#the turtle neck is on thin ice. the glasses have got to fucking go

[girlucifer]

NO NOT LUCIFER'S HUMAN WORLD OUTFIT FOR THE WHOLE FUCKING ARC NO

#lesson 41 spoilers i guess: yeah no. id rather them kidnap me than babysit them in their little Human Outfits #the only ones bearable is asmos and beels. diavolos' is god tier though although ive yet to see him in game #but yeah no lucifer you look like that librarian that yelled at me when iwas 13 leave me alone #the turtle neck is on thin ice. the glasses have got to fucking go #doodles #🦈 #YES IM SPAMMING TODAY SORRY <3 #i have a lot of thoughts because ive been getting far in the tasks. i was on lesson like 35 just like. less than a week ago #now im midway level 41! stuck on a purple battle because stupid fucking #belphegor is paralyzing my ass every chance he gets

[hmsjiara]

‘cause you’re amazing (just the way you are) jj + kie

request by @love-life-always​: We never really hear anything about Kiara's kook year, so I was wondering if you could write a story where Kiara had an eating disorder during her kook year, while trying to fit in and stuff but she managed to recover when she became friends with the pogues again, but then for whatever reason it starts to affect her again and jj/the other pogues notice.

this turned into one big angsty mess real quick lol. but protective!jj is my kink, so... here you go lmao. thank you so much for the request, i hope you like it :)

read it here on ao3.

disclaimer: i understand that eating disorders are a serious/complex issue and am NOT trying to romanticize them in any way. and while i did some research before writing this, i am in no way an expert nor have i ever experienced something like this. so, if any part of this is inaccurate or ignorant i apologize. if this triggers you in anyway, please do what’s best for your mental/emotional health.

trigger warnings: eating disorders, panic attacks, brief mentions of abuse.

                                      •••

It was an unspoken rule among the Pogues that they didn’t talk about Kiara’s Kook Year.

It hadn’t always been that way. When Kiara had returned to the Chateau with a years worth of apologies and a case of Miller Lite, John B and Pope had forgiven her almost instantly, but not JJ. Weeks of veiled insults and sharp glares had followed, and despite John B and Pope’s efforts to sway him, JJ seemed determined to hate her forever.

But eventually, even he managed to forgive her for abandoning them. Kiara assumed that it was a combination of her constant presence, and the boobs and curves she’d developed during her Kook Year. She couldn’t really blame them for noticing, since they were horny teenage boys and she spent the majority of her time in a bikini.

So, things went back to normal, and the Pogues caught on to the fact that Kiara didn’t want to discuss her absence, or her exile from the Kook Academy. It was easier this way, she told herself. Talking about Sarah still hurt too much, and as for everything else... well, it wasn’t important.

So, she doesn’t talk about Sarah, about how they got drunk and watched movies and saved baby sea turtles together, how her heart aches when she thinks about her. She doesn’t talk about the girls at the Kook Academy who spread rumors behind her back, who shove her in the hallways and on one occasion dump a smoothie on her head in the cafeteria. She deletes the mean comments under her Instagram posts before the Pogues can see, because she doesn’t need them to defend her, and the last thing she wants is to explain why everyone hates her so much.

Because she just got her friends back, and Kiara isn’t going to burden them with her problems, not when they have it so much worse.

                                        •••

The words eating disorder cause a certain kind of alarm to go off in Kiara’s brain.

Because yes, there’d been those months at the Kook Academy where she’d gone from diet to diet, weighed herself after every meal, looked at the girls in her grade with their flat stomachs and thin, long legs and hated her curves and muscle-toned limbs. She’d followed all the trends— juice cleanses and swearing off anything over a hundred calories. She even stopped surfing, switched to running, wondering if it would make a difference.

Her mother’s comments hadn’t helped. Once Kiara was going to parties and sleepovers with Sarah, her mom started buying her clothes that were two sizes too small, handing her grapefruit halves in the morning when Kiara asked for eggs and bacon, shot pointed glares at the half-eaten box of cookies on her dresser.

So, she started just... not eating. It was almost too easy to do. All she had to do was say that she was running late for school and skipping breakfast, snack on celery sticks for lunch, tell her parents she had homework to avoid coming to dinner. And it had worked: she’d gotten thinner, and her mother smiled when she started wearing the clothes she’d bought her, so Kiara assumed it was fine.

It was a visit to her doctor that made Kiara realize that what she was doing to herself was wrong. There’d been no official diagnosis, just a few pointed questions about her daily food intake, a suggestion to incorporate more protein into her diet. But Kiara had read between the lines, and she’d gotten over it, moved on, recognized that what she was doing wasn’t how she wanted to live her life. And she hadn’t told anyone, especially not the Pogues, because it was her business and they didn’t need to know.

The problem is that sometimes Kiara forgets to catch herself.

Like when she spends a little too long looking at her stomach in the mirror, or when JJ offers her the rest of his fries at the Wreck and she wrinkles her nose and says too many carbs.

He frowns, presses a hand to her forehead, as if checking for a temperature. “Too many carbs? Who are you, and what have you done with Kiara Carrera?”

She laughs, shoves him away from her, goes to get another beer from the fridge, but JJ is still watching her when she gets back. “I didn’t know you cared about that sort of stuff.”

“What do you mean?” She asks, avoiding his gaze as she knocked John B’s feet off of the counter.

“Calories and shit,” he said with a shrug, and it was a perfectly reasonable remark, but Kiara didn’t like the direction their conversation was going in. “Is this something you picked up from the Kooks? You turning into one of those soccer moms who meal plan and don’t let her kids eat sugar?”

It hits a little too close to home, so Kiara snatches a fry from his basket and makes sure that he sees her eat it.

“There,” she said, chewing somewhat obnoxiously. “Happy now?”

JJ rolled his eyes, turned to listen to whatever Pope was saying about his internship, but Kiara couldn’t help but feel like she’d dodged a bullet.

JJ couldn’t find out. Not now, not ever.

                                       •••

Being forced to attend Midsummers is the last thing Kiara needs or wants, but her mother doesn’t care.

She thinks it’s how she copes. Kiara can hang with whoever she likes, as long as her mother can put her in a pretty dress and show her off to the Kooks.

The subtle, pointed comments start again.

Take it in a bit on the hem, Silvia. I’m not used to this, you know. I never had Kiara’s curves when I was younger.

I know that your friends don’t have to worry about this, Kiara, but you have a figure to maintain. Eating at the Wreck every night just isn’t going to fly.

Maybe a side salad instead, sweetheart. I’m paying the seamstress by the hour.

Kiara’s not proud of it, but she does go along with her mother, because she’s tired of fighting with her, and the idea of her daughter going to Midsummers with all the Sarah Cameron’s of the world has made her happier than Kiara has ever seen her.

She tells herself it’s only for a couple of weeks, that she can get through it, but it’s getting harder to ignore the comments, to resist the urge to weigh herself after a bag of popcorn or a sandwich from the Wreck.

Before, when she was friends with Sarah, it was easier to hide. Sarah didn’t really notice other people— it wasn’t her fault, just how she’d been raised.

The Pogues are different.

At first, they buy all the usual excuses. She’s not hungry, she already ate. But then John B asks her to split a burger with him at the Wreck, or Pope roasts her a s’more and she refuses, and they start to notice.

One time, Kiara buys a new kind of green tea ice cream from the grocery store, and she eats it all in one sitting, calories be damned.

JJ laughs, nudges John B. “Now that’s what I’m talking about. Damn, Kie.”

It’s a joke, a passing comment, but Kiara flinches, feels a sudden surge of regret. Shit. Her mother was going to kill her.

JJ sees it, because of course he does, and then his teasing grin disappears and he gives Pope and John B a knowing look.

Pope looks instantly uncomfortable as John B clears his throat, and Kiara doesn’t like it one bit. She feels cornered, suddenly on edge, as John B opens his mouth and says, “Kie, is everything okay? With you, I mean?”

“Of course,” she says, shrugging, the deflection easy. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well, it’s just—“

“You’re not fucking eating.”

Kiara flinches for real this time at JJ’s harsh, blatant tone, her stomach hollowing out as John B hisses JJ’s name and says this isn’t what we talked about.

Oh, so they’re talking about her now. Wonderful.

“Fuck this,” she says, springing to her feet, the empty ice cream cartoon and metal spoon clattering to the floor. She feels sick just looking at it. “Y’all are— y’all are delusional, okay? I’m out.”

“Kie, it’s okay,” Pope says, his eyes on the floor. “Millions of people have, uh, stuff like this, you know, it’s not—“

“I do not have a eating disorder,” Kiara growls at him, ignoring Pope’s own flinch, how he curls in on himself at her words. “Your statistics don’t apply to me, okay, Pope? You have no idea what’s going on.”

“Kie, we’re just trying to help—“

“Fuck you, John B,” she says, turning to leave, not able to stand the pity on his face.

