyes only for you. Love bloomed fiercely in the bowels of your heart. “You really don’t look very good.” He made to push Jungkook off, but the younger man was already up on his knees, scanning your wan complexion.

"Are you burning up?" Jungkook murmured, his lips a line of concern. "You feel hot." Again he clasped your elbows, testing along their length for temperature. When he reached your upper arms, he was bold enough to advance on your neck, thumbs either side the line of your jaw. To your great shame, though you attributed it in most part to the fever, you enjoyed Jungkook's handling. "Your glands are out. And—" he pressed a cool, clammy palm to your clammier forehead. Spellbound, your eyes closed. "Yeah, you're even hotter up here, noona."

"No shit, dumbass," Taehyung growled from above. When you opened your eyes, he was no longer supine but towering over the two of you, fingers twitching by his sides. You foresaw Jungkook's imminent scalping if you weren't quick to intervene. "You chased her into torrential rain. She's sick, asshole, and it's your fault."

But there was no need to intervene. Jungkook didn't anger again. Nor did he stare down the man spitting insults. His focus remained fixed on you. On the damage he'd done. The deadened, bloodshot eyes, the pallid skin, the absence of joy. Of understanding. "I-I'm sorry," was all he could think to say? Again?

Desperate, you implored him for more with forlorn eyes. Begged him for sense. Practically mouthed the word please. It would be nothing you wanted to hear, but perhaps hearing it could bring closure. Some semblance of peace, eventually, in some far-off year.

Jungkook stared back, ruminating, and you knew there was no sense to be found. None that you wanted, anyway. Jungkook was a liar, an adulterer, a manipulator—

"Alright, you said sorry again. Time to go." Taehyung hauled him up by his underarms and, hopefully, away from you forever. It was a credit to him for tolerating Jungkook’s presence for so long. Especially when all he did was regurgitate the same, tired shit. "Don't come here again, or I'll call the cops," he snarled to Jungkook's ear, spittle flying. With a grip on the scruff of Jungkook's jacket, he whirled him toward the door.

"She's not my fiancee!"

Taehyung paused. As did you, in your agonised ascent into standing.

"She's not my fiancee," Jungkook repeated over his shoulder, looking for you over his gathering jacket. "I wanted to talk to you about it calmly, and in private. It's not simple, and it’s hard to believe."

"Don't lie to me n-now, Jungkook." The finger with which you jabbed at him, trembled. "I asked you that. You said she was."

Taehyung's expression darkened by the second. It would devolve into another brawl at this rate, and you didn't want that. Not because you didn't want to see Jungkook get served, but because you didn't want him in your presence another gut-wrenching moment.

Brazenly, Jungkook yanked himself from Taehyung's grip and turned, palms up and pacifying. He inched back toward the door; a gesture of his intent to finally leave. "Look. It's because technically she is, but it's not real—I'm going, asshole!—" Jungkook waved his arms demonstratively at the nearing door. Having appeased Taehyung, he pinned you again with fervent eyes. "What you saw wasn't the truth. If you won't hear me out entirely, at least hear that.”

“No-one believes you. Everything you say is a fucking contradiction.” Taehyung was red and riled again.

Jungkook ignored him, his time short. “I won't text you anymore, I won't come here anymore. What I’ve done to you is unforgivable. I know that. I should never have lied. But—" The lamp outside illuminated his bedraggled hair. The tip of his nose when he turned. "You know my number if you do want to hear me out. I'll be around for a bit longer.”

A bit longer?

You granted him the minutest of nods.

It was enough. Nodding back, Jungkook turned on his heel and flew around the corner. And though he was gone, his silhouette stayed seared into your retinas, haunting your every blink. It was only when Taehyung replaced him in the doorway that Jungkook faded. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you back on the sofa.”

Wow, he was tall.

Oh.

Somehow, you were on the floor again. You squinted up at him with sore, watering eyes, overwhelmed by it all. You reached for him like an infant would its parent, too vulnerable to move, and too stupid to know better. “Okay.”

"It’s been a shitty day, but I’m gonna try and make it better. Why don’t we have a Netflix nostalgiafest?" Taehyung cooed into your sodden hair, no minding the sweat. He wound your arms around his neck, legs about his waist and chauffered you up the stairs, grunting by the step. Exaggerating the effort by comedic amounts in order to provoke you.

“Sure.”

But you were far, far away. Hidden behind your glazed eyes, the encounter replayed on loop. Lingered on Jungkook's Disney eyes and big buck teeth. The ones you loved back when he deserved to be loved. The nonsense he spouted toward the end was of particular interest in your mental re-runs, even though it should have immediately been dismissed.

'What you saw wasn't the truth.'

But neither was his relationship with you. Not when he kept such weighty secrets as sport.

'I'll be around for a bit longer.'

And that? Another of his manipulative tactics? Was he really leaving, or merely dangling the threat of it?

But why would it be a threat? You wanted nothing more than him to be gone.

Oh, it was all so bad. Everything was bad. Everything was too much, and, oh, even being in your body was too much, let alone your mind. You were drowning in affliction. Assailed from all sides with nothing for defense.

"Babe."

All went black, and then you opened your eyes. Taehyung stood over you, mouth downturned. Cotton caressed your naked skin, and you knew these were your sheets. This was your bed. Your lover had stripped you of your oppressive pyjamas. You stared at the mole on his nose, the one under his bottom lip. One, two. You could count to two.

"Are you doing okay? Your fever really spiked there. Should I call a doctor?"

“No, no.”

Perhaps you'd simply hallucinated the entire encounter. Perhaps it was your mind's exercise in catharsis. Or perhaps Jungkook had never existed to begin with, and his betrayal was the product of a detailed fever dream. Taehyung was real, though, and here he was still. Your forever best friend. Your secret love. You had not yet confessed your love to this real Taehyung. But now you were awake, you would seize the chance. Because if there was one thing your prolonged nightmare had taught you, it was that you should have just done it to begin with. On the porch those years ago, when the stars weighed heavy over his head and dared you to kiss him.

"I love you," you rasped, sounding like Death's next call.

And just like it should have happened then, Taehyung lowered his face to yours. "I love you too, noona," he murmured through a joyous smile, brushing together your noses first, lips second. "But it's time for your next dose of painkillers. We gotta get this in you ‘cause your fever’s really mounting. Pretty sure you’ve been hallucinating. It’s worrying me. I’m this close—” he pinched together his fingers— “to calling a doctor. I don't think that asshole turning up did you much good."

Brainless, you repeated. "No doctor. Asshole?"

"Yeah, Jungkook." A tray of painkillers dangled from the corner of Taehyung’s mouth while he poured water. "Lying douchebag. Who, by the way, will not be working at the school anymore. Not if I have something to say about it."

The words went in, but floated right back out. The ceiling swirled.

"Oh." He was real.

Of course, you knew that. Even in the murk of fever it was apparent. Still, it’d been nice to pretend for a while.

The sound of preparation ceased and the mattress dipped. Taehyung extended your next dose and a glass of water to you. His expression was no longer so sunny, but clouded with disquiet. "Talk to me, ____. I know you're sick, but that's not all that's going on in that muddled head of yours. It might help to talk. I know you don’t like it, but you don’t have to be afraid. Just try it."

It was a credit to your weakened state that you were so loose-lipped. You downed the pills and curled around Taehyung's seated position, molding to his lap. "I'm just—I don't know." Your cheek was hot against his thigh. His Calvin Klein waistband stared back at you. "I don't want to be sad anymore. I'm so, so sad. It's unbearable. I can't handle much as it is. It doesn't take a lot to drag me down, but this, this—" Tears welled. Taehyung's slender fingers were there to catch them. "This feels almost too much. Even with you here. It's like I'm locked in a mental prison."

"I know, babe," he whispered, stroking your face free of limpid hair. "It's gonna take a while to feel better, like it does with any big change. What he did to you was villain material. Of course you're going to be devastated." For once, you listened. "You don't owe him forgiveness, though he tried his damned best to get it. For his own selfish satisfaction, I'm sure. And you don't owe him anything else, either, not even the thoughts in your brain. Though I know that's gonna take a while, too. I'm sure it's all you can think about." You nodded, snuffled into your blanket until it was wet. A sob felt ripe for eruption. "The flu won't make things easier, either. You're not losing your mind. You just need rest. And when you're not resting, distraction. I'm on hand for the latter." All that he said was all that you craved to hear. A tremulous smile - of relief, of gratitude - wobbled into place. Taehyung must have seen. "That's it, babe. It won't always be this bad, okay?"

You nodded, marring his exemplary thighs with a variety of unpleasant excretions. "Ugh. Sorry." You’d been intimate just one day with Taehyung and you were already establishing yourself as a repellent bog monster. Usually that happens at least 3 years in.

Taehyung merely chuckled. Kept the tissue box out of reach when you moved for it, thinking himself funny. It was only upon your panicked pleas of oh my god, snot’s gonna go in my mouth, that he finally indulged you. By wiping your nose for you, cooing all the while. "That better, little baby?"

Your face spelt vexation. But inwardly, yes, yes, it was better.

Taehyung made you so.

Next: 13 ASAP! || WYLEI Masterlist

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #taehyung #kim taehyung #jungkook angst #taehyung angst #jungkook scenarios #taehyung scenarios #bts angst #bts scenarios #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung x reader #wylei

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

Of Dust and Ashes: Chapter 30

Hello! I intended to have this up yesterday morning (on time!) except I was off in the middle of nowhere. The joys of family visits.

Chapter warnings: None

Chapter 30: Leaving

“Can we take a break?” Rachel asked for the fourth time that morning.

They answered “No.” in unison.

Stopping wasn’t an option. It was warmer that morning than it was the morning prior and they were thankful for that. Thick white clouds hung low in the sky, tinted with the rising sun. A few fat snowflakes fell, threatening to call for more.

Under normal circumstances, Dee would have loved the possibility of a heavy snowfall. The snow wasn’t perfectly white but it was white enough. If she pretended that it was just some dirt or ash from a fire nearby, it was white enough.

A fresh snowfall covered the world around them until it melted some or real life came and disturbed it and every time that happened, Dee clung to it. It hid away the horrors of broken glass, covered corpses and auto wrecks just the same. It blanketed everything.

Dee sent a silent prayer to no one in particular that it would wait to snow until they made it to the truck. Right now, fresh snow could mean trouble. They were already taking enough of a risk in keeping to the main roads but it was easier walking, allowing them to make better time.

Still, it left them in the open in exchange. The last thing she wanted was fresh snow for them to leave obvious tracks in. Clint said he was pretty sure that the followers of King Jacob had abandoned the city but that only could give so much comfort.

It was a simple case of risk management. Trust hadn’t wanted to eat much that morning. He had little interest in water and lacked some of the energy he had the night prior. They told themselves it was the pain, they wouldn’t want to eat in his condition either.

But there was that voice, in the back of the mind, telling them that he didn’t have much time. They needed to hurry.

There was a chance that Sasha would refuse to help the dog. She wasn’t a vet. They needed her to help him though. Dee needed Trust. Sasha would help. She had to.

In her heart, Dee knew that Clint wasn’t above withholding aid to force her hand.

Clint looked back and Smiled at her. They walked single file, with Rachel in the middle and Dee in the rear.

“How much longer?” Rachel asked. “My feet hurt.”

“A few more hours.” Clint answered.

Rachel looked like she was about to say something, complain some more. Dee impulsive reached down and grabbed a chunk of old snow. Parts crumbled in her hand, some stuck to the fabric of her glove. Without thought, she chucked it at Rachel.

It landed with a light thump, falling apart on contact. Rachel’s head snapped back. Before she could say anything, Dee gave her stern look, willing her to mind her tongue.

They only stopped walking when the baby fussed. Dee insisted that Rachel try and nurse. Rachel protested the idea but Dee refused to give her a bottle until she tried.

The tiny infant struggled to latch. Dee had expected it and reassured Rachel as much as she could. There were layers and coats in the way, she was stressed and the baby was cold. Once she settled and the tiny body started soaking in the body heat directly from Rachel’s skin however, she made a better effort.

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Rachel hissed as she fixed her shirt and snached the bottle from Clint. “This isn’t warm enough.”

“It’s as warm as it’s getting. We don’t have time to boil water.” Clint said before starting ahead again. Break time was over, the babe could drink from a bottle while they walked.

“I know it felt like a failed attempt.” Dee walked next to Rachel. “It wasn’t, though. She latched and she got something. It takes time but your body will respond as long as you keep trying. Don’t give up.”

“It’s not going to work.”

“Not with that attitude.” It was a phrase Dee had once said to her children every time they said they couldn’t do something. Somehow, though Rachel wasn’t really all that much younger than her, it felt right to say it.

~~~~~<3

“Why are we getting off the road?” Rachel had been quiet most of the walk. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to complain, she did. They were simply walking at such a pace that she was almost always winded.

Dee was thankful for Rachel’s silence. She wanted to believe that Clint wouldn’t just leave the woman behind or that she wouldn’t let him. The truth was that she wasn’t sure of either of those things though.

“The truck is up ahead, off the road.” Clint answered.

“I don’t see it.”

Dee rolled her eyes. “That’s the point.”

“Why go through all that trouble?” Rachel asked as they got closer. “It’s not like someone’s going to steal it.”

“Never count on that.” Dee reminded her.

“Get this through your head, unless what you’ve got is locked up where no one else can get to it- never count on that. If you want to keep what you’ve got, always, always count on there being someone else who wants to steal it.”

“It’s not like I’ve got anything to steal.” Rachel grumbled as Clint uncovered the truck.

“You’ve got a coat. Boots too.” Clint answered.

“Your body, too.” Dee added. They all knew what was done to at least some of the women back in the city under the rule of King Jacob. “You never know who is going to want to take what you’ve got.”

Clint carefully nestled Trust on the floor behind the driver’s seat. The dog gave a small whine of protest at being jostled around. Still, his tail tumped against the seat as he licked Clint’s arm.

“Just a bit longer.” He whispered, scratching the dog’s neck.

“Careful not to bump him.” Dee said, helping Rachel into the backseat of the truck. It was small and cramped. Being an older model, the truck’s backseat was more of an afterthought than a proper seat but it did the job.

“You care more about that dog than me.” Rachel was more talking to herself but that didn’t stop Dee from answering.

“I do.”

The truck roared to life as Dee slammed the passenger door closed. The sound of the engine was music to her ears. As Clint pulled onto the ice covered road, Dee relaxed into the seat.

It didn’t take long for her to doze off. Between the movement of the truck, the sound of the road and the warmth that was soon pouring from the vents, it lulled her into a peaceful sleep. She shifted to get more comfortable, causing her back to pop. Clint chuckled to himself and the sound carried her off to sleep.

~~~~~<3

When the truck stopped, Dee jerked awake. “What?”

“We’re here.” Clint reached over with a reassuring hand, squeezing her thigh and offered her a smile. He knew every bit of what she was feeling. It was always a shock to fall asleep while in transit while on a mission.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Rachel asked as she keeped between the seats.

“Yeah.” Clint answered before turning his attention back to Dee. “Stay here with her. I’ll talk to Sasha then I’ll come back out.”

“You make it sound like it’s not safe.” Rachel complained.

Clint paid her no mind as he got out of the truck. The force of the door slamming shut rocked them. He found it was easier to deal with Rachel if he ignored her. Dee’s ability to reason with the damned woman and shut her up was beyond his amazement. She would be a fine asset to any team and he was thankful to have her on his side.

“Sasha!” He called as he walked along the front of the building, making a point to be in view of the windows. “It’s us.”

There was movement of the curtains where he assumed she was watching him. He walked slowly toward the main door. Sasha was lucky, though this was a clinic it lacked the large panes of plate glass windows and doors that many modern clinics would have.

It was a cabin style building with thick walls and few windows. Icicles hung from the roof, showing evidence of the warmer few days they had enjoyed between the winter snowfalls. Newer buildings were often designed in a way to prevent them for safety but this building wasn’t newer at all. It had thick walls and a heavy wooden door, painted the color of berries and with only a small window.

Clint’s knuckles rapped against that heavy wooden door. “Sasha! If you don’t open up, I’ll come inside my way.”

The sound of something heavy being moved across the floor was muffled by the door. He didn’t like that sound. He didn’t like not knowing what was on the other side of the door. There wasn’t anything he had seen that made it look like anyone other than them had been to the Clinic but that didn’t always mean anything. In the back of his mind, he wondered if perhaps somehow the late King Jacob’s men had found this place and was lying in wait for him.

The door opened a crack, revealing Sasha’s tired face. She looked better than when they had first seen her. Her hair was pulled back in a braid and looked to have been brushed recently. Her skin was blotchy and had more color to it. It was amazing what a few meals, heat and a little support could give a person.

“You came back.” She said.

“I promised we would.”

“Did you bring more food?”

“Not yet. I- we need your help.”

“With what?”

“Trust- he got shot. I don’t think he’s doing that good. It looks like it’s probably just a flesh wound- I hope it is at least.”

“I’m not a vet.” She protested like he had predicted she would.

“That dog, he’s everything to Dee. You take a look. You do the best you can for him or you never see us again.”

“What if I can’t save him? What if he dies anyway? Then you’ll still leave me to die?”

“You have my word that we won’t. All I’m asking for is for you to give it your best shot. Just try, that’s all.”

Sasha signed. “Bring him in.”

“There’s another thing-”

“God, what else?”

“You remember the baby?” Clint turned and waved for Dee and Rachel, signaling for them to head inside.

“Is she alright?”

“She’s fine. Doing great actually.”

“Thank god.” She interrupted.

“She’s probably good enough for you to give her some of her shots. Anyway, we have her mother with us.”

“I thought you said she was captive in the city?” Sasha opened the door wider as her eyes flicked over to Dee and the new woman.

“She was. King Jacob is dead now. The city has been freed.”

Dee gave Sasha a warm smile as she slipped through the doorway. Rachel hung back, clutching the baby to her and watching carefully. Clint held his arm out to her, calling her forward. She didn’t want to get closer but she pushed herself closer.

She didn’t know what else to say, so she said “Hi.”

“This is Rachel.” Clint added, placing a reassuring hand on the small woman’s back, much to Rachel’s surprise. “Let’s go in and talk?”

It wasn’t a question of if they could go into Sasha’s space, though it was worded as one. Rachel was very sure that Clint was the one in charge. Sasha had very little say in the matter. It was only presented as if ‘no’ was an option for her. If what they had said was true, if Clint and Dee had given Sasha their word that they would supply her, she needed to keep them happy.

Sasha opened the door wider and stepped aside. The inside of the Clinic was warm, but dark. It felt good to be warm. Rachel hadn’t been truly warm in a long time. She hadn’t thought that it could feel better than being in the truck with the heat pouring out of the vents but it did.

“I’ve been trying to save wood, getting it nice and hot in here at night and keeping a low fire going during the day- mostly just embers to keep the smoke as light as possible so no one finds me.”

“Have you seen anyone else since we left?” Clint asked as she locked the door behind them. “Let me.” He said when she went to push the heavy arm chair in front of it again.

“Yesterday, a few men ran by on the main road while I was outside. They didn’t see me or even look down the road.”

“Are you sure?” Clint tensed instantly. “Why were you near the mainroad?”

“I found- Dr. Walker had a gun in his office. I was walking through the woods- along the road so I wouldn’t get lost. It was a warmer day so I figured if I got lucky, I’d see an animal or something. If I got luckier, maybe I could shoot it? I don’t know.”

“No, that’s good. And staying in the woods is good too. You did good.” He sighed, adding to his mental list of things to bring down to Sasha. “Have you seen anyone else?”

“Not sense them.” She answered. “I should check the baby- and Rachel.”

“Not yet.” Clint answered.

Dee sat with Rachel on the large couch in the waiting room, watching. She knew that Clint was bartering, making sure Sasha remembered that he was in charge. Sasha longed to do something that reminded her of what was before the snap. She longed for something normal and to pretend for a few minutes that none of this had happened. Dee also knew that Clint was using that as a reward for after she’d done what they needed.

“I’m going to go back out and bring Trust in. He’s been shot. You are going to look at him and do what you can for him. Then, and only then, do you get to check out the baby and Rachel.”

Sasha sighed as she watched Clint move the chair again. She didn't want to treat a dog. It was an insult to her education. She wasn't a goddamn veterinarian. She was a nurse.

When Clint returned with the dog in his arms, she had to admit he did look in rough shape. She wasn't blinded to how much he meant to Dee. There was the simple fact that she needed them hanging over her head.

"Put him on the floor in an exam room. Hold onto him, don't let him bite me." She couldn't believe she was going to do it.

“Thank you.” She turned at the sound of Dee’s voice, tearing her eyes away from Clint as he walked back to his truck.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Elizabeth fussed in Rachel’s arms, drawing Sasha’s eyes to her. “Let me check her while he gets the dog?”

Rachel’s eyes darted to Dee as she opened her mouth. Dee spoke faster however.

“No.” She said. “Not until after Trust.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Sasha signed. “you all are."

Dee crossed the room, to the door when she saw Clint approaching. She held it open for him, taking the chance to give Trust a scratch behind his ears as they went by. When they were inside, she pushed the heavy armchair once again in front of the door.

Clint put the dog on a cushioned exam table. It was clear Sasha didn't approve but he paid her no mind. What mattered was if he approved. She needed him far more than he needed her and they both knew it. Power was in his hands.

"How much do you think he weighs?" Sasha asked.

"Why?"

"I'm going to sedate him. I don't feel like getting bit."

"Is that safe?" Dee asked from the doorway.

"There's always a risk." Clint answered. "Wait with Rachel? I don't want her alone."

Dee nodded but lingered in the doorway for a few seconds longer. With a sigh, she disappeared.

"Probably around 80 pounds?" Clint said, answering Sasha's earlier question.

"Hold him." Sasha asked as she drew liquid from a vial into a syringe. "I'm doseing like I would for a kid. I can add more if I need to but…"

"Giving too little you can correct. Too much you can't." Clint offered and Sasha nodded.

His arms wrapped around the body of the dog. He moved Trust's head to rest on his shoulder, snout behind his neck. If he lunged from the needle poke, chances are he wouldn't get anyone.