“No,” JJ snarls, rising from his chair, clutching the neck of his beer bottle so hard she thinks it might shatter. “I’ve had enough. Do you know that’s the most I’ve seen you eat in weeks? Something’s wrong, Kie, we’re not idiots, okay? So just tell us—“

“I don’t have to tell you shit, Maybank,” she snaps, the pit in her stomach filling itself with something cold and bitter. “This is my business, just like whatever the fuck is happening with your dad is yours. So leave me alone.”

She regrets the words as soon as she says them, but it’s too late, because JJ’s beer bottle shatters and John B yells as alcohol and shards of glass scatter across the floor, and Kiara is out the door before any of them can make her stay.

They’re just worried, she knows that, but it’s fine. She has it handled.

                                      •••

In reality, it’s the opposite of fine.

Kiara avoids the Pogues in the week leading up to Midsummers, ignores the texts they send her asking her to meet, actually hides when John B comes to find her at the Wreck.

She tells herself she just has to get through Midsummers, and then it’ll all work itself out.

The stress makes it worse, she thinks, and in between her anxiety over the Pogues and her mother’s pre-Midsummers prep, Kiara doesn’t realize that she can’t remember the last time she ate until she’s pulling up to the club with her parents.

It’s kind of like a wake up call, the shakiness in her limbs and the empty feeling in her stomach, and the next thing she knows, she’s hyperventilating over the sink in the girls bathroom.

It’s hard to breathe, and the heavily perfumed air definitely isn’t helping, and her mother is going to kill her, and Kiara doesn’t even know how it got this bad again. She doesn’t look too thin in the mirror, at least not to her, but what do other people see?

She’s not quite sure how, but she manages to find her phone in her clutch, to fumble through typing in her password and locating Pope’s contact.  

He answers on the first ring.

“Kie? Is everything okay? Where are you?”

He’s obviously concerned, and she feels like such an idiot, because she spent the past week pushing him and everyone else away when all they wanted to do was help her.

“Bathroom,” she manages to say, fighting to speak past the tightness in her throat. “In— Inside. Pope, I can’t breathe, I can’t—“

“Okay, Kie, it’s okay,” he murmured, sounding surprisingly calm. “Fuck, I’m working, I can’t leave. But I’m gonna help you, okay? Just breathe. Give me one second—”

The call ended, and Kiara tried not to panic anymore than she already was, but it was a relief when Pope’s name appeared on her phone screen again.

“Pope?” She asks, his name more of a sob than anything.

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, Kie, you’re gonna be fine. You’re not hurt, right?”

She shakes her head, then remembers that he can’t see her, and confirms that she’s fine (physically, at least) through the phone. Pope keeps doing that, asking her questions in a low, level voice, until she hears a knock on the bathroom door.

“Pope, is that you at the door?” She asks, clutching her phone tighter in her hand, any sense of control she’d managed to regain vanishing.

“No, it’s—“

“Kie? Kie, are you in there?“

She doesn’t know why, but the sound of JJ’s voice makes her crumble. She can still hear Pope talking to her through the phone, hear JJ on the other side of the door, but it’s like it’s all coming from very far away. Her breathing picks up again, and she barely registers JJ’s fuck it, I’m coming in.

His knock on the stall door jerks her back into reality. “Kie? It’s JJ, can you open the door?”

With shaking hands, she grapples with the lock, automatically shrinking away when light floods the stall and she sees JJ staring down at her.

She must look like a mess— sitting on the floor of the bathroom in her dress, mascara running, like some girl who just got dumped by her boyfriend at a party. But she can’t really bring herself to care about that, because she still can’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.

“JJ,” she whimpers, because he’s just standing there like he doesn’t know what to do, some raw emotion in his eyes she can’t bring herself to decipher right now.

“Hey, hey it’s okay,” JJ says, snapping out of whatever trance he’d fallen into at the sight of her, his movements slow as he crouches down beside her, his hands raised in mock surrender. “Take it easy, okay, Kie? Just breathe.”

He takes the phone from her, has a brief conversation with Pope, then hangs up and pockets it. Kiara doesn’t object, staring at her hands and trying to stop herself from shaking.

“Can I?” JJ asks, and she realizes he’s asking to hold her hands.

She nods, and then his warm, calloused fingers are brushing against her skin as he rubs soothing circles into the back of her palms. Her heart rate isn’t slowing, though, her breaths coming quick and fast again, but then JJ’s arms are around her and he’s pulling her back against his chest and murmuring reassurances into the top of her head.  

He tells her to copy his breathing, and she does, focusing on the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder, the fact that his hands are still holding hers.

Eventually, her breathing returns to normal, and her anxiety is replaced by exhaustion. She sags against JJ, closes her eyes, relaxes into his warmth.

The next thing she remembers is JJ guiding her into the passenger seat of the van and bucking her seatbelt. It’s easy to trust him, to let her eyes slip closed and listen to the steady, familiar hum of the engine.

Kiara doesn’t ask where they’re going, and she must fall asleep at some point, because then she’s waking up in the driveway at the Chateau. She ignores JJ’s offered hand and stumbles out of the van, tugging off her heels the moment she gets inside and collapsing onto the pullout couch.

She doesn’t want to move ever again, content to fall asleep right there, exhaustion heavy in her bones, but JJ takes one look at her and pulls her to her feet. He takes her to the bathroom, turns the shower on and places a hand on her back to guide her inside. He asks if she wants him to stay. She says no, because JJ’s already looking at her like she’s a wounded animal, and she doesn’t want him to think that she can’t do anything by herself.

Even if she almost has another panic attack once he leaves, has to remind herself to breathe as she undresses and steps into the shower. The hot water helps, and she loses track of time standing in the spray. She never hears the door open, but when she gets out there’s a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt on the counter.

She puts them on, drys her hair with a towel but leaves it down, too exhausted to do anything else. The sweatshirt smells like JJ, and she breathes it in. She doesn’t want to think about what it means. She can have a pass tonight, she figures.

When she opens the door, the hallway smells like cooking oil and burnt toast. She wrinkles her nose, pads into the living room on silent feet, and she thinks JJ might be right to treat her like a skittish animal, because when she walks into the kitchen and sees the plate of eggs and toast on the table, she wants to run back inside the bathroom.

JJ seems to recognize her urge to flee, because he pats the seat across from him and gives her a pointed look. “Sit down, Kie.”

She complies, because she kind of owes him, and JJ actually managed to cook something without burning the house down, so that’s a miracle in it itself.

“It’s no five-star Kiara Carrera creation, but it’ll have to do,” he tells her, smiling at her as she sits down. “I only know how to cook breakfast— sorry.”

He seems almost embarrassed, but Kiara doesn’t see why. “No, I love it,” she tells him, and he just stares at her, as if he thinks she’s lying. “Really, I do.”

He grins at her then, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim lights of the Chateau, and then JJ’s digging into his own food like a starving stray dog who hasn’t had a real meal in weeks.

It smells great, even though the toast is a little burnt, and Kiara is starving, but she still hesitates before picking up her knife.

JJ notices it, because of course he does. “Eat, Kiara,” he says, his tone soft but firm. “You need it. Please.”

It’s the please that gets her. She takes a cautious bite of toast, which is burnt on one side by covered in butter. It settles in her stomach, warm and filling, and before she realizes it, she’s scraping her plate clean.

JJ doesn’t say anything, but there’s a gleam or triumph in his eyes when he takes her empty plate from her and places it in the sink.

She was exhausted before, but the food’s made her drowsy, and Kiara stumbles into John B’s room while JJ is washing the dishes. He’s not home, but she decides to wait until tomorrow to worry about it, if she has to. As well as a bunch of other things— like what the hell her mother is going to do with her.

Kiara’s muscles feel like they’re made out of lead as she collapses onto the bed. She’s exhausted, but her thoughts aren’t stopping, and it’s a relief when JJ appears in the doorway.

“You good?” He asks, and she hums into her pillow, not opening her eyes.

But then the floorboards creak as he turns to leave, and she doesn’t know what makes her do it, but she calls his name.

“Yeah?” JJ says, and she opens her eyes this time, studying his silhouette in the doorway, all soft lines and tousled blond curls.

“Will you stay?” She asks, before she can consider what it means, how he’ll interpret it. “I just... I don’t want to be alone right now.”

But JJ just nods, moving to the other side of the bed and lying a respectable distance away from her. He closes his eyes immediately, but Kiara can’t seem to relax. They’ve slept in the same bed before, but this feels different. Heavier.

“JJ?” She murmurs into the silence, and he hums to show that he’s listening. “Thank you. For tonight, I mean.”

“S’ no problem, Kie,” he says, his words slurred by exhaustion, eyelids drooping as he turned to look at her. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, picking at her nail polish to avoid meeting his gaze. “I know. It’s just... it’s hard, ya know? I didn’t want to bother any of you, God knows you have enough shit to deal with without me piling my own on top of it, and it wasn’t that big of a deal, I swear—”

“Kie, your shit is my shit,” JJ said, his voice firm as he reached out to take her hand. She brushed her fingers over his knuckles, comforted by the familiar pattern of the cracks and scars that had stayed there even after his cuts had healed. “I’m not going anywhere. And this... whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. All of us— John B and Pope too.”