Sasha gave the dose and Trust flinched, offering only a whimper of protest. It took a few short minutes for the medication to relax him and his eyes to slip closed. Clint tapped the dog's nose a few times, checking for a reaction.

"I think he's out."

Clint agreed. "I'll keep an eye on his breathing."

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @usedtobegoodfriend96, @alcoholic-muffin, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki, @winterisakiller, @missaphrodite23, @j-u-s-t-4, @toozmanykids, @bambamwolf87, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox, @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72, @myoxisbroken, @coyotesongwriting, @wegingerangelica, @faemapfae, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123, @tnystrk-exe

#clint barton x ofc #clint barton fanfiction #Clint Barton x Female Reader #clint barton x reader #clint x reader

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pendragonfics · 4 years

Text

To Have, To Hold

- ̗̀ Bruce Banner Bingo 2019 ̖́-

Paring: Bruce Banner/Reader

Square filled: soft kisses

Tags: gender-neutral reader, no pronouns used, whump, hurt & comfort, light angst, protective Bruce Banner, married, domestic fluff

Summary: Coming home after a rough day, Bruce consoles his life partner after everything that happened to them.

Word Count: 1,398

Current Date: 2019-12-13

By the time you make it home, you’ve at least somewhat thawed. But in your heart, there isn’t anything that can heal the harshness of the icicles that have attached themselves to your person. As soon as your key slides out of the door, and you enter the foyer, you’re blessed with the thermostat, left at a decent temperature. You shuck off the snow first, and then the boots, and your coat. The floor is full of the shards that have clung to you and trying to step around it all in your socks is just as hard as being on a recon mission with your husband’s hero team.

You feel the squelch both through your sock, and in your soul, and if it weren’t for the fact you were dehydrated, you’d cry on the spot. It’s cold, and you squeak your way into the house, feeling an unparalleled miserableness settling down into the core of your stomach.

As you make your way into the living area, you notice that Bruce isn’t in his usual seat by the fire. It’s grown low, the embers looking worse for wear as the flames grow low around the ashes of a log. Leaving your bags on the floor - and even though there’s no under-floor heating - you take your socks off as you walk to the fireplace. It’s awkward, and the first comes off with no problem, but the second has you -

Now you cry.

You’re glad you didn’t hit your head on the way down, that’s for sure - but you did land on your arm, and it hurts like hell. There must have been a bit of noise accompanying the fall, because you hear Bruce’s footsteps upstairs, and soon, your husband’s socks are in front of your face.

“_________? Are you okay?” he asks.

You roll onto your back, cradling your arm. “Do I look okay?” you reply, looking up at him.

Upside down, he’s still as gorgeous as he always is. His sweater is one that Wanda knitted herself one Christmas with purple and green wool and those new slacks. But his hair, oh, even from this angle, his mussed curls look just as good as they did the first time you met him in the lab when you were in grad school.

If it wasn’t for the throbbing in your arm, you’re sure that this would end another way.

“You look dazed, tired, sore, and by the way you’re holding that arm, perhaps sprained.” He diagnoses. Bruce bends so he’s on his haunches, knees bent and low, close to your face.

“You’re not even that kind of doctor,” you grumble, trying to push yourself off the floor with your good-not-hurting-arm. After a second, you get momentum, and Bruce helps you stand. Once you’re back on your feet, you kick off the offending sock and peck your helpful husband on the cheek. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey yourself,” he mumbles, the words not coming naturally to himself.

When you don’t reply, Bruce adds, a little absentminded, “It’s snowing a storm out there - did you only just get in?” he turns to the bags you left behind the couch and takes them to the kitchen counter.

You follow like a wounded puppy. While he places the groceries on the bench, stores the bag and flicks the kettle on for a hot drink, you make your way to wheat pillow stashed below the microwave. Punching the right numbers, you watch as the sack spins behind the Perspex door, holding your sore arm.

“Yeah,” you reply, a little too late. “…it’s been a long day.”

“I thought you were just going to the store?” he asks.

You huff, only to be interrupted by the electric beeping of a fully heated wheat pillow. As you position it on your wrist, you lean against Bruce. He’s not one for prolonged physical activity and drills like a smattering of the other combatant Avengers, under Bruce’s skin is the hint of strength. Sure, in his DNA is the Hulk, a creature you are as married to as Bruce, but Bruce isn’t built like a G.I. Joe-Ken doll hybrid. No. You curl against his neck, propping your aching arm against his chest, soft, inviting. You’re not sure if it’s his heartbeat you can feel or just a subdued throbbing of pain.

“I was,” you say softly, into his neck. “I got lost.”

“What happened?” Bruce asks, moving a little.

Now your face fits perfectly into the nook, and you snuggle in, shifting so you’re comfortable. With his spare arm, he holds you close, and if you weren’t already married to the man, you’d do it all over again (because it’s been that long of a day).

“What happened?” you repeat with a half-hearted chuckle. “Well, I got on the wrong bus. I ended up in this weird end of town and there wasn’t anyone who knew how to get to where I needed to go, and I tried to catch a taxi, but it was going to be fifty bucks for that without even sitting in the damn cab!” you weep, pressing further into Bruce.

“Geeze,” he murmurs. “Rough.”

“And I managed to catch a bus halfway to where I needed to be, but then the next one wasn’t for an hour and a half and the snow wasn’t letting up, so I paid, like twenty dollars at a fancy restaurant next to the bus stop and sat there for the two hours until the next bus.”

“What did you order?”

“I don’t know,” you exclaim, but it comes out soft, like a whimper, “I thought it was pasta, but it ended up being an octopus dish? At least the soda was okay.”

“But you caught the bus.” He prompts.

“Yeah,” you nod, “I got to the store okay! I remembered to get the hand soap you wanted, and I found some things I can make for gifts this year. I don’t like commercialised holidays, and we know our friends prefer something handmade,” with your good arm, you place a hand against Bruce’s side, feeling the soft knitted jumper. “anyways, I found some other things and a nice ornament for the mantle for the holidays. But I lost track of time, and I rushed out to the bus stop -,”

“Wait, was this around two? Three o’clock?” He asks.

You nod glumly. “Yes.”

“That’s when the blizzard set in!” he exclaims. “Oh, _________,” he places a soft kiss upon your face, and another, and another, and little by little, they help. “Why didn’t you call? I could have -,”

“We don’t have a car,” you remind him softly. “We’re eco-friendly.”

“Ah, yes,” Bruce blinks, remembering the conversation you both had about eight months ago, to lessen your environmental impact. “…screw it. Let’s get a hybrid, or, something that has at least a small carbon footprint.” He kisses you once more, this time, he lingers close to your face, “I don’t want this sort of thing to happen again.”

“Damn straight,” you agree. “…but my day doesn’t end at the bus stop, honey.”

Bruce blinks once more. “Don’t say -,”

“It was late.” You reply.

“Damn the bus,” he curses, albeit, softly.

“Damn the bus,” you agree, “- because it ended up being twenty minutes late! I stood outside in the snowstorm like an idiot, because there isn’t a shelter, and I didn’t want to miss the bus because I could hardly see my hand in front of my face, let alone the bus.” You snuffle, leaning further into Bruce’s side. With your face pressed against his form, your words are hardly heard, “and wasn’t it a great day to forget my gloves?”

“Oh, _________.”

Even though you’re already embracing one another, he holds you tighter. You can almost feel Hulk in the hug, with the power that holds you, and if he appears, you’d gladly give him a hug too. It would just be you, and your boys. But no, it’s just Bruce and you in the kitchen, holding one another like you’re on the cover of a romance film on VCR. Your arm isn’t hurting so much, and the warmth has gotten into your body once again, and now the bad day has gone from horrible to bearable.

“Thanks for the hug,” you say, after a while, breaking away. “Leftovers for dinner?”

“I’ll plate up if you find something on Netflix.”

“Deal.”

#Bruce Banner bingo 2019 #bruce banner bingo 19 #bruce banner #bruce x reader #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner/reader #hulk #hulk x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #Avengers #avengers x reader #pendragonfics #chaotic--lovely

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theprodigypenguin · 6 years

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Jeith Headcanon Dump

I’ve been scratching down Jeith headcanons on every surface I can find whenever I think of something, and finally got around to compiling them all in one place. It’s pretty long, but I hope you enjoy!

James calls Keith "babe/baby"

Keith calls James "darling/doll"

But only in private. In public they call each other bitch, asshole, or go the polite route (cadet, sir, paladin, whatever)

One time James ironically called Keith “Mister Black Paladin Sir” and got punched for his trouble

James is actually really amazed by the lions, especially the Black Lion

After the war, earth starts making and selling Voltron merch (as Earth do), and James buys every Black Paladin/Black Lion thing he can get his hands on

he has a Black Lion charm hanging in his MFE fighter

and a poster on the wall of his dorm

and a stuffed toy of the Black Lion

and he may or may not have a Keith body pillow

He tries to stuff everything in the closet to hide it when Keith stops by, but it's too late

he's seen

and he will never live it down ever

Keith: *holding up the body pillow* Hey if you wanted me in bed you could've just asked.

Keith eats his food like a fucking rat

He eats the ice cream from between the ice cream sandwiches and throws the cookie away

eats the cream from between the Oreos and puts the cookie back in the box like an asshole

he always takes apart his sandwiches and hamburgers to eat everything individually

It fucks James up and freaks him out honestly like who the fuck eats like that???

Keith had never had boba tea before and when James first gives him some he almost has an anxiety attack because what the fUCK IS THIS WHY IS THERE A SOLID IN MY LIQUID, JAMES

They love going on rides through the desert with no destination, hood of the car down so Keith can stand up and scream while they're driving and the wind is hitting his face

They can both sing, like, really fucking well

James is more modern while Keith likes country and bluesy music

his drawl comes back with a vengeance when he's singing and it gives James "problems”

James is secretly a Troye Sivan fan and sings "Strawberries and Cigarettes" in Keith's ear to see him blush

James has an obsession with Keith's scars, and is constantly kissing and biting at them, like he's trying to prove a point (or trying to erase the scars with his kisses)

Keith is normally pretty against people touching his scars at all (especially the one on his face), so when he first lets James kiss his cheek, James had a mini gay panic attack as soon as Keith is gone.

James: He let me kiss his cheek!

Rizavi: Calm your gay self down, boy.

Keith in a cadet uniform is nice

Keith in his Paladin armor is nICE

Keith in his usual casual attire is dangerous

Keith in white tshirt, open blue flannel, and ripped jeans is fucking DANGEROUS

And Keith in his sinfully skintight BoM uniform is FATAL

The first time James sees him dressed like that he just tries to cover Keith any way he can, putting a coat around his shoulders with shaky hands and a crimson face

Keith: What are you doing?

James: YOU’RE INDECENT. COVER YOURSELF KOGANE. WE’RE IN PUBLIC.

no one else believes James when he tells people Keith has a southern drawl

James: I'm telling you he's just hiding it! He has a Texas drawl damn it!

Lance: Sure he does. I spent like years in space with him, never heard him say "ya'll" even once.

Keith: *whispers into James’ ear* Well ain’t that a damn southern hill shame, darlin’?