Kiara nodded, and it was silent for a while, but then she said, “I’m sorry. About what I said, about your dad. I was out of line, and I—”

“Don’t worry about it,” JJ said, shrugging, his fingers squeezing hers in reassurance. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, but... it’s just scary, Kie. It was like I was watching you slip away right in front of me, and I didn’t know how to stop it.”

Kiara didn’t know what to say to that, so she just tucked herself into his side, pressing her face into his shoulder as JJ wrapped an arm around her. Their fingers were still intertwined, resting on his chest.

“Kie,” he said after a while, when she was on the brink of sleep. “I shouldn’t have to say it, but... you know you’re fucking beautiful, right? Just the way you are. You don’t have to—

“Thanks, JJ,” Kiara whispered before he could finish, her voice catching. She told herself not to cry, but a few tears escaped anyway. JJ wiped them from her cheeks, wove his fingers into her hair, running them through her wet curls.

“No, I’m serious, you’re like really hot, I—“

Kiara laughed, swatting at his arm, even though there was no real force behind it. There was a certain warmth rising in her chest, as she breathed in JJ’s scent and fell asleep in his arms. She didn’t quite know what it was, but it was new, and she liked it.

Far more than she should have.

                                      •••

It’s better after that. Not perfect, not right away, but better.

She explains everything to the Pogues eventually, and they take it all in stride, as if she’d just told them that she had decided to take up knitting as a pastime.

John B is always there, offering to drive her to get dinner, insisting he hasn’t eaten in days. He insists that Kie teach him how to cook fish the way they do at the Wreck, makes her taste-test each batch and critique them.

Pope does research, because that’s how he copes with this sort of thing, and after a while he starts bringing it up with her. JJ glares at him at first, asks Kiara if she wants him to stop, but she likes it. She likes knowing she’s not alone, that this is normal.

JJ’s approach is more subtle. He’s always making her food (he still can’t make toast without burning it, but she eats it anyway). Honestly, when JJ pouts and bats his eyelashes and flashes that devilish smirk of his, it’s hard to say no to anything he offers her. He makes it easy though, and that’s what she loves. It’s not awkward or forced, just them sharing a basket of fries at the Wreck, or visiting a local food truck festival in town.

She doesn’t know why she thought telling the Pogues would be a bad thing, because it’s nice not having to hide this from them, to know they’ll be there if she needs them.

Kiara doesn’t need perfect, she decides. She just needs her boys— if she has them, she’ll be fine.

No matter what happens.

#outer banks #obx #jiara #jj x kiara #jiara fanfiction #jiara fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks fanfiction #jj maybank #kiara carrera #pope heyward #john b #my writing

[meganshinsou-tm]

Shared Walls. (m)

↳ chapter two: it started with a interview

❧ genre: pro-hero shouto, coworkers to lovers, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

"Jesus this place is massive!"

Looking up at the tall dark building made you feel so puny. On the train you did your research on Endeavor, the hero who owned and ran this agency. The guy was currently the #1 hero, he was big and intimidating, nothing like the voice you heard on the phone, but you weren't too engrossed in why that was and hurried into the building. 

You located the elevator and got on to ride to the very top floor. On your way different heroes got on and off. They were all extremely friendly, some overly friendly as they tried to flirt almost like you were the first woman they had seen in decades. It was flattering but you were on a mission to get a job first, not fall in love.

The elevator bell rang as it came to your floor and your weaved through all the heroes to get out. All of them bidding farewell and that they hoped to see you again. You flashed them a friendly smile in return and waved.

Walking into the agency you looked around curiously. It was big and warm, very welcoming. A lone front desk came into view where a dark haired male sat and looked up at you with a smile.

"Hello there, how can I help you?"

Smiling back you stated your reason for being there along with your name, making the man smile even bigger.

"So they are finally taking my advice and hiring on another person - thank god! My name is Haru, if you get the job we'll be working together, nice to meet you."

He held out a hand and you took it, giving him a friendly shake.

Haru rose from his seat with a hum and ushered you around and into an office. It was also massive - everything in this building was just fucking massive. The area was also plain looking but classy, with just a single set of couches, desk and a ginormous window looking over the city. 

Taking a few more seconds to examine the room, nerves started to finally creep up in your system.

"Can I ask you something, I just moved here from America and I'm just learning of all the heroes in the area. I did some research on Endeavor and he seems very –" you paused and bit your lip trying to find the right words.

Haru chuckled and placed a hand on your shoulder. 

"Scary? He is, but he's not completely unapproachable, you'll learn that in time if you get hired. But rest assured he won't be interviewing you today, his son will. Be aware Shouto can come off as intimidating as well but he's a lot more friendly than his father."

After putting you at ease, Haru informed that Todoroki would be in shorty and to make yourself comfortable before walking out. 

"Well, that would explain why the voice sounded so different from the pictures of him," you chatted to yourself and walked to look out of the window. 

With a sigh you marveled at the sight of the city below you, it was like a maze, confirming that this was in fact the perfect place for you to hide from your ex. As you waited you walked back and forth along the window, ghosting a finger on the glass and humming.

Meanwhile, Shouto made his way from the locker room and to his father's office, growling at himself for being at late but he didn't want to do an interview looking all beat up in his hero costume, so he washed his face quickly and put on a long sleeved black turtle-neck shirt with some black pants. Once looking presentable, Shouto sprinted to the door with one last glance to his watch. 

The hero paused and took a breath to prepare himself before quietly opening the barrier as to not scare whoever was in the quiet room.

Poking his head around the door and walking in he saw you, staring out the window and humming. The tune you hummed sounded so familiar but he couldn't place a finger on where he heard it before.

Blue and grey eyes started to examine your frame. You were somewhat shorter than him and had pretty hair cascading down your back. Shouto continued to look, now at the skirt you wore that stopped mid-thigh, showcasing how nice your legs were. Shouto truly couldn't help it but he quickly caught himself and shook his head as if to clear the thoughts he suddenly had. 

The hero was hoping for an elder woman to fill the position so there would be no distractions around the office full of male heroes but if you were actually qualified for the job then he'd have no choice but to hire you.

Todoroki started to make his way towards you and cleared his throat, stating his presence in attempt to not frighten you but his plan backfired. 

You gasped, shoulders flinching and turned around with a blush crossing your features - gorgeous features in fact.

(E/c) eyes that were bright and glistening, a warm and smooth (s/c) skin tone, and soft blushed lips. If he wasn't interested before, he was now. He wondered if he should even go on with this interview or say the spot is filled, having this gut feeling that if you were hired you wouldn't be a distraction for just everyone around the agency but for him as well. 

Todoroki may seem standoffish and like he doesn't care to others or that he’s even remotely interested in things such as dating, which for the most part is true but he was still human and had the same desires any human did when it came to someone attractive and that caught his attention.

"You must be Shouto Todoroki, I'm (Y/N L/N). It's really nice to meet you and I appreciate the call back," you finally spoke up with a soft and sweet voice that sounded vaguely familiar as well.

A smile crossed your face that made your eyes crinkle in the corners and a single dimple appear. The warmth and happiness you radiated made him smile in return and you reached out your hand for his. 

It took Shouto a bit to realize you were gesturing for a handshake, he wasn't sure what was wrong with him. He's been around and dated pretty girls before but you were something else entirely. 

Finally Shouto moved, his right hand encased your warm and soft one in his, making you shudder as your skin connected. The hero gulped, eyes moving to look at your face again.

"Oh wow, uh Mr. Todoroki my hand," you chuckled and pulled away shivering.

"Huh," he looked down to see his quirk had slightly activated once he touched you, he didn't freeze your hand just lightly frosted it.

Dammit what's wrong with me! 

"I'm sorry Ms. (L/N), I didn't mean to, here let me see your hand again please."

You looked at him confused but did as he asked, this time his left hand took yours and he warmed it back to normal. You awed in fascination, watching the thin frost evaporate into the air and making him smirk as he held your hand for longer than needed.

"That's amazing, you have two quirks?"

Shouto nodded, letting go of your hand and demonstrating a handful of flames and ice.

"Oh wow, that’s very beautiful," you complimented with smile.

Shouto's stomach flipped at your comment and he slowly deactivated his quirk.

"Uhm, thank you. Shall we have a seat Ms. (L/N)?"

You followed him to the desk and requested he called you by your first name, explaining that in America every one is addressed that way unless they're speaking to an elder or teacher. The both of you sat down and he opened a folder that was on the desk.

He looked up to see you straightening your skirt as your legs were crossed and it rode down your thigh, a heat that wasn't his own quirk settled in him as he took in more of your figure, even your cleavage that was adorned by a simple necklace. A breath of steam fell from the heroes mouth as his quirk acted up again, thankfully you didn't notice and he went back to scanning the documents. Mind wondering why his quirk was being so stubborn of all times. Since UA, Todoroki had gained immense control over his quirks and not once have they ever acted up like this, it was infuriating.

"So, (Y/N) why did you apply for this job," he asked avoiding eye contact with you.

"Well not to be a smart-ass but because I need it. I just moved here about a week ago from America. I'm still trying to settle in and wanted to find a job fast, you see I'm on my own here and a job is what I need to support myself financially and emotionally so I can get out there and meet people. Plus, to be honest, this seems like the safest place to work and I need that."

Shouto raised an eyebrow at your last sentence, "You know working at a hero agency can sometimes be just the opposite, villains aim to take heroes out and nothing would stop them from wanting to attack an agency that is full of the cities best ones."

You looked as though you were contemplating his words, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and rubbing the back of your neck, it was cute to him until you looked up and caught him staring.

You flashed a half smile, "I can see how that would be true, but nonetheless I still feel safe here and I know I can do this job with no problem!"

With that Shouto nodded and continued to ask you basic interview questions, you past employment history, your skills and educational background, etc. As he looked over your resume more he noticed your address wasn't present which was odd.

"You didn't put an address on here," he stated and you nodded, "I mean it's not of importance right now, but if you get hired then we will need it for our files, along with your social security number and other basic information for our system."

You were quiet, making him look up from the file. You stared off at the window, fingers toying with the charm on your necklace dragging it back and forth on the chain. Shouto asked if you were okay with a protective tone, you swallowed harshly and asked if your information would be made public.

"Of course not, all of our employee's information is strictly confidential, our systems and servers are unbreachable and we have tech members that monitor them around the clock, if you're worried about your home information getting out there's no need for it because it won't and I'll make sure of that!"

Slowly but surely your body relaxed and the small cloud that was hanging over you dissipated.

"How about we change the subject, like I said your address isn't needed just yet. If I may ask, do you have a quirk, it's not required I'm just curious."

"Unfortunately no sir, I don't. There's nothing too special about me," you chuckled nervously still playing with your necklace.

Shouto had to disagree with your statement, there was something special about you, at least to him. You seemed to be hiding something - scared but at the same time so full of life and confident, it drug him in more and more.

"But, just because I don't have a quirk doesn't mean I can't get this job done, if anything I'll work harder than anyone who does have one. I've gotten along this far without one, I'm sure I can handle my own around here!"

The hero smirked at your sudden confidence and agreed. "One more question, once again its just my curiosity, but why did you move here of all places?"

You smirked at the hero, a brow rising at his subtly prying question. You wouldn’t exactly admit it but the interest made you feel somewhat giddy.

Stunning grey and blue eyes looked at you, awaiting an answer. For the entire interview the two of your stole glances at each other and there was this energy in the room between the casual chatter. It flattered you that he seemed to be so enamored by you but why? 

You were nothing short of plain and boring, except for your fucked up past but you didn't want to bring that up to your possible future employer, at least not yet. Looking down and away, you tried to conjure up some bullshit excuse that would pass for now. Right as you were parting your lips to speak, a phone started to ring. The hero grit his teeth, making you sigh with relief as you were saved by a phone call. 

Giving you an apologetic look, Shouto answered the phone and started to talk. Deciding to leave him alone you motioned to the window and went back to stare out onto the city.

Crowds of people walked across the streets like a army of ants. Bicycles, cars and buses zoomed along, headlights blurring into colorful streaks. Big lights and billboards flashed and illuminated the dulling skies as it looked like it was about to rain. The city was beautiful and chaotic, it was nothing like the small quaint little town you left behind.

"I'm sorry about that, it was my father."

Your body went rigid at the thought of Endeavor, you haven't met the guy yet but man did he look scary.

"Does you father get the final say in all of this? Like will I have to meet him?"

Shouto smirked at your nervousness, "Why does he scare you?"

You scoffed at the stunner, shaking your head with a fake smile.

"Yup!" Your voice squeaked.

Todoroki choked on a laugh.

"He has that affect on people. To be honest, me and my father haven't always had a great relationship, but we've made leaps and bounds with each other. He's misunderstood that's for sure and his tone and attitude towards things doesn't make it better but he's trying to change and become that 'Symbol of Peace'. After you get to know him, he won't seem so scary, you'll come to learn why he's the #1 and the most respected hero after All Might. And yes, you'll be meeting him Monday when you come in for work."

You were nodding, listening to Shouto explain, suddenly smiling as a breath of relief left your lungs. "Are you serious - I got the job? But don't you have other applicants?"

The hero nodded and leaned against the window as he looked out onto the city as well, "As serious as a heart attack. We do have other applicants, but I don't feel like wasting my time with them, you're who I want."

You went speechless at Shouto’s choice of words and gave him a second to rephrase that last sentence but he didn't, he stuck with it and it made you blush violently. This man really did seem to be interested in you, you weren't exactly complaining, he was gorgeous of course and damn did he make a turtle-neck look good.

"That is if you want it.”

"Oh of course I do!"

Suddenly your body acted unconsciously as you embraced the man, you didn't know what else to do, he was giving you a second chance at life and it meant so much.

Shouto was taken back by your display of affection, but he didn't want to be rude so he hugged you back. 

You let the hero hold you for a moment, easily forgetting he was still just a stranger from comfort of the way his arms and body towered over you, a mixture of cool and warm. When you'd hug your ex, if felt like you were in the clutches of a snake making its way around your body and slowly killing you. Shouto's hug felt protective and like a safety net, making you relax into him. You nuzzled your face into his chest, hearing his heartbeat quicken and causing you to smile.

"Thank you so much Shouto, you don't know how much this means to me right now! I can't wait to work for you, you won't regret it!"

He smirked and broke the hug, placing his hands on your shoulders and looking at you, "I know I won't, we could use someone like you around here (Y/N), and I look forward to getting to know you more!"

#shared walls #shouto todoroki #shouto todoroki x reader #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Don’t Listen

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Words: 4.8k

For the one and only bby @tattooedbabymin bc she deserves the world and all its smiles.

He was angry. Furious.  Livid.  Completely perturbed.  All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and caused a scene when one wasn’t called for.  He was currently in the comfort of the dance studio at 6:30 PM.  His bandmates all vacated for the day to let him destress on his one for a little while before they intervene.  They didn’t know how to comfort him anyhow, it was all too fuzzy for them to comprehend anything that could or did happen before.

Taehyung knew that.  It was his own self-destructive tendencies and pride that clashed into the spiteful demon that worked its way out of his mouth and into your face all unknown to his peers, his friends.  It was earlier that morning when everything happened.  He woke up, feeling like today would bring nothing but troubles, a good day to spend in bed, but he couldn’t afford that luxury.

He was the last to wake up, a stiff neck and the annoyance of a runny nose.  He hated the cold.  Crawling out of bed, he wandered around mindlessly for a moment before pointing in the direction he needed to go to physically show his semi-working brain the task at hand.  After a trip to the bathroom, a quick face wash and cleaning of his precious pearly whites, he set down for the kitchen.  

A bowl of cereal sat in front of him half empty by the time someone else wandered into the room, teasing him for his late sleeping habits.  It was only 10, good lord.  He felt so agitated, yet he didn’t know why and he couldn’t shake the feeling off.  Taehyung is a force when angry.  He resembled a frozen over river.  If even one person were to bravely face the tempting fate of walking along the ice and cracking even a bit of it, the threat of the raging water beneath the barrier would always increase.  

The cracks in his icy cover over the river were ungodly thin this morning.  Jimin was always very perceptive of all the member's tempers and mood and was always on the prowl to improve them, but Taehyung intimidated him today.  He’d trot up with a smile, and within a couple feet of proximity, he could feel the negative vibes rolling off him like an avalanche.  Any idea he had to cheer him up all vanished and he was left cold with no answers at all.  

Finally, he turned to you.  Taehyung’s best friend.  You knew him growing up and were his source of comfort all through his training days and the days up to debut.  Even when he was the ‘secret member’ and wasn’t known until after debut, you stood at his side and supported him no matter what.  You’d encourage him that he’d be a hit, a star, a love amongst so many people that soon the past wouldn’t matter because he would climb to the top.  Now, he was and you were still there.  

You soon even moved to Seoul to be closer to him as you supported yourself, missed your family and smiled while you worked yourself to damn near death to keep supporting him, his members and keeping yourself stable but financially and mentally it felt like at times.  

You were in the confines of your basic apartment that costs an arm and a leg to keep and max hours at work when Jimin called you.  You ran to your phone as you left it on your charger as you bolted out of the bathroom, hairbrush in your hair as you held your toothbrush in your mouth.  A mix of toothpaste and saliva in your mouth.  Sliding to a stop in your giraffe printed pjs pants and plain black spaghetti top in front of your bedside table.  