James: *screams*

Keith takes James on dates through the stars all the time

With the Black Lion, space travel through the Milky Way is effortless, and Keith likes seeing the way James' eyes light up when the fly over any of the different planets outside of Earth

James: Keith look, we're on Orion's belt! We're a fashion statement!

Keith: Sure, okay.

James takes a more common route when it comes to dating

Walking day-dates through Plaht City and the alien booths that had been set up

buying knickknacks for each other that neither need but both cherish

purposely staying out too late so James can offer his jacket to Keith like the gentleman he is

Keith likes the simplicity, though

and he likes it when James offers his coat, not that he'll admit it

growing up in the desert, Keith is used to being in intense heat, he can function in 100+ degree weather easily and is at home in muscle shirts and ripped jeans

this also means he can hardly function in any weather that dwindles beneath 70 degrees (hey same)

He goes from sluggish to entirely useless

naturally he seeks out the closest heat source, but also the safest heat source, so he automatically finds himself looking for James

Shiro has known Keith forever, and he was once upon a time subjected to a little teen Keith trying to hide under his shirt because he was cold, so he tries to warn James in order to prepare him

doesn't matter though, nothing can prepare him for when his zombie-fied boyfriend shuffles up to him and lifts his shirt to try and hide under it

James loves him, but he'd really rather not get groped by icicle fingers again, so he takes to wearing a coat at all times

That way when Keith shuffles towards him for warmth he can just open his jacket and close it around the paladin

at first people teased him about it, especially the other MFE pilots, but the glare that Keith peered over at them from the collar of James' coat makes them stop

so people are just used to it now and don't mention it

Keith is starved for touch and attention, but his insecurities make it hard for him to open up to people, so once he and James start to date regularly, he’s always rubbing up against him for affection

James doesn’t get it at first, but once he figures it out he’s always got a hand on Keith somehow, whether it’s petting his hair, patting his shoulder, holding his hand, or anything else, because the touch makes Keith happy

Cadet: So how did you and Keith start dating?

James: Well he punched me really hard when we were kids, and I think he must’ve given me brain damage from it, because I fell in love with him.

Cadet:

Regarding intimacy, they switch all the time, sometimes James tops and sometimes Keith does, but Keith is almost always the little spoon

James likes hugging things in his sleep, and Keith isn’t opposed to the physical contact, so they have an agreement

They don’t really discuss the fact they’re dating, it sort of just happens

One day James looks around and realizes half of the belongings in his dorm room are Keith’s, and that the paladin had basically moved himself in and made himself at home

So he just goes “oh this is a thing now” and continues on with his business

Keith is pretty oblivious to this kind of thing in general, so it takes him longer to realize it

Pidge: Hey Keith are you off to your date with James?

Keith: *dressed casually in clean clothes and even brushed his hair* What, no, we’re just looking around the venders. After that we’re going to get something to eat and maybe stop by to watch a movie in that outdoor auditorium. You know the one, where they play old Earth films to entertain some of the war torn alien refugees?

Pidge: Yea? That’s a date?

Keith:

James isn’t as freaked out about Keith being half Galra as Keith had expected, and even seems eager to learn more (”always knew there was something different about you”)

He is, of course, wary about the other Galra in the Blade of Marmora, going so far as to try and stand in front of Keith protectively when they show up

The action is both endearing and somewhat disappointing, but Keith can’t blame him for being nervous, even scared, around the aliens, after everything their race had done

James gets along with Krolia pretty quickly, but remains somewhat nervous and suspicious of the other Galra

James: You sure they’re not gonna try and... like, hurt you?

Keith: James at this point you should be worried about them hurting you. Have fun gaining their favor to date me.

James:

They both have pretty severe nightmares, but Keith’s are just a bit worse, and effect him more

They sleep with a nightlight because it makes things just a tiny bit easier

They’ve discussed going to individual therapy sessions, but in the end they always decide there’s no one better than each other to talk to

(they never fully toss out therapy as a possibility, though)

Whenever one of them wakes from a bad dream they wake the other up, and they either sit on the bed to discuss it, or if they don’t want to talk, they climb to the roof of the Garrison and see who can name the most constellations

So far it’s a tie, but James knows more single stars than Keith does

Keith is willing and ready to punch the lights out of anyone who dares speak badly of James

James is all too happy to do the same with people who should even dare to mention Keith

He gets into it more than Keith does, because James is considered an honored pilot, while there have always been more dubious opinions of Keith

Made worse by the fact he’s half Galra and the one to kill Sendak (even if they were in a war, there are people who give Keith a wide berth because they’re afraid of him)

It bothers James, but Keith seems to not mind

Keith: People have always treated me like an outsider, it’s not like this is new to me.

That just makes James feel worse

They kissed before ever confessing, and saying I love you was never really something they felt needed to be said out loud

But James says it once spontaneously, notices that it makes Keith blush like a nova, and decides to say it a lot more often just to see Keith flustered

Keith takes a bit longer to get used to saying those words, and the first time he says it, it doesn’t click immediately with James

He’s probably up in the MFE for a test run when it just hits him that his boyfriend said I love you that morning and just screams a little into his comms from shock, scaring the hell out of his team

Rizavi: Why are you screaming?!

James: Keith said he loved me!

Rizavi: Bitch when?!

James: Like eight hours ago!

Rizavi: Then shut the fuck up!

James proposes first, but Keith is such a dense moron he doesn’t realize it, and like a day later he proposes to James, who’s just fucking confused but says okay

So they both propose and they both say yes and neither of them realize it because they’re fucking idiots.

Please feel free to add your own Jeith/Jaith headcanons!

#jeith #jaith #james griffin #keith kogane #james/keith #voltron legendary defender #rare pair #crack ship #headcanons #my otp #vld james #vld keith #what do I even think of anymore #i've been so distracted by sheith and jeith #this is my life now #there is no escape

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bm-binger · 5 years

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My Lovely Hazard

Kara learned early on in their relationship that Lena is easily startled– something she doesn't know how she'd missed in the early miles of their friendship.

It started when Lena stayed the night during the beginnings of their romantic relationship. Kara woke to the smell of frying bacons and gentle humming coming from the kitchen, her hands grasping for Lena's naked warmth only to come up with ruffled sheets and a Lena-shaped indent. She padded quietly from the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe to observe her girlfriend–Rao, she still can’t believe Lena is her girlfriend–softly humming to herself while flipping some scrambled eggs on the frying pan. The domesticity of the moment–with Lena cooking breakfast in nothing but her navy silk blouse partially unbuttoned, barefooted, and soft black hair piled in a messy bun–filled Kara with warmth and inexplicable love. She walked towards her occupied girlfriend silently–something she still hadn't learned not to do–and wrapped her arms around Lena's waist.

But what she expected to be a gentle greeting, maybe a chaste kiss and a playful laugh from the other woman was quickly shattered when Lena jumped in terror at the unexpected grip– whipping around to attack the intruder with the scalding hot spatula, successfully hitting Kara solidly on her forehead; an automatic response for the amount of times her life has been threatened at the hands of death. It earned Kara a half-torn spatula–which she notes on, 'I have to run to home depot. Again.'–and a wide-eyed Lena spewing apologies at rapid speed even Kara had trouble following.

“Omygod! I'm so so sorry– I didn't mean– Oh, God. I'm sorry– sorry sorry sorrysorrysorry!”

Kara, recovering from her shock at the turn of events, laughed heartily in response. She circled her hands around Lena's flailing wrists and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“You're buying me a new spatula.”

Lena only blushed red.

The second time, she completely forgot how jumpy Lena can be–her excitement clouding her carefulness around Lena after that morning incident– that she thoughtlessly and exuberantly barged into Lena's office with her arm waving her phone around. Her excitement though was shuttered, when Lena's office mug came hurtling towards her in a perfect arc. She easily caught the object and stared at Lena who's equally wide-eyed– the young CEO's heart hammering wildly against her ribcage.

“Jesus– I'm sorry, darling. You startled me!” Lena walked to a rooted Kara, whose mouth is agape.

She placed a peck of greeting and apology on the reporter's slightly gaped lips, prompting Kara to shut her mouth and blink three times.

“How does Jess manage to come in here unharmed?”

Lena smiled guiltily, “She informs me via the intercom. But let's say there was a few mug throwing the first few weeks she worked for me.”

Kara chuckled lightly, “Well, I'll knock next time.” She then kissed Lena properly– tension draining from both of their frames.

The third time– well, no one can fault Kara, really. It was an emergency! And it was dire! Word of Cadmus coming into their radar had Kara flying to L-Corp below the sound barrier–worry occupying her mind and the need to see Lena and bring her to the DEO for her safety. Kara hadn't gotten over when Lillian kidnapped her girlfriend and had her captivated for a week. When Winn finally found their location, Kara wasted no second locating the given coordinates– not waiting for J'onn and Alex order a strike team– and arrived to the scene with the sight of her girlfriend battered and bruise and barely breathing.

To say Kara was terrified is an understatement and her rage towards Lillian climbed to great heights.

So when she landed to Lena's office balcony and found her girlfriend nowhere to be seen, the familiar grip of terror seized her heart vehemently. Thoughts of Cadmus lackeys getting there before her ran rampant in her mind. But when she focused her hearing and sensed Jess’ languid typing, she immediately released a breath in relief. With her chest puffed out, the crest of House of El proudly worn, she strode across the empty office and towards Jess’ desk tepidly.

“Yes, miss Danvers?” Jess greeted confidently without looking up.

Kara immediately halted, eyes widening and frantically looking around if anyone heard. She quickly walked to Jess’ desk. “How'd you know??!” She whispered in panic.

Jess met her gaze coolly. “I work for a woman who was dabbed as a child prodigy when she was 14. How do you think?”

Of course. Of course Lena would only choose someone almost as intelligent as her to trust.

Kara sighed heavily, “You have to come to the DEO and sign some NDA's, Jess.”

Jess only shrugged. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

Remembering her reason for being there, Kara straightened up and propped her hands to her hips. “Where's Lena?”

“Down at R&D.”

And just like that, Kara was a blur of blue and red. It only took her five minutes–five minutes too long!–to locate Lena and enter the laboratory she's working in.

“Lena you have to com–” her words were cut short when a microscope came hurtling towards her and smashed against her right shoulder–the parts disintegrating into pieces and onto the pristine white floor.

“Kara!” Lena exclaimed, hands cupping her mouth in shock at what she'd just threw at Kara and without meaning to muttered “That was expensive.”

Kara glared at her.

“How did you even manage to hurl that?!” Kara asked incredulously, familiar with the weight of a microscope after getting the chance to use one when she solar flared.

Lena blushed in embarrassment, “Um– adrenaline.” She shrugged, her heart still beating rapidly from the shock of Kara's arrival.

Kara stared at her girlfriend for a minute. Thanking Rao that she's practically made of steel.

“You're impressively adorable as is terrifying.”

Lena blushed brighter.

The fourth time elicited a fire accident. Kara didn't mean it, she certainly didn't thought her simple query wether Lena needs more tampons would result to her almost burning her apartment down– the apartment Lena practically lives in already for half of her wardrobe is already occupying Kara's dress drawers.