“He-phu?”  You mumbled, rather unattractively into the line.  You could basically hear the way Jimin chuckled and slapped his head.  He squeaked on the line as you rolled your eyes.  Taking your phone and Jimin’s voice to the bathroom.  “Holph un,” you said as you put the phone on the sink counter and promptly spit out the toothpaste.  You rinsed your mouth with lukewarm tap water and dabbed your lips with a towel for any leftover toothpaste on your lips and raked that brush completely through your hair.  

You picked your phone back up now.

“You still there?” You asked much more audible this time.  

“Yes,” he said with a dip in his voice.  

“So, why the early morning call?”  

“Look, I know your busy, but do you work at all today?”

“Uh,” you started as if he asked the stupidest question in the world, “duh.  I always work Jimin.  When do I not?  I do need to survive you know.”  Jimin sighed.  “But, if you need something I don’t go in until 4.”  You actually heard his mood improve.  “Is something wrong?”

“Well, you see- it’s Taehyung.  He’s all moody and no one knows why.”

“Have you asked him?”

“Are you crazy?!  He’s fucking terrifying. I thought Jungkook was going to get on his knee and grovel just because he dropped a spoon too loud in the skin while Tae was getting a glass of water.  He growled at him, Y/n.  Growled!”  

You sighed as you rubbed your temple.  You padded into your living room and looked down at the outside, 8 stories down.  Why did your apartment have to be so high up? You couldn’t see hardly anything other than people the size of peas practically race-walking on the streets.  Turning and going to a small sliver of wall that held both an outside and insider thermometer.  A whopping -9 outside.  You shivered at the mere thought of going out.  

However, you knew how Tae was when in a foul mood.  He’d forego anything he could just to less bothered.  He’d probably lock himself up all day if not bothered into work.  Which was probably the direction he was heading today.  You knew he and the others had some stuff to do, some stuff to record, some errands to run and some dances to practice.  

“Jimin,” he hummed at you, “you boys go ahead and head out.  If Tae is really in a bad mood, I’ll stop by while you all are out so he can talk to me privately.”

“Are you sure?  What if-”

“I can handle it.  I have the passcode to the dorm and you guys are busy.  Just leave the grumpy munch to me, okay?”  Jimin submitted, easily in fact.  He knew you knew what to do for the most part.  But he couldn’t shake this stupid feeling sitting in his gut like a lump of black coal.  

“Okay.” He responded.  

“Good.  I’ll be there in an hour, make sure everyone is out by then, and try to convince Tae to stay home.  Just tell Namjoon to tell him to, he usually listens to him.”  You got one last confirmation from Jimin before the call ended and you trotted to your room to get changed.  Guess you were putting on makeup and getting ready early today, so much for chilling in pjs until work called.  

XXX

Just as you said, promptly an hour later you were punching in the 9 digit code you ran over and over in your head to memorize before pushing yourself into the warmth of the large dorm of the 7 idols.  Shaking off your coat and hanging it from the coat rack and peeling off your boots with the inside coated in fuzz, you stepped inside.  

Your hair had been thrown up in a bun, the easiest style to travel and work in. You had a bag with your work uniform on your back that you left by the door just in case you were here for so long you can’t make a run home to change.  The most in one piece pair of jeans you owned on your legs with a turtle neck sweater to cheat the idea of wearing a scarf.  Simple makeup, just enough to were it wasn’t ‘unprofessional’ for your work environment.  

“Taehyung!”  You called into the apartment but didn’t get a reply back.  His set of keys still sat in the bowl at the door next to the coat rack, so he was still indeed here.  His keys also being the only set in the bowl showed that all the boys were also out.  Good.  “Taehyung!”  You tried again, yet you still got nothing back.  

Waltzing inside, you looked in the kitchen.  Not there.  He wasn’t in the living room or in the little corner in the hall he randomly sits when he was bored for no reason either. Not in the bathroom or taking a shower, and definitely not in the laundry room.  Last bet, his room.  If he was in a bad room, he probably was in his room sulking.  Being all mopey.  

You walked up to his room, taking all the twists and turns of the halls before you stood at his door and knocked.  “Tae, open up. It’s me.” Yet again, no answer.  Could he be sleeping?  You sighed as you turned the doorknob into his room and stepped inside, keeping the door open behind you.  You were more than set on trying to drag him out to talk.  

Taehyung was lazily laying on his bed.  One leg hanging off the mattress while the other was propped up with his knee up.  Is phone was hanging above his face, threating to his it if he happened to drop it.  The room was dark, the curtains were drawn, shutting out the sun as all the lights were off.  The dim light of his phone illuminated his face as his face itself was neutral.  

It was blank, unmoving.  He didn’t even acknowledge you were in his room.  His presence just wasn’t exciting enough you guessed.  Normally, he would bound up and carry you around any and everywhere just so he could squeeze any time you came over for all it’s worth.  He knew your free time was very limited, so this was direct lack of response did tick you off.

You stood, cross-armed at his bedside as you stared down at him.  He clearly was in a bad mood, anyone with eyes could see that. You tapped on the inside of your arm with an impatient finger, not saying a word, just staring down at the man.  Soon, he seemed to get frustrated as he locked his phone and dropped it on his chest, moving his icy gaze up to you.  

The room was too dark to make out your precise facial expression, but he expected that you weren’t exactly smiling.  

“What?”  He bit.  You blinked your eyes.  

“What's with that attitude?” You shot back, making him just groan and roll his eyes.  “Taehyung!” You scolded as he quickly sat up in bed, slamming both feet down on the floor and stood up.  He stood above you, towering above you, glaring down at you. Yet, you didn’t falter.  “You’re not scaring me away,” partially true.  Taehyung really was scary when he was angry, and it’s not often that he directs his bad mood towards you.  Was he not your best friend, you’d be gone from the shrinking power of his harsh eyes.

“What do you want, Y/n?”  He asked with nothing but venom in his voice.  It almost made you shake, shiver, coware- but you held fast to your bravery.  Maybe a part of Taehyung’s brain knew this was wrong, pouring his anger out to you.  He didn’t know why he was mad in the first place?!  Why did he want to scratch his skin until the irritation left him? Why did he want to punch a wall, or scream until his vocal cords were shot?  He didn’t know, and the fact he didn’t know made him that much more irritated.  

“You really need to drop the attitude. What the hell is your problem?” He could feel your own distaste for his mood.  Of course, you would be mad at him, pulling something like this when he knew you worked.  Yet, despite that, he shut his logical thoughts away and persisted with the uncooperative nature the day has clearly set for him. For him, your words translated in a way that was telling him he didn’t have the right be to in a bad mood.  

“My problem?  Why the fuck should I have to explain anything to you anyway?”  You recoiled at that.  Dropping your crossed arms and taking a minuscule set backward.  You floundered before you found your voice again.

“What- I’m here because your whole team is wandering the hell is wrong with you!!  Do you realize how worried Jimin is, how much your frightening everyone?  Sure, it’d make sense if they knew, but you won’t dignify anyone with a reason!” 

“I don’t need a reason!”  He raised his voice over yours.  “I don’t need a damn reason to be annoyed, is that some written law in some magical book about being a person?!  Can’t I just be mad to my own decree?!”

“That’s not the issue at hand Taehyung!”  The two of your stood in his room, chest to chest screaming for no reason.  You didn’t want to raise your voice, but he kept egging you on.  His loud, baritone voice made you have to speak up to even attempt to be heard.  

You could hardly comprehend the words flung around into the space around you both.  The atmosphere was heavy, thick, nearly flammable.  You were getting sick of this.  It feels like so long, and there’s no way you’ve been arguing for as long as you think.  

The argument then moved rooms.  Taehyung checking your shoulder as he moved past you, you more insulted than hurt, chasing him and you both continued your mutual verbal assaults.  He made it into the living room, stopping at the wooden coffee table at his shin as you shouted at him once he stopped shouting at you for a breath.

“Taehyung, stop!” He grits his teeth, head pounding as he brought his foot up and kicked the coffee table.  The table slid across the carpet before it snagged a string and tipped to its side.  The force put into the bottom of his new sore foot must’ve been extremely charged.  “Taehyung?!”  He whirled around to you, eyes burning.

“Leave!” He pushed at your shoulder, making you stumble.  “Get out of my house!”  You grit your teeth, the frustrated tears finally starting to sting beyond your ability to keep them back.  Rolling one by one down your flushed, anger painted cheeks you turned around.  

Without a word, you stomped towards the door and once out of his sight, Taehyung listened to a bit of rustling, the door opening to the dorm and soon a violent slam behind it.  The dorm was silent now, as he seemed to have all his strength zapped from him as he fell back onto the couch and cradled his face.  Pushing his large hand over his eyes as he bit his lip, finally, a different feeling besides anger grew in his chest.  It was disgusting, cold, harsh.  All because he just forced his one heaven out of his home.  Part of him wished you just didn’t listen.

XXX

Now, as 7 PM rolls around, Taehyung collapsed onto the practice room floor.  Exhausted both mentally and physically he huffed and gasped air. Sweat coated his forehead and ran down his neck and chest.  His thin white practice shirt patchy with his salty sweat.  