The both of them were spending a day off from the office with Kara lounging in the couch, shoulders hunched over the coffee table while she listed down the things they'd need from their scheduled afternoon grocery shopping. Pondering wether they have enough hygiene products, Kara called out to Lena– who was preparing something for lunch, a half glass of wine at her elbow. The quiet stillness of the apartment a comfort to Lena.

“Babe, do you need some tampons?” Kara yelled across the apartment.

Her expected answer came with an alarmed yelp of 'Fuck!’ followed by the distinctive roar of the kitchen stove.

Kara jumped from the couch and hurriedly ran to the kitchen to find Lena frantically wetting a towel under the faucet, the fire in the stove climbing to the ceiling, a broken glass of wine laying on the floor with drips of the alcohol wetting the stove top– possibly the culprit which fed the hungry flames. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Kara used her freeze breath to put out the fire. The stove now frozen and sporting some icicles. 'Home depot. Again.’

“Thank Rao for freeze breath.”

“I'm sorry.” The crack to Lena's voice had Kara look at her and see the welling tears in her green eyes.

She hurriedly padded over to Lena, cupping her face in her hands and rubbing the few tears that escaped from her shining green eyes.

“Shhh, it's alright, Lena. It's just a stove–”

Lena jerked her head out of Kara's hand, rubbing at her own eyes. “No! I'm always ruining things. I even threw a microscope at you. A microscope, Kara! What if I had hurt you?! I'm so sorry. I'll buy you a new stove. I promise. I understand if you want to break up with me–”

“No!” Kara cupped her cheeks firmly– not enough to hurt, but enough to make Lena look at her in the eye–”No. Don't be ridiculous. I love you! I'm not gonna break up with you over a stupid stove, Lena–”

“But–”

“No buts.” Kara interjected but Lena went on regardless.

“But what if you've solar flared and I threw something at you 'cause you startled me and I hurt you and you'd hate me and Alex too 'cause I'm such a clumsy Luthor–”

Kara swallowed Lena's unexpected rambling with her mouth, lips pushing against Lena's until the green-eyed girl relaxed against her.

She broke the kiss then leaned her forehead against Lena's, “I love you. Unexpected clumsiness and all and I'm not gonna break up with you over a meager thing. No matter how many things you accidentally throw at me.” She teased softly.

Lena chuckled softly at the harmless tease, stealing a peck from Kara, “I love you too. So much.”

They enjoyed the quiet of the moment for several seconds, revelling in each other's presence and the security that Lena's clumsiness that came from being easily startled isn't something Kara hates but accepts as a part of the Lena she loves, and that Kara won't end their relationship over it.

“It's a good thing I'm Super.” Kara joked, wiggling her eyebrows.

Lena's laughter echoed in the apartment, full, carefree, and unbridled, before humming contently, “A Luthor and a Super. Who would've thought?”

A kiss is Kara's only enthusiastic reply.

#kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp #fanfiction #clumsy lena #but kara loves her all the same #easily startled lena luthor #i mean #the amount of times she was at the receiving end of an assassination attempt #soft supercorp #established relationship #also posted in ao3 #cute gfs #im going down w this ship

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glitterandsummerdaze · 5 years

Note

Alright baby, it’s cold as shit and snowing so 73 and 74 with calum or Ashton

Okay so, you know I live in Florida. It’s currently 64 outside and my toes were about to freeze off. So that’s what I know about the cold, I hope you like this. Also, thanks for helping my Ashton feels run rampant.

73 Stranded Due to Inclement Weather & 74 Huddling for Warmth

“Did you remember to grab your toothbrush from the bathroom? And your shampoo?” You asked your boyfriend as you made your way around the bedroom one last time. The two of you had been renting a cabin for the better part of the past week, both of you having needed a break from your lives. Now, the car service was on its way to take you to the airport to return home.

“Check and check,” Ashton said, entering the room. He watched as you checked the drawers of the bedside table, and went to the closet to make sure there was nothing in there. Shutting the door, he walks over to you and put his arms around you. “Doll, I think we’re all set.” You lean back into him, not quite wanting to let go of your vacation.

“Do we have to go back? Can’t we just stay here?” You sigh, as Ashton kisses your temple with a smile.

“Some of us need to make a living. Also I miss my bed. And my kit.”

“Yeah yeah yeah. You only played everything else…the table, the arm of the chair, the refrigerator,!my legs…” you say, pushing him away.

“Let’s not forget your ass, it’s my favorite drum.” Ash pulls you back in, his hands on your hips, his lips on yours in a kiss. It started off an innocent enough series of pecks, before deepening. Ashton’s mouth worked its magic against yours, his tongue slowly caressing yours. You’re enjoying the moment, so you don’t notice when his hands make their way to your behind until he’s starting playing a beat on it.

You break away from each other as he let out a loud laugh. “Wow way to ruin the moment Irwin,” you say breathlessly, as you feel the warmth that had begun to wrap itself around your body. You turn from Ashton and move towards your bags to carry them to the front room and wait in there.

“Babe! Come back, I was just demonstrating.” He calls after you, as you shake your head.

“Mmmm, doesn’t sound like a thing I want anymore, sorry. ” You reply. Ashton raises an eyebrow because he can still see how flustered you are. You shrug back at him before moving out of the door and into the front room.

****

“Car should’ve been here by now. Wonder what’s taking so long.” Ashton had wandered into the front room not too long after you had. The car had been called two hours before, and was supposed to have arrived thirty minutes ago.

“Dunno, maybe you should call and see what’s up?”

“You’re right,” Ashton begins dialling the number. “Hi, I ordered a car to the Juniper Cabin a couple of hours ago, I wanted to know the ETA….uh huh…uh huh…thank you.”

He turns towards you, and you can tell something’s up. “So, good news or bad news?”

“Bad, I guess.” Your heart began to race as your mind ran through all the things Ashton could be about to say and your fingers tapped on the end table beside you.

“We’re stuck here til at least the morning, the bridge to the airport is closed from the snow.”

“Well shit. What’s the good news?”

Ashton slides in next to you on the couch, picking your legs up and placing them in his lap. “You get your wish and we can stay.”

“I suppose I can handle one more night in a two room house with you, I can always hide in the bathroom when you’re too much.” Ashton brings a hand to his chest feigning offense, “Don’t be fucking rude. You jinxed it!”

You stick out your tongue and give him the finger. “Alright now you’re just being disrespectful.” He pushes your legs off of him, and walks into the bedroom. You know he’s not mad and he’ll be back, so you stay outside on your phone, eventually nodding off.

****

When you wake up, it’s the middle of the night and you’ve never been as cold you are right then. There’s a blanket on you from when Ashton tried to wake you up from your nap, but you didn’t want to move then. Now you needed him and his warmth.

Your footsteps are the only sound in the cabin, as you make your way down the hall. You make a pitstop to brush your teeth, before climbing into bed next to a sleeping Ashton. He shifts, and cracks an eye open, “Finally decided to not freeze to death eh?” You don’t respond, choosing instead to place your cold hands under his sleeping shirt. “Jesus Christ, your hands are fucking icicles.” He wraps his arms around you, and covers the both of you with all 4 blankets that you’d packed and the thermal sheet.

You let out a sigh of relief, “Thanks babe.” You peck his lips and snuggle your face into his chest.

Ash lets out a sleepy giggle, “No problem, I know you just want me for my body heat.”

“If I wanted someone for that, I’d be dating Calum. That boy radiates heat.”

“Shhh, I’m sleeping. You can’t hurt my ego like that.” He tangles your legs together. “Fuck, why are your feet so cold? Jesus woman, you’re gonna kill me.” He pulls you in closer somehow, securing you into his chest.

A couple minutes past, both of you listening to each other’s breathing, waiting for the sleep to overcome you. Your voice, though soft, cuts through the silence “Babe, I love you. Thanks for the trip. And not letting me freeze.”

“It’s because I’m selfish doll, I wanna keep you a while. And I love you too.” Both of you wear smiles on your faces as you drift off, wrapped in each other.

#i'm a whole shamsicle #and i’m soft #i don't what the fuck to tag this with #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin imagine #5sos #ashton irwin blurbs #5 seconds of summer #5sos fic #ashton irwin ficlets #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #ashton blurbs #my writing

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captnbarnesrogers · 5 years

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Don’t Say I Told You So

Pairing/Characters: Joe Mazzello x Reader Warnings: fluffy smut, unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap), the domestics, cute and funny couple banter Summary: Love is all around and so is being sick. The freezing temperature of your hometown gets to the best of you when you suddenly fall sick after being out in the cold completing some errands. Luckily, your boyfriend is there to help you get better. Word Count: 1.4k+ A/N: My first BoRhap actor fic! Tell me how this goes for you :)))

The snow fell constantly at this time of year. It was cold and icicles formed on the edges of the roof of your house. You shivered as you woke and pushed yourself out of the bed. Joe was sleeping up until he felt your presence was now non-existent. He blinked his eyes open and reached over your side of the bed, it was only then had he realised the shower was running and steam was coming through the small crack of the bathroom door. Quietly, the tune of ‘Gypsy’ by Fleetwood Mac played in the background as you washed out the remaining streaks of conditioner out of your hair before turning off the water and walking out of the shower.

“Good morning.” You heard as you walked out of the bathroom.

“Don’t you look handsome?”

“Thanks, I was born with it.” You laughed and walked into the wardrobe, picking out a sweater and some jeans. You didn’t have work but your boss had asked if you could pick up some files from the office, “Heading somewhere, babe?”

“Uh-huh, just gonna pick up some paperwork from the office, I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Are you leaving your hair like that?” He asked, not mockingly, but with concern. You nodded, “Baby, you’re gonna get sick if you leave your hair wet in this weather.”

“Nothing a beanie can’t fix.” You leaned over the bed with your jacket draped over your arm and kissed him, “I’ll be back in an hour, I love you.”

“Don’t say I told you so!” He yelled after you.

You put on your jacket and the beanie as soon as you closed the door. Walking to your car, you almost slipped on a small puddle which had turned into ice. You drove past house after house, building after building, and shop after shop for thirty minutes until you realised that the car had not at all gotten warm when you turned on the heater just before you left the house. You switched the heater on and off multiple times before gave up and was confronted with the fact that Joe did not get the car fixed when he said he would. When you arrived at the office, you parked the car and immediately called your boyfriend.

“Hi, baby.” You put him on speakerphone.

“Joe Mazzello, did you get the car fixed!?”

“Uhhh…” He hesitated.

“Joe!”

“Sorry! I’ll get it fixed tomorrow, I just missed you and I wanted to spend some time with you.” You exhaled deeply.

“It’s fine, babe, I’m sorry for freaking out on you, I’m just cold.”

“Come home and I’ll get you heated.” You laughed.

“I’m heated right now because you didn’t get the car fixed, you bitch.” Of course, you were joking.

“How about you call me bitch to my face and we’ll see what happens.”

“You’re actually crazy.” You giggled.

“Yeah, crazy in love with you.” He sing-songed, “See you soon?”

“I love you, crazy.”

“I love you more.”