Taehyung hasn’t reached out to you all day, no surprise there.  You also hadn’t attempted to contact him, not that he even knew if he’d answer you.  He was still frustrated, but more at himself now.  When he finally picked himself up to go to the dance studio where half of his team was, he apologized for his behavior, despite him still being in a rotten mood. Yet, when Jimin asked if you stopped by, Taehyung didn’t dignify him with an answer.

He did his work the best his mood would allow, even when the headcount was 7.  Soon, the boys cleared out one by one, the last to leave was Hoseok after being peeled away from Taehyung to breath by Jimin.  So, Taehyung’s been in this room for hours, just being by himself.  

He picked himself off the floor and moved to the door that leads to the empty halls as he moved to the window to see the outside world.  Snow blew in the grey and still darks the sky.  It was still colder than ever and part of him couldn’t help but wonder if you were still working.  It was an unconscious thought that wouldn’t leave his head.

Your coworkers and boss were fairly understanding that you lived a decent distance from your job.  If the weather was too bad, surely they’d let you off early to get home safe, right?  Surely that was the case, but the unpleasant bubbling in his stomach wouldn’t let him stop thinking about it.  He felt like he wanted to get sick.  Still, though, he didn’t contact you.  He walked back into the room and sat against the wall, taking his tall water bottle and taking a hefty swig of water that eased his parched throat.

More time ticked by with him just sitting, staring and thinking.  Time passed by too quickly, as his phone buzzed with a call.  He nearly toppled over to reach it, despite it being right next to him.  His heart almost felt sad when he didn’t see your name over the screen, but Namjoon’s. He picked the call up nonetheless.

“Hey,” he started off.

“Are you planning to come home any time soon?” The leader asked.  It was quiet in whatever room he was in, maybe he was at Rkive instead.  “Jimin texted me, said you hadn’t come back yet.”  

“I’ll be home soon.”  

“Hurry up, the weather’s only going to get worse.”  Why did his mind keep going back to you?  Taehyung heard Namjoon’s phone beep with a notification.  “Hold on,” he said as he puled the phone from his ear for a moment to read yet another texts from Jimin.  “Hey,” he started, “have you really not talked to Y/n this afternoon?”

“No,” he curtly replied.  He stopped a moment, the feeling in his stomach rising up again.  “Why?”  He timidly added on before the conversation was lost.  

“Jimin said she sent a message to him saying she couldn’t make it home tonight.”  Taehyung’s ears perked.  

“Is she staying at work?”

“No, she’s not there.  She left early.”  Taehyung needed to call Jimin.

“I’m hanging up.”  Namjoon didn’t get a word of protest out before he hung up, scrolled through his contacts and immediately dialed Jimin.  The older man quickly picked up before Taehyung was bombarding him with questions.  “Where is she?”

“She?” Jimin asked.

“Y/n!”  

“She told me her car broke down, so she can’t make it home. I offered to pick her up, but she wouldn’t tell me where she was, so unless she’s nearly a motel or something, she’s probably staying in her car until the weather dies down.”

“That’s crazy!  She can’t do that, it’s fucking freezing outside!”  Taehyung was off the dance practice floor and running around, gathering his things like a crazy man. Stuffing his bottle into his drawstring back, pulling on his coat and hat before running out of the room and shutting the lights off.  “I’m going to find her,” he said before he dropped the call.  

Sick.  He felt like he was going to be sick.  He was going to be sick.  He stopped outside the building to promptly vomit into the fresh pile of unshoveled snow.  His throat burned as did his nose, while the wind pushed against his cheeks. He held his stomach as he finally felt all the irritation from today vanish.  Funny, the person who wanted to help him, who he shunned away this morning, is the same person who made his rotten, no good mood disappear and he didn’t have a clue if you’d answer his phone call or not.  

Naturally, when he tried, you didn’t.  The first two time, it went to voice mail, the third you just declined his call.  He had only himself to blame, it was his fault.  He tucked his phone away and took off down the streets.  

It was cold and icy and wet and slushy but he knew the route you always took to get to work and back.  He started there.  Walking down the snowy roads, he soon found himself in the dark with the lamps above his head his own guiding lights beside the occasional passing car.  He was being reckless, he knew that.  

It was already past 8 when he finally got a glimpse of your car.  Layered in a thin coat of snow that blew and wisped in the air.  He ran to the car side, looking in the windows.  You were in the back seats, knees curled up to your chest, shoes, pants, and coat on with a beanie Tae bought you for your last birthday.  He knocked on the window, startling you as you seemed to gasp.  You were quick to crawl over and unlock the door, making him climb in in record time.  

The winter breeze followed him in the car, making you shiver as he shut the door and relocked it.  It wasn’t much warmer in the car than it was outside.  It was still cold and anything idea of taking off a single layer of clothes was a ridiculous one.

For a while, no one spoke.  You sat on your end of the seat, while Taehyung stuck to his.  His whole goal was to come to see you, find you and make sure you were safe. You were, to an extent, but he didn’t know what do to now. Glancing at you, you had put your phone on the seat between you two and wrapped your arms around your knees, your chin resting there.  You looked so forlorn.

Did he put that look on your face?  A punch of guilt hit him as he held his stomach, the awful taste of his earlier vomit still haunting his tongue.  You noticed him clutch his gut as he bit his tongue, a habit he did when he stomach hurt.  

“Are you sick?”  You muttered to him, startling him.  He wanted to weep if he was being honest.  With how emotionally charged he’s been all day, it wouldn’t really be out of place. Even when you’re hurt, you noticed something about him.

Taehyung twisted his body to lean his back against the door and propped one foot onto the seat of the car. He grabbed your arm and tugged you over to him so that your side was pushed to his chest.  He put his leg in front of your, over your lap and hooked it under the foot behind you.  His arms made your shoulder push into space under his shoulder and he pushed your head under his chin.  He shook, not because he was cold, but he was scared.  He was sad.

After being forced to his chest, you placed your hands on his stomach, thumbing over it slightly as he breathed quick uneven gulps.  Taehyung cried while he held you.  The overwhelming guilt in his gut was eating him alive, he couldn’t stand it anymore.  He just wanted to smile with you again.  He didn’t want to be mad anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke with broken, weeping breaths into your hair.  He pushed his face into your hair as he held you tighter, bringing you as close he possibly could. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated like a mantra.  Like a pleading pray.  Like his last hope.  “Don’t listen. This morning, don’t listen to me.  I’m sorry, please, just don’t- I’m sorry!”  He cried as he trembled horribly.  Even with his words of apology, he couldn’t feel better. Nothing was relieving the pain in his heart, his head, his thoughts.

Nothing seemed good enough to him.

“It’s alright,��� you said back to him. Why did those two words being such relieve to him?  “I was in the wrong too.  It takes two people to fight, it’s not just one person's fault.”  He just shook his head.  He felt like it was all his fault, he couldn’t see where you were in the wrong for wanting to help him. “Don’t beat yourself up over it.  It’s clear you really mean your apology, so just let it go.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered.  

“Yes, you can.”  You pushed away from him just enough to looked at him, taking his face in your hands. His eyes kept leaking crystal tears as his lips quivered.  His face was warm as he kept his arms laced behind your back.  “You can let it go,” you softly told him as you smiled.  He got to see you smile again, to him- at him- who hurt you.  

His vision of your smile blurred to the point he had to blink out more tears just to see your face clearly until more tears bubbled up and blocked his vision again and again. You chuckled at his unceasing tears.  Thumbing them away, “why are you still crying, silly?” You return of nicknames only made his tears fall faster.  

The pain was gone and all that was left was a tightness over his chest.  He could only think of one remedy that could quell this new feeling.  He scanned your face, as you kept talking to him- soothing him.  He couldn’t focus on your voice, just the movement of your lips that he watched so diligently.

Taehyung was gentle in the action of moving down to capture your lips between his own.  Pushing against you only slightly, and with more seconds that passed, he started to move more desperately.  Molding your lips against his in movements he hadn’t imagined with you before and tugging your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it to feel your lips more.  You never once pushed him away, why not he didn’t know- but he couldn’t be bothered.  His hand moved to the back of your head, keeping you held against him as he felt like he couldn’t stop.  

He breathed against you, whimpering when you pulled away only to push himself towards you for more.  The breaths he took of your air were something that made him think that he’d stop living if he stopped kissing you.  He felt you grab onto the collar of his coat before he literally pulled himself away from you.  Moving his lips to settle on your forehead as he felt your harsh breath fan onto his neck.  His body felt like it was ignited.  

He stared blankly behind you and out the window of the opposite door, watching the snow fall.  It was so warm, it was like they weren’t in a cold, broken down car at all.  

“I want to do that again,” he all but whispered against your skin.  He moved to look at your again, forehead against yours as he looked at your kiss bitten lips.  “I want to kiss you more,” he breathed.  “Please, Y/n, can I-”

“You may,” you answered.  The red across your cheeks no longer results of the dropped temperature in the car.  He smiled, for the first time that entire day as he happily pushed his lips back over yours, holding you to his chest where he was content to stay.  He doesn’t know how long he spent with you, just sitting in the privacy of your winter snowed car kissing you, but it didn’t feel like long enough.  