You knew it as soon as you stepped back into your car. You sniffled and coughed and shivered. No amount of rubbing your hands together or rubbing your arms could warm you up. You were sure you’d just frozen in the middle of the street and died in snowing hell. You drove carefully on the slippery road until you reached back home, running towards the front door and into the warmth. You fixed yourself up, your pride telling you that Joe would say ‘I told you so’, which today, you were just not having. You exhaled a sigh of relief when you felt your entire body begin to warm up due to the heaters in your house.

“Y/N?” You heard Joe call out.

“Yeah, babe? Just gonna grab some coffee.” After making your heavenly cup of warmth, you ran upstairs into your shared bedroom, “Still not out of bed?”

“Waiting for you to call me a bitch to my face.”

“Not gonna happen.” He pulled you onto the bed and hovered over you once you set your mug near the lamp on the bedside table.

“Scared?”

“No, I-” He was going to say it and you hate yourself for it, “I think I’m coming down with a cold.” He laughed and pulled away from you.

“I tol-”

“Don’t even fucking start, Mazzello!” He laughed and laid beside you.

“I.” He started.

“Stop.”

“Told.” He continued.

“Joe!”

“You.” You groaned, “So.”

“You’re a dick.” He started laughing again.

“If you say so,” he said, calming down from his fit of laughter, “go take some paracetamol and drink some tea before it gets worse.” You got up and he slapped your butt, making you yelp.

“Ow!”

“Call me a bitch again and you’ll get worse.” You grinned at him.

“Yes, sir.” When you ran back upstairs, you felt dizzy. You laid down on the bed as you felt your body succumb the tiredness you were feeling.

You felt a soft touch on your thigh. Travelling up to your face, a soft caress followed with your name.

“Good morning, beautiful.” You sniffled only to find that your nose was blocked, “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” You replied groggily, a definite stuffed nose.

“What a beautiful piece of shit.” He joked, making you playfully push him with a laugh.

“I hate you.” You coughed out.

“Well, I love you and you need to get up, I made you breakfast.”

“Baby… You cook!?” He placed a kiss on your cheek.

“No, it was, uh, it was from a packet… BUT it’s the thought that counts right?”

“There’s my man!” You sipped on your soup and to your relief, your nose became unblocked.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Well, I’m sick so…” Joe leaned in slowly.

“You know what? I just decided that I don’t give a shit.”

“Joseph, you’re gonna get sick!” He hovered over you and you eventually slipped back into the bed as his kissed you. His hands travel up and down your body. His tongue runs over your bottom lip before nipping it. Your hands tug at the hairs on the nape of his neck, moaning into the kiss. He stops for a moment, hot air breathing against your lips as the dizziness from kissing you went to his head. He kisses you once more before travelling down to your neck, leaving a trail of bite marks. He lifted your shirt and threw it somewhere in the distance. He kisses in between your breasts and down your stomach before prying away your panties. He runs a finger over your slit. His finger lightly rubs over your sensitive clit, making you buck your hips and moan.

“Joe, please.” Your breathy moan is followed by a tug in his hair. He flicks his tongue over your clit, “Oh, god!” He inserts two fingers inside of you, pumping them in and out. Your breathing getting heavier and heavier, turning into pants as his actions grow faster, “Fuck, baby, oh my-” He sucks on your clit harder, “Joe, I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby!” He moves his hand up to your left breast, twisting your nipple, “Oh god, oh god, oh god.” You screamed as you came. Your breathing slowed down. He crawled up to meet you lips, capturing them, “You’re wearing too much.” You ripped his shirt, making the both of you laugh into the kiss. He takes off his pants and holds your hips down as he sinks into you.

“Jesus, you’re so tight.” He thrusts roughly into you, making you cry out in pleasure. You dig your nails into his back as his sets a fast pace. He reaches in between your bodies and starts rubbing your swollen clit, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“Joe, I fucking love you, oh fuck!” He nuzzles his face into your neck and he grunts as his thrusts get uneven. His other hand rests just beside your head. You felt his hot and heavy breaths on your neck, only adding to the climax of the moment. You started moving your hips with him, helping him reach his.

“Oh god, shit!” He lifts one of your legs up, his thrusts not ceasing, and wraps them around his wait, getting a better angle. It did wonders, evident in your screams as you tightened around him. You chanted his name and scratched his back which you were sure either left red marks or a bloody trail, “Cum for me, baby girl.” Your back arched as you came. He followed suit and spilled into you with uneven thrusts and then a stop. He stared at you from above for a moment. You thought he was going to kiss you when suddenly, he sneezed.

“Really?” You laughed, wiping your face, “While you’re still inside me?”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it!”

“Well, I tol-” He cut you off before you could even say the entire sentence.

“Don’t even start.” He whined before kissing you again.

MASTERLIST

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@abouttimefortea @minervaem @barnes-heaven @buckyywiththegoodhair @heartmade-writingbucky @hellomissmabel @justanotherbuckydevotee @alphaabucky @naenae87 @sunnyfortomorrow @aya-fay @terralingua-ua @topthis808 @savebxrnes @mizzzpink @janellexox0spiderman @lara-ludbey @bread-poet-society @jjlevin @marvel-fanfiction @zoejohnson8 @frickin-bats @iamwarrenspeace @kenmen02 @captianwintersoldier @bucky-bear-barnes @bucky-bear-barnes @duncedgoofball @amisha25 @miniwroetofreezymd @honey-bee-holly @unstoppableminx @lancefvcker @stranger-stark-montgomery @avxgers @viktordrago @marvelouslyme96 @rraise-a-glass-to-freedom @chonisberonica @tina8009

Let me know if y’all want me to start a BoRhap taglist :)

#bohemian rhapsody #borhap #joe mazzello #joe mazzello smut #joe mazzello imagine #joe mazzello oneshot #joe mazzello fic #joe mazzello x reader #joe mazzello x reader smut #joe mazzello x reader imagine #joe mazzello x reader oneshot #joe mazzello x reader fic

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jui-imouto-chan · 5 years

Text

Wanted to write some fluff for my dear @manadrite / @manatheauthor, who was a bit down earlier.

Thanks to @isumi828 for supplying me with some ideas!

The aroma of brewed coffee beans and the syrupy sweet scent of pastries flutter about, wafting through the air and into the noses of the patrons leisurely sipping from their warm mugs, eyes bright and and posture contented.

Forks glimmer in the soft light of sun, tiny clinks following the contact of the tips of the prongs with the small white plates below speared pieces of dessert.

A bell’s tinkle sounds from the door, a swirl of icy breeze immediately quelled by the warmth of the cafe.

“Welcome!” greets the employee behind the counter, eyes and hair mocha as the coffee he prepares. A smile can be heard in his voice, his back to the majority of the room, but clearly he knows who’s entered the building, as his hands work the machine to prepare a drink before he’s told, no one else in the queue.

He spins on the balls of one foot and smoothly transitions into bending over and sliding out a tray of pastries from the display case beneath the counter, picking a slice of raspberry cheesecake to place on a plate he collects from a shining stack nearby.

He sets a fork atop the empty space beside the desert and swipes the plate into his left hand, his other hand grabbing the handle of a mug, now filled with a cappuccino. He seems to have made a heart design in it, and upon the image becoming visible to the customers in the cafe, giggles and teasing smiles arise.

“You need a hand with that?” the man who’d entered the cafe asks the employee, adjusting his bag’s strap to free his hands and immediately moving to take the items from him.

The employee spins gracefully out of reach, grinning smugly at the mocha-skinned man sighing at him, his apron fluttering. It’s impressive, how not a drop of drink spills over the edge of the mug, despite the dangerous slosh of the scalding liquid.

His name-tag glints in the sunlight he steps past, a brief illumination of his, admittedly already quite bright countenance.

He sets the plate and mug down with barely a sound, bending at the waist with deliberation.

Once more, he twirls about on his heel like a misinformed ballerina and in that single movement undoes the bow tied at the small of his back, the apron hanging off of him, now.

“Just a moment.” He says, polite as ever. He usually sounds genially chipper, but now his voice has the adoring undertone of delight.

The mocha-skinned man settles in the cushy booth seat he always sits in, hand curling around the mug with familiarity that is not unusual for the regulars of the cafe. A smile pulls at his lips, freckled cheeks shifting with the uneven expression.

He doesn’t take a sip at any point, an observer would note, and his eyes remain in the distance, past the window he’s beside, where icicles hang precariously over the edges of roofs and gutters and drip arrhythmically, into thick bunches of snow gathered at the corners of sidewalks and roadways. One such corner has a toddler-sized disgruntled snowman sporting a tiny foil fedora.

“I’m waiting on Eli to make my hot cocoa, so I can spare a few moments for you.” the employee, sans his apron, slides into the opposite booth, his arms lain over the tabletop casually.

The tan man gasps exaggeratedly, shoulders rising as a hand moves to hover near his mouth, lush green and soothing blue wide in mock-surprise. “I honestly can’t believe that the Connor Anderson would grant me the privilege of moments of interaction! My poor heart feels blessed; I can die without regrets.”

Connor appears incredibly bemused, though his cheek twitches as he bites back laughter. He tilts his head into a palm, resting on an elbow while his fingers idly drum a vaguely familiar tune.

“Alright Drama Queen--”

“Excuse you, I prefer King of Theatrics.”

“Oh, whatever. I give up on you.” Connor’s eyes roll, but he’s finally let his lips tick up until his eyes crinkle, huffing air out through his nose.

“Aw, man, I guess North wins that bet.”

“Bet?”

“She said that you’d leave my sorry ass in less than 2 minutes.”

Connor allows a soft chuckle out and shakes his head. He moves out of the seat when there’s a call of his name. “What was your side?”

“That it’d take 3 minutes.”

And then Connor closes his eyes as a surprised snort takes over, his shoulders shaking in barely-contained laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m lovable.”

“That, too.”

And the tan man’s eyes blink rapidly, clearly not having anticipated that response. A hint of red creeps up his cheeks, and Connor smirks to himself as he collects his hot cocoa and nabs a small, pink cupcake.

Only after Connor sits back in front of him does the darker man move to slice a chunk off of his raspberry cheesecake. In lieu of bringing the bit to his mouth, he directs it to Connor’s, bumping against soft pink and leaving a small dot of hibiscus-colored-syrup. Connor’s taken off guard for a moment, but his lips eventually part to allow the dessert in, closing over the fork to drag the piece off, lashes batting in an effort to physically express the bliss he’d gotten from the taste.

The fork still hovers near his mouth, heterochromatic eyes watching his reaction raptly, and he takes his chance to snatch the utensil out of the other’s grip. He swallows and cuts another piece off of the very cake he’d tasted, spearing it.

“You’ve got to give it a try, Markus.”

Markus obligingly opens his mouth when Connor mimics his earlier actions and feeds him, savoring the taste of the sweet.

He hums in appreciation. “Good pick.”

“But of course. Only the best for you.”

His line is undercut by the teasing lilt to his voice, but Markus forgives him for that only because another slice is brought to his mouth, which he chases down with a sip of his cappuccino.

“Once again, I’m honored.”

Markus reacquires his silverware with ease and pointedly stares at the hot chocolate near Connor’s elbow, still steaming but thankfully much cooler than the piping hot chocolate-lava that Connor would insist on drinking immediately. Markus has spent plenty of time locking mouths with Connor after filling his with cold water, only for the purpose of aiding him in dealing with the consequences of his stubborn habits.

Well, okay, not only for that, but the other reasons are to be considered added benefits to his good deeds.

Connor and Markus lapse into an amicable silence, their free left hands creeping across the tabletop, until Markus’ rests atop Connor’s, thumb stroking over the back of his hand.

They almost don’t appear to notice the contact, perhaps from how naturally such actions of affection come to them.

“Am I keeping you?” Markus asks, his mug clicking as he sets it down.

Connor blinks, then shakes his head. “No, no. Eli’s got me covered, and it’s a little slow right now. I think you guys are stealing our business for today.”

Markus can’t help the smug grin crawling up his face. “If only we could steal one of the employees, here, too.”

“I’d rather French Sumo than join you heathens.”

“I’m hurt, really, I am. I’m also going to go legally change my name to Sumo Manfred.” Markus’ fingers dance up Connor’s arm and then move back down so he can intertwine them with Connor’s.

“Oh? Such drastic measures, when all you’d have to do is ask and receive.”

Markus finger’s jump, and Connor gives him a squeeze the same time he sends over his favorite methods of stopping Markus’ thought processes and heart at once: a cheeky, mischievous wink.

Markus groans, dropping his fork to shield his face and cover his eyes. “Oh my god, stop. You know I have a weakness for that. --In Josh’s words, ‘you put the wink in twink’.”

Connor scoffs, affronted, but not really. “Josh can catch these hands.”

“Your twinkie-fingered hands.” Markus sing-songs, wriggling his digits.

Connor’s hand tightens over his, painfully squeezing with his lithe ‘twinkie-fingers’. “I will end you.”

“You love me too much.”

A frustrated sigh, and then, “Ugh, why do you have to be right?” Connor shoots Markus a glare when the taller laughs at him, though his scowl may well be a pout, in Markus’ book, with all the effect it has.

“Aw, it’s okay that you have twink hands, babe. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Connor stands, collecting their dirtied plates and mugs with a huff. “Yeah? Well, you’ve got big, meaty, claws.”

“You did not just--”

“Oh, but I did.”

There’s a vindictive satisfaction that takes over Connor’s face as Markus growls.

Markus moves to follow him out of the booth, his messenger bag all but forgotten on the seat, and Connor dances out of the way of his searching hands with all the grace he can muster. Can’t let Markus get too handsy in his workplace, now can he?

He places them on the back counter to take them to the sink, later, about to address Markus’ sulky frown, but the bell’s jingle and a momentary brush of cold air makes Connor snap his attention to the potential customer entering the cafe, cheery disposition coming forth.

“Welcome, how may I--North?”

“Oh, shit, North?!”

Markus makes to hide behind Connor, but, thanks to the factors that are too numerous to list, he’s spotted and approached with a frighteningly calm and blank expression.

“You’re supposed to be working right now. I’ve got Alice taking orders at this point, the fuck are you doing?”

She swipes her hand to Markus’ ear to pinch it between her thumb and fingers and drags him out of the cafe, giving him an earful. Connor laughs nervously, waving to his boyfriend as he goes and watching Markus feebly attempt to return the action and receive a swift smack to the back of the head, the spike of fear that had shot up Connor’s spine upon North’s arrival thankfully dissipating.

He’s only just turned to the back counter when the door slams open, the bell a cry of alarm, and footsteps advance on him rapidly.

Connor’s arm is grabbed and he’s spun around and dipped, and then lips meet his gaping mouth to give him a fleeting but passionate kiss, in front of all of his customers, before he’s set upright and released.

His cheeks burn with mortification and maybe, just maybe, the tiniest surge of arousal, as he uncomprehendingly watches Markus dart to their booth to retrieve his bag and take off out the door, the blast of winter air doing nothing for his heating face.

There’s a wolf-whistle from the back room, followed by muted giggles, and Connor inwardly curses his boyfriend.

Outwardly, he groans and slumps against the counter, panting softly.

Elijah’s never going to let him live this down.

#markus rk200 #connor x markus #markus x connor #markus dbh #markus detroit become human #connor dbh #connor rk800 #conkus #marnor dbh #marcon #rk1k #rk1000 #rk1k dbh

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Text

Superhero/villain AU - Superbabs!

Day 01 Day 02 Day 03 Day 04 Day 05 Day 06 Day 07 Day 08 Day 09 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13 Day 14 Day 15 Day 16 Day 17 Day 18 Day 19 Day 20 Day 21 Day 22 Day 23 Day 24 Day 25 Day 26 Day 27 Day 28 Day 29 Day 30

I’m very slowly trying to finish up NaNoWriMo, and lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the Superhero/villain AU, so here’s yet another Superhero/villain AU ficlet. This one features the Stangie babs getting their powers!

Word count: 1452

Stan grabbed a box out of the pantry. He squinted at it.

Did Angie buy this? I don’t recognize it. Maybe her mom bought it and gave it to her.

“Stan!” Lute shouted, clearly irritated. Stan groaned and put the box back.

“Look, you can stick around if you want to play with the girls, but you know Angie and I have a no yelling rule.”

“Yeah, well, you got back from work half an hour ago and since then, I’ve had to put out four fires. Cut it out.” Stan marched into the living room, where Lute was playing with Danny and Daisy. At the moment, Daisy was sitting in Lute’s lap while Danny chewed on a toy in the girls’ playpen. Stan crossed his arms.

“Lute, two things. First, I know not to set fires in the house. I had that drilled into me pretty hard by everyone I’ve ever lived with. Second, I don’t set fires by accident. I’m not some…kid…” Stan trailed off, remembering what Angie’s doctor had said about elemental abilities being highly heritable. He stared at Daisy. Daisy’s wispy brown hair burst into flames.

“Holy-!” Lute shouted. A glass of water resting on a bedside table exploded. The water from the glass flew over and doused Daisy’s hair. “What the- how?”

“She’s a pyro,” Stan said. Daisy giggled, her hair now steaming. “She’s a pyro!” The block in Daisy’s hand caught fire.

“I’m out of water, take her!” Lute shoved Daisy into Stan’s arms.

“Your parents aren’t rich, kiddo,” Stan said calmly. He grabbed the block and extinguished it. Daisy sniffed loudly. “Aw, sweetie, don’t get upset just ‘cause I wouldn’t let you destroy your toy,” Stan cooed. He ruffled Daisy’s hair. “You did good today. You’re a pyro, just like your dad!” Daisy pouted at him. “Here, here!” Stan held out his hand. Concentrating, he created a burst of white and yellow fire in the shape of a flower. “Look! It’s you. It’s a daisy.” Daisy’s eyes widened. She grabbed at the fire playfully. Her hands passed through the flames unharmed, but her onesie caught fire. “Shit.” Stan grabbed the flaming sleeve, putting it out with his hand.

“Y’know, pyros make great villains,” Lute said.

“Nah, this little lady’s gonna be a hero like me. I can tell.” Stan nuzzled Daisy’s large nose. “Isn’t that right, Miss Daisy?” Daisy giggled. The front door opened.

“Hello, hello!” a voice called.

“Angie, Stan’s tryin’ to get Daisy to be a hero!” Lute shouted.

“Huh?” Angie walked into the living room. She was still in her villainy duds, the spandex splattered with what Stan hoped was not her blood. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Lute’s being a tattletale,” Stan said, glaring at his brother-in-law. “Making him a bad role model for his nieces, by the way.” Lute rolled his eyes. “I was just saying that Daisy would be a good hero, because she’s a pyro.”

“Stan, we don’t know fer sure that-” Angie started. Daisy burst into flames. Her eyes widened. “Oh. That’s- yep. Daisy’s definitely a pyro. Could- would ya put her out, darlin’?”

“Got it.” Stan stifled the flames covering his daughter. She grinned at him, her clothes in tatters. “Uh, I’ll call my mom. I think she still has the fireproof clothes from when I was a kid.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Angie strode over to Stan. She stroked Daisy’s hair. “Baby girl, yer like yer daddy, huh?” Daisy grabbed at Angie’s nose with flaming fingers.

“Careful,” Stan said. Angie poked Daisy’s nose.

“I’m fine. I’ll set up some breezes ‘round myself to put out any fires ‘fore they can burn me.” She grimaced. “The crib she’s in is a bit…flammable, though. Yer mom wouldn’t happen to have any fireproof bedcovers or somethin’, would she?”

“I’ll ask what she did when I was a kid and setting things on fire every other minutes.” Stan frowned. “I remember Shermie using a fire extinguisher on me a lot.”

“That sounds like a good investment,” Lute piped up. “What with two pyros in yer house and all.” Angie rolled her eyes. “Hey, do ya think Ma still has the power dampeners she used on us when we were kids?”

“Oh! She prob’ly does. I’ll call.”

“Hang on, you guys had power dampeners?” Stan asked. Angie and Lute nodded. “Did your siblings have to use them?”

“Nah. Just us,” Angie said. She grinned. “There were two of us, developing strong elemental powers at the same time. Ma actually had to quit villainy to keep an eye on us after we made a tornado.”

“Didn’t yer mom have to deal with the same sort of sit’ation?” Lute asked.

“Ford’s powers didn’t manifest until we were teenagers. I was the only one with powers as a toddler.” Stan’s eyes widened. “Shit. We’re gonna have two superpowered toddlers. One of them sets things on fire.”

“Yep.” Lute patted Stan on the back. He headed toward the front door, whistling merrily. “Enjoy.”

-----

A cry came over the baby monitor. Angie let out a wordless grumble.

“Don’t worry, babe, I’m on it,” Stan said, his voice barely less bleary than hers. Angie smiled as he kissed her forehead. After he got out of bed, she sprawled across the rest of the mattress, relishing the residual warmth from his body heat. She had just begun to doze off again when the peace was shattered by a shout from downstairs.

“Ouch! Fuck! Goddamm- what the hell?” Angie jumped out of bed and literally flew downstairs, enlisting breezes to keep her aloft. She stopped at the doorway of the nursery. Her jaw dropped.

“What in tarnation?” she breathed. The nursery was coated in a thin layer of frost. Stan sat on the floor, rubbing himself ruefully. Angie helped him up.

“Careful,” he said. “Somehow the floor turned into a damn ice rink.” Angie knelt to examine the wooden floor. Like Stan had said, it was covered in ice. “Who did this? Was it one of your brothers?”

“Nah. The only one who could is Harper, and he’s in Los Angeles.” Angie frowned. “Hang on. Which one was crying?”

“Uh, I think it was Daisy.” Stan glanced over at Daisy’s crib. Daisy was still fast asleep. “Nope. Not her. So it had to have been Danny.”

“Yes, by process of elimination,” Angie said dryly. Stan walked over to Danny’s crib, his bare feet melting the ice on the floor. “Careful not to burn the wood, darlin’.”

“I know. Aw, shit.” Stan picked Danny out of her crib. “Princess, you okay?”

“What’s wrong?” Angie joined Stan by Danny’s crib, floating an inch off the floor to avoid slipping and falling.

“She’s covered in ice,” Stan said. Angie gasped softly. Snowflakes stuck to Danny’s eyelashes and eyebrows, while her caramel-colored hair was full of icicles. Stan ran his fingers through her hair, melting the ice.