As the night drew on, you fell asleep on his chest as he sat lazily against the door with one hand patting your back as he finally decided to reply to the multitude of texts he received.  It was 10PM now.  Sending his members a message in the group chat that they were all panicking in, he told them they’d both be at the dorms tomorrow.  

The temperament from his head was gone, no longer was he plagued with worry, or anger or annoyance.  The taste of you on his tongue washed it all away as he watched you sleep soundly.  It wasn’t cold with you two together.  He smiled as he was eager to take more than one picture of your sleeping face and a fuller one with you sleeping on his chest as he took an aerial shot.  Setting the photo as he phone background he chuckled before he locked his phone, pocketed it and settled to wrapped both arms around you and get some sleep himself.

He’d talk more tomorrow, and be sure to tell the boys to rightfully keep their touching to a minimum.  Taehyung doesn’t like sharing things that are his.  

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung #bts v #v #taehyung fanfiction #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #v fanfiction #v fanfic #v fic #reader #x reader #reader insert #female reader #taehyung x reader #v x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #hurt #comfort #oneshot

[dcbicki]

I'm sorry to double dip but could you do danxamy for 14 and Jonsa for 6? Those are my two fave pairings!

I did the Dan/Amy one, but (if you’re still interested) could you send me a different message for the J/S one - it makes things easier to post? Also, I love how this was supposed to be a ‘few short paragraphs’ meme but I went over 3k words with this… Enjoy! :)

14. Things you said after you kissed me | Post-s6, in which Amy is ready to give birth, and Dan’s feelings are semi-ready to express themselves.

-

“If I find even one picture of this on that phone, you’re a dead man.”

“Ah, come on, Amy,” He starts, grins - that prick! - and then he’s scrolling through what she can only guess is a new photo album on his fucking iPhone. “Don’t you wanna have something memorable to show people, to commemorate this joyous occasion?”

She can’t tell if he’s fucking with her, or if this is actually all just a part of his stupid fucking plan.

“I think the probable sociopath I’m squeezing out of my fucking vagina is gonna be enough of a souvenir, thanks.” Her teeth grit and she’s frowning, reaching for something to hold onto other than the railing of the hospital bed.

She’ll commemorate this joyous occasion by chopping his balls off and force-feeding them to him through a tube. That sounds like a pretty solid revenge scheme right now.

“Dan! Can you just put the fucking phone down and get me some ice chips? For fuck’s sake.”

Amy doesn’t notice the two cups already on the side, chips melting. So, he just smiles, picks one up and hands it to her. There, hold that.

She doesn’t though – instead she finds herself grasping at his shirt, knuckles whiter than usual, face a pretty picture of sheer agony, “You’re gonna pay for this, you dick.”

“So you’ve said.” He’s rolling his eyes, and he laughs (because he’s not the one forcing an infant through his genitals) like the asshole she knows him to be.

And then he smirks, because he’s Dan, because he can, “You can only kill me so many times, you know?” The threat count is probably nearing the two hundred mark at this point.

Apparently, within the next couple hours, she’s castrating him with children’s craft scissors, gauging his eyes out with bendy plastic spoons, ripping his hair right from his scalp with just her bare hands, carving out his shrivelled up black heart and proceeding to feed his carcass to a pack of wild dogs. Oh, and she’s gonna feed him his ballsack through a fucking tube. Whether that’s pre or post heart failure, he isn’t sure.

Sure thing, Ames.

“I still get to torture you beforehand.”

“True. But you know I’d just consider that brutal foreplay.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She’d let go of his shirt sometime in the past minute, and her palm is wrapped so tightly around the frame she’s sure, he’s sure it will snap. Fuck, it’ll probably shatter.

Dan looks over at her then, (attempts to) run a hand through over-gelled hair, phone finally shoved inside his back pocket, “D'you want me to leave? I can just wait in the hall. I mean, I’ve got some calls to make and-”

Yeah, Dan, you’re not good with hospitals or empathy, I know.

“You’re staying right here.” Her blue eyes are like frozen blocks of ice, and her lips draw thin, cheeks puffing as her face flushes, neck tenses. “You’re gonna stand there, and only there, and you’re gonna hold my fucking hand like the nice man your mom thinks she raised.”

He nods, complies, shuffles forward so he’s leaning over the side of the railing. Even when she’s sat and he’s slouched, he still towers over her, still doesn’t loom. What kinda bullshit-

“Okay.” Dan sighs, adds, “Your mom’s outside, by the way.” As though that will get her to change her mind.

Oh, yes, Dan. Yes! Go get my mom, and you can wait in the hall with fucking Gary! That’ll make you happy, won’t it? Go!

“Well, then, that’s where she’ll stay.” She huffs out, eyes closed since he agreed to stay. Her head’s thrown back, blonde hair askew, face pink, lips plump. God, he wants to fucking straighten her hair. She isn’t her.

“Really?” He frowns anyway, confusion clear across his face, “Don’t you want some other woman here? I thought that was like a… thing.” His nose crinkles, “What about your sister?”

He doesn’t quite understand why she wants him here, especially with her mother right outside and she’s always seemed closer to her than anybody else in her family. Hell, Gary’s probably better suited for this kind of thing than he is - he’s into all that feminine crap, right? And he’s just-

Well, he wasn’t even all that great when they went for checkups. He just sat there in the chair and smugly grinned like an asshole whenever the doctor pointed at the screen, at the bean-sized, peanut-sized, melon-sized spawn of his that Amy was incubating.

Come to think of it, he’s not even sure he’s ready for the little bugger to be born yet. Then again, him not ready being ready isn’t the worst thing. Amy’s the one having to do all the work.

Push, scream, push, push, scream, cry, push, sweat, cry, sweat, scream.

Hopefully, she doesn’t die. Hopefully, she won’t leave him alone with a newborn. That would be some serious fucking divine retribution right there. Dan, you take this. You deal with it. Have fun, fucker.

“That’s not a fucking thing, and if you ever fucking bring up Sophie again, I swear to God I will have you murdered in your sleep.”

He’s brought back then, all wide-eyed and lost-looking.

With a sigh, he concedes. He is the father. (Wow, that’s fucking weird.) He’s the one who did this to her, with her. He’s the one who fucked her, and subsequently fucked them both over.

“Nah, you wouldn’t.” He glances down at Amy, raises one eyebrow pointedly in that way she really, really, truly fucking detests, “You wouldn’t deprive yourself of that pleasure.”

His gaze shifts to the door then as it swings open, allowing Amy’s (midwife? obstetrician? fuck knows!) doctor to walk through. A nurse follows, and Dan catches a quick glance of Amy’s mom talking to Gary in the waiting room.

Are they deciding which one of them is going to watch over the kid first so that Amy can catch some sleep, and Dan can go home and change out of his day-old shirt? He’s actually surprised that, for once, Gary isn’t at Selina’s side like a fucking half-turtled turd.

Amy’s been here for fucking hours – all bed-ridden and shit in a sweaty dull-coloured hospital gown, and (truth be told) he’s still pretty pissed about the blue balls she’d left with him earlier. (Granted, she went into labour, but still.)

Going home to stroke one out might actually come in handy. Pun fully intended, he grins. Just as long as he doesn’t catch a view of her child-baring vag beforehand-

“How are we feeling?”

He’s flicking open the chart the nurse hands him - Dan’s forgotten his name because it was some European-sounding bullshit and he had more important stuff to do than learn it - and he smiles up at Amy, all red hair and freckles and glasses.

“Just tell me if I’m fucking dilated.” Amy writhes on the bed, focuses her attention on the patterned ceiling, and Dan’s damn sure she’s gonna pull a fucking Exorcist in a minute and start levitating. It doesn’t look comfortable. Maybe Mike hadn’t been lying about his surrogate’s birthing story, after all.

The doctor shoves his glasses up his nose, snaps the chart shut and smiles (like a fucking teenage boy who’s gonna get his first upfront look at a woman’s privates).

He leans forward, does his thing (and Dan watches him out of the corner of his eye because focusing on that is a little more personal than he’s willing to get right now, or ever.)

He’d rather not see some guy - trained professional or not - put his hands anywhere near Amy’s crotch. (Unless it’s in a mirror… and he’s the guy.)

“Looks like I was right on time. You’re just about ten centimetres.”

The blonde sits up in her bed then, neck muscles still tense, shoulders raised and bony, “So the little fucker’s finally ready to come out?”

“Amy.”

“I can… start pushing?” She corrects herself with a sigh, half-ignores Dan’s burning stare. Fuck you.

“Seems so.”

She briefly relaxes then, lets herself fall back for only a moment, but then another contraction hits her again, only it’s worse this time, and Dan’s hand is actually there for her to hold and bruise and fuckin’ crush. Jesus, woman!