“Danica, baby,” Angie cooed, stroking her daughter’s cheek. She frowned. “She’s not actin’ upset.”

“She was crying earlier.”

“She’s not cryin’ now. And she’s been clingy lately. She might have just wanted attention,” Angie said. Stan stared at Angie.

“What are you saying?”

“Maybe it wasn’t Harper who did this to the nursery. Maybe it was Danny. I mean, my grannie used to make it snow on Christmas.”

“Goddammit,” Stan muttered. “A hydro. Lute’s gonna be so smug about it.”

“No, my grannie wasn’t hydrokinetic. She had cryokinesis. Controllin’ ice and snow and cold.” Angie stroked Danny’s cheek again. “It’s a pretty rare power. Ya almost never see it outside of specific families.”

“Well, I knew she was special,” Stan said. Angie chuckled.

“Yer right ‘bout that.” She sighed. “Dang it, I was really hopin’ Danny would get my powers, since Daisy got yours.”

“Next time.”

“Next time?” Angie raised an eyebrow at Stan. “Darlin’, the girls ain’t even two. We just got married a couple months ago.”

“Hey, I need a son.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“I need to name someone Stan Jr.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever ya say.” Angie kissed Danny’s forehead. “I’m goin’ to go back to sleep.” She kissed Stan on the cheek and glided out of the room.

“That’s not a no!” Stan called after her. He turned back to Danny. “That wasn’t a no. You and Daisy will end up with a little brother, I promise.” Danny grinned. She patted his face. Stan let out a small gasp as frost built up on his skin. “Damn, kid, you’re really giving new meaning to the term ‘cold hands’, huh.” He let his skin warm up. Danny began to cry. “Shit.” He bounced her, but the crying didn’t die down. “All right, all right. Let’s go get something for you to freeze. Something that isn’t my face.”

#this is lighthearted and fun and just what I need during this stressful time of year #look at these adorable superbabs. freezing things and setting other things on fire.#love them powerful Stangie babs #Superhero/villain AU #Stangie Family #Stanley Pines #Angie McGucket #Lute McGucket #Daisy McGucket #Danica Pines #Stangie #my writing #ficlet #NaNoWriMo 18 #speecher speaks

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thethespacecoyote · 6 years

Text

“Snowbound” Ch. 1

But other than that, the mansion seemed just as oddly quaint as the rest of the town, constructed from the same wood or wood-like material and topped with a sloped roof that gathered banks of snow and rows of icicles at the edges. The many windows glowed with the fires of hearth, sending a pleasant shiver through Rhys’ body and making him realize how cold he was, even with the down jacket wrapped around him.

“You gonna carry me over the threshold?” Rhys called as he trundled after Jack. The CEO laughed, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he slipped his hand onto the digital keypad.

“You’re gonna have to make a honest man outta me before I do that, sugar.”

6th Day of Requestmas! For @starfruitspice! Jack and Rhys getting snowed in at Jack’s new mountain chalet. :) Second chapter will hopefully be up soon!

Rhys hadn’t even known that Pandora had snow. He’d thought the entire planet was just barren deserts and hostile residents, with the occasional pockets of slightly muted insanity and violence.

So when Jack told him he was building a winter home alongside a new Hyperion settlement tucked away in some secluded Pandoran mountain range, he’d thought Jack’d been pulling his leg. Even when the project was allegedly “finished” and Jack had offered to take him down to visit and stay for a little bit, Rhys had expected the transport doors to open up to some kind of prank involving an angry bullymong or a pit full of lava or something.

But, no. Jack had been sincere this entire time.

The transport had dropped them off in the middle of a cute, picturesque town that looked more quaint vacation getaway than Hyperion-sponsored city. Sure, the company’s logo hung from the windows and flew from the flagpoles, and a frosted statue of Jack stood smack dab in the middle of the town square, but the buildings themselves were fairly charming, humbly built from either wood or some kind of synthetic material that was damn good at pretending to be wood. Each little A-frame roof was hung with twinkling lights that filled the entire scene with a sense of whimsy and comfort that Rhys could never have imagined existing on Pandora of all places.

“You….you really weren’t kidding…” Rhys marveled, grateful Jack had insisted on bringing him a jacket as he stepped out into the soft snow. Despite the chill, Rhys felt warm, even oddly nostalgic for a time he wasn’t even sure he’d ever known. Jack grinned brightly as he came up behind him, wrapping his arms tight about the young man’s waist.

“Frikkin’ adorable, right? And it’s all ours, kiddo. Regular Hyperion stiffs don’t get to come here ’til next week.”

“Really?” Rhys questioned, glancing around at all the houses, their windows lit up. He sniffed the air, smelling something sweet.

“Then…I mean…who’s baking cookies?”

“A.I. technology has come a long way, babe, don’t you worry. We’ll be good and spoiled here,” Jack snickered as he patted Rhys on the hip, brushing past him. “Now c’mon—you wanna see daddy’s mansion, don’t ya?”

When Rhys envisioned “Handsome Jack’s mansion,” he imagined something pretty gaudy and ostentatious. If Helios was anything to go by, Jack’s sense of style could hardly be called restrained, or even tasteful.

So as they trudged out of the tiny square, the occasional tiny loader bot running by with an armful of stitched quilts or a tray of fresh sugar cookies, Rhys was expecting to see some sprawling, tacky abomination of a home practically leap out from the snowy mountainside and smack him in the face with a hundred Jack statues and a brilliant yellow color-scheme. But instead, what he saw was something a little more…humble.

Well, about as humble as Jack could possibly be without hurting himself.

It was still huge, sprawling over the mountainside and stretching up at least four stories plus attic space. And two decently-sized Jack statues decorated the front entrance, their hands outstretched as if to welcome the guests—or frighten them away. But other than that, the mansion seemed just as oddly quaint as the rest of the town, constructed from the same wood or wood-like material and topped with a sloped roof that gathered banks of snow and rows of icicles at the edges. The many windows glowed with the fires of hearth, sending a pleasant shiver through Rhys’ body and making him realize how cold he was, even with the down jacket wrapped around him.

“You gonna carry me over the threshold?” Rhys called as he trundled after Jack. The CEO laughed, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he slipped his hand onto the digital keypad.

“You’re gonna have to make a honest man outta me before I do that, sugar.”

“Then I guess it’s hopeless, huh?” Rhys teased as Jack pushed open the door, enveloping them both in the comforting warmth radiating from the chalet’s interior.

It was even more gorgeous inside than out, and a thankful reprieve from the worsening cold outside. Rhys practically melted in happiness as he looked around the chalet, taking in the high ceilings and welcoming amber wood. Rhys’ ECHOeye quickly scanned for the temperature, reporting back a toasty 78 degrees.

“Good afternoon and welcome, Handsome Jack, sir,” a peppy voice spoke out of nowhere, nearly making Rhys jump out of his skin. Jack laughed, grabbing onto his boyfriend as he lost his balance, looking nervously around.

“You forget what I said about A.I. interfacing already, pumpkin?” Jack shook his head, before addressing the air. “Sugartits, we’re good, so long as you don’t scare the hell outta my pumpkin again.”

“Apologies, sir. Will some hot chocolate help your companion feel more at home?”

Jack patted Rhys on the hip, jostling him out of his surprise.

“O-Oh! Sure. Hot cocoa sounds…awesome,” Rhys stuttered, following Jack into the kitchen, where a little chrome machine, akin to a coffee maker, had already started to light up and quiver. A spout of melted chocolate and steamed milk poured out into a mug already set up beneath it, filling the cup and even topping it off with a dollop of whipped cream.

“…Holy crap…” Rhys’ eyes sparkled, grabbing the mug as he took a deep sip.

“Who knew a robot could make such great hot chocolate?” Rhys chuckled warmly, burying his nose back into the whipped cream and taking a noisy sip. “Thank you, umm…?”

“Sugartits.”

“Jack, that can’t be their real name…” Rhys scoffed.

“Sir Handsome Jack has requested I respond to the following—Sugartits, Babe, Babycakes, Honey, Sweetcheeks—“

“Uh, okay, no, I don’t want to call you any of that….” Rhys flustered as Jack snickered in the background. He rubbed his chin, thinking.

“Her project name was Hestia, if that helps at all…” Jack mumbled, a hot toddy liberal on the alcohol pouring into another mug with the clap of his hands. Rhys snorted.

“Hestia…no, sounds like an old lady, which would just be…weird…how about…uh…Holly?”

“Holly. What’re you going for, ‘festive stripper’?” Jack snickered, burying his nose in the hot cocktail steaming in a unicorn mug.

“Holly added to database of name recognition. Will there be anything else, sirs?” The voice responded smoothly.

“Light up the fireplace and turn on the ECHOvision, then leave us alone for the rest of the night, ‘kay Sweetcheeks? Don’t want ya popping in when I’m trying to get into Rhysie’s long johns here.” Jack’s cheeks were already shiny with a drunken flush as he grabbed Rhys’ butt, nearly leading his boyfriend by the ass over to the huge, plush couches that dominated the living room.

“Oooh….yeah, I’m not getting up like, ever…” Rhys moaned as he practically sunk into the soft red cushions, the couch sucking him in like quicksand. Jack cuddled in besides him, his lips loose with alcohol as he pressed kisses all over his boyfriend’s cheek and nearly spilt his alcohol.

“Good thing we won’t have to…I could have you on this couch all week, sugar…that’s….that’s fine with me…” Jack moaned, practically sliding into Rhys’ lap. The young man squeaked, nearly snorting his hot chocolate up his nose.

“C-Can I at least finish my drink before you uh…try to jingle my bells?” Rhys giggled, licking the last of the whipped cream from his lips as he tried to suck down his hot chocolate before Jack got his hands down his pants and made drinking basically impossible.

Rhys had only a half-inch of thick chocolate syrup remaining at the bottom of his mug when Jack grew impatient and snatched it out of his hands. He smothered Rhys’ protesting whine with a kiss, pinning his boyfriend down against the plush cushions as they made out.

Those last, delicious dregs of hot chocolate were quickly forgotten thanks to Jack’s lips. They were soft and strong and send shocks of heat through Rhys’ body that’d been missing even with the ambient warmth of the chalet. Jack’s hips grind downwards between Rhys’ open legs, the slight brush of their crotches sending a spark of need through his loins. Rhys’ eyes flutter shut, tongue twining lazily with his boyfriend’s as he melts back into the couch, more than ready to just let Jack take care of him for once.

Rhys heard the sound of his zipper yanking down as Jack’s hand pushed through his now open pants. His palm rubbed up against where Rhys’ cock lay snug in his thermal underwear, pre-cum already staining the damp fabric. Rhys’ moans into Jack’s mouth, his hands squeezing his boyfriend’s shoulders as Jack peels down the waistband of his underwear. Rhys gasps as Jack’s lips pull away from his, the CEO’s glittering smile leering down on him as he finally grasps the base of Rhys’ cock, pulling it free from its confines. Rhys squirmed as his boyfriend took his dick in hand, ready to send him into a flurry of pleasure that would last long, long into the night.

And then the lights went out.

#spacetext #long post #fanfic #rhack #fluff #kind of #also smut #tftbl #12 Days of Requestmas

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