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“If we’re waiting for that, the kid’s never coming out.”

It’s intended as a joke, but Amy just tightens her hold around Dan’s hand, waiting until his knuckles crack before finally softening her grip.

Prick.

He holds up his other hand (semi-apologetically given the proud look on his face) before lowering it down to the side of the bed, wrapping it around the metal post and leaning closer to her.

“Okay. Push.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Just fuckin’ push, Amy.” He sounds ticked off, worked up, “Jesus, it’s not hard.”

Despite herself, she finds herself reassured when his hand reaches for her own, and then she’s going for it.

-

Turns out, it’d been harder than he thought it would be.

That epidural – no, those two epidurals – clearly hadn’t done shit because she was still in pain throughout, and her body was on the brink of a fucking collapse. Maybe that’s just what happens though. How the fuck is he supposed to know? He didn’t even wanna be here for this until she roped him, forced him into it.

Watching Amy Brookheimer give birth (to his child) hadn’t ever been on his bucket list, and now, he notes, there’s a reason that was. The whole thing had been brutal. She screamed, in his face, into his shirt. She cried, in his arms, into his shirt. She sweated, like a fuckload.

She’d been all red and warm and horrifically in pain, and Dan’s pretty sure he’s going to picture her mid-labour face whenever he’s holding himself back from coming from now on.

At least now she’s calmer, and quieter, and she’s finally fuckin’ let go of his hand. Honestly, childbirth turned out to be much more of a team sport than he’d thought it would be. He didn’t think he’d ever have to be someone’s punching bag, or actual fucking support system, so that was an experience.

At least now she looks like herself, and her blonde hair is straight again because she (post-labour, of course) practically assaulted a nurse until they gave her a hairbrush. Type A, confirmed.

At least now, he can run his hands through pretty, long, straight blonde hair and grab it, tug it, pull it. Maybe once she’s out of here, and he’s changed out this bloody tear-stained, snot-ridden sweaty mess of a striped shirt, they could-

Honestly, she’s really fucking glowing and he’s kind of enjoying it. Is she supposed to look this fuckable after just giving birth? He’s probably a mess himself, all bruised knuckles from her death grip, and aching legs from standing up for so long. Oh, well.

Their son is born at a healthy weight, with blueing grey eyes and a patch of light dark hair atop his head. But he’s all gunky and gooey and just plain fucking gross, so the nurse takes him away to be cleaned up when Amy’s had just about a minute with him.

He was actually kind of… cute? Fuck, she hates that word.

Cute in a way that meant if she stared at him for too long, she’d fucking vomit. Cute in a way that meant he was cuter than most babies – but then again, that’s just their genetics.

“You did great.” Dan’s grinning (again, like a dickhead), “You know that, right?”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I’m serious.”

It’s not the first time he’s complimented her skills, competence. But it’s a strange kind of sincerity, one with a little more meaning, depth behind it than she’s used to receiving from him, from anyone.

Pushing herself up on both palms, her back aches as she stretches, props herself up into a comfier position against some square pillows. It’s not soothing, though, and she has to readjust the shitty cushions behind her to find some kind of comfort. She’s fucking sat on one, and it’s doing nothing to alleviate the pain she’s feeling down below.

“When do you think I can leave?”

She wants to be working, walking about, running around, doing things. Being cooped up in a hospital bed is not fun, is not productive, is not rewarding. Granted, she can still talk and call and email but it’s not the same as being up and about, out where the action is, where she’s actually useful.

Dan gets to leave whenever he likes. Dan doesn’t have to remain on bedrest for an undetermined amount of time. Dan doesn’t have to deal with a sore vagina and everything else that entails. Dan is a man, got the ‘get out of jail free’ card when she drew the one that forces her to take five places back.

Dick, she scowls.

“Probably tonight. That nurse said there weren’t any complications so we can probably go home later.” He reasons, shrugs as though it’s nothing major. Dick.

“We?” Amy lifts a brow, sniffles, “You can go home already, you know.”

“What, you think I’m just gonna fuckin’ leave you here?” Dan stares down at her, runs one hand along the cool railing, “Jesus Christ, Amy, you just had my kid. Even I’m not that fuckin’ cold.” He almost looks appalled at the idea – he’s desperate to leave though, to go home. Fuck it, he’s half-tempted to pack her bag, get her dressed, grab the baby and make a run for it.

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to wait for me-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His head ducks, eyes closing. What the fuck is he doing?

“I can have my mom bring me back to the apartment later. It s fine-” Because she’s still here, because Grandma B likes being involved in all things Baby Brookheimer-Egan related, because she’s just that kind of person. At least they’ll have someone to babysit for them that isn’t hired or fucking Gary.

“Amy, seriously. Shut up.”

“Why?” She smirks, figures she can get a rise out of him and whatever the fuck he’s trying to conceal. Is that… fucking emotion, some kind of weird display of fucking devotion? What- “Or Gary. It’s not like he has anything better to do anyway, other than trim Selina’s nails or wipe her ass.”

“You’re not going home with Gary. For fuck’s sake, Amy. Is it so hard for you to just shut your fucking mouth every once in awhile?”

You getting worked up there, Danny?

He sighs (deeply, strangely), and then he’s leaning down and kissing her before she can even say anything else, anything at all.

It’s a weird kiss, different from their normal, their usual. There’s no tongue shoved down her throat (which she almost sadly longs for), no hand on her neck (which is oddly irritating), no hair-pulling or shirt-tugging (which she really fucking craves).

It’s just a kiss on her lips (soft, surprisingly bland yet somehow charming), and then it’s over.

“What the fuck?” She exclaims when he’s pulled back, scratching the space between dark furrowed brows. “What, did you develop some kind of sappy dad hormones as soon as the fucking baby started kicking and screaming?”

“No, I-” He begins, shifts his gaze from the white sheet of her hospital bed to her face, all pink lips and flushed face. “I don’t know, Amy. Fuck!”

He doesn’t know why he kissed her - like that - save for the fact that he wanted to (almost desperately), so he did. Fuck, he feels feverish. He’s flushed, more than she is, has been, and he doesn’t understand why. His breathing is faster than it was a moment ago, and he wants nothing more than to take that kiss back.

“Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” Amy leans back against her pillows, hitches up the bottom of her gown and stretches out her legs. “Fuck.” Her eyes close and she swallows a breath, way too calm for his liking.

Why isn’t she on edge? Why isn’t she begging to be let out of this room? Why isn’t she bribing nurses?

Why isn’t she Amy?

“You know I like you, right?”

“You like me?” She grins despite her eyes remaining closed, and her neck reddens, “Wow, Dan. What a revelation.”

“As in, I like you more than I like anybody else.” Dan shrugs (for no good reason), and he clears his throat with one hand smoothing along the bed railing, “As in, I say I like you, but it’s more than that, and you know it.”

“Oh, I do? Because you’ve made it so blatantly obvious over the years?” She laughs, once, practically hiccups. “Sure, Dan. You like me like that.”

His fingers dance along the thin mattress, curling around the hem of her gown, all pale skin and pastel blue cloth.

Why is she Amy?

“You never wondered why I stayed?”

“Because you think you’re getting something out of this.” She reasons, peeks one eye open and looks at him, flicks both eyes open when she notices his frown. “Jesus Christ, why do you look like someone just reported you as a sex offender? Sort your face out.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong.” He nods. He did get sex out of this. He did get Amy out of this, in some way, in some capacity. He did get a mini version of himself out of this, and his narcissistic ass kind of really loves that part of the deal. “Not entirely.”

“Oh, go on.” Amy smiles, “What am I missing? Why did you stay?”

“Because it’s you.”

Why is she Amy?

Because if she wasn’t, he wouldn’t be Dan.

“Is this the part where I swoon, and you get down on one knee, and the whole hospital staff applauds when I agree to marry you?” She’s smirking - that bitch! - and she licks her lips, holds her breath for a second.

“Is this where we elope and move to the suburbs and fuck maybe once every three months and I don’t let you finish?” Biting her lip, “Is this where you say you love me?”

She drags out that word, and Dan’s face near drowns of all colour. Fuck her.

“You’re a real cunt, you know that?”

She just nods, sheepish, lets the hand in her lap move to brush against his own, toying with her blue gown, “You love this cunt.”

“I do.” His palm runs along her stomach, stops just above the space between her legs. “And you love this dick.”

Amy smiles, ducks her head, understands him straight away yet doesn’t exactly deny it, “Fuck you.”

“Oh, believe me, you will. I’m just waiting until we can leave and they clear you for sex.”

“You’re seriously fucking turned on by this, aren’t you? That’s some next level, twisted mommy-issue shit right there, Dan.”

“Babe, the only mommy I’m thinking about right now is you.”

“If you start calling yourself ‘daddy’, I swear your balls are getting the chop.”

“Daddy Egan?” He boasts, beams.

“Just my luck.”

#dan x amy #fic* #dan egan #amy brookheimer #veep #anon #answered #ship: dan x amy