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nitannichionne · 1 year

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If He Was Your Fan (A Henry Cavill Fan Fic), Chapter 73: Long Lost & Found

Your watch vibrates. Time to get up. Your phone plays Goa, and you open your eyes. You sit up and sigh.

“You comin’ today?” you hear John’s voice call from downstairs.

“I’ll bike over later,” you call back.

“Okay.”

You look out of the window and see the garden below. It’s pretty bare due to the time of year, but it’s still nice to look out. Your vision turns inward as you remember how you got here.

You were dehydrated from crying. Luc stood by you and nuzzled you as you did. You stared out into the night, looking at the moon through the trees. Luc nuzzles you as you just go blank, looking up at the sky. You don’t even know how long you’ve been here, but you took one of Luc’s blankets to keep warm. He still had a thicker blanket and saddle on him.

Suddenly you see a flickering light. You realize it’s a flashlight and freeze, not sure what to do…until you hear John calling you over and over. You sigh, realizing he’s come looking for you, and he sounds worried.

You feel a tinge of guilt and call out. “Here!”

He comes and sits next to you. “I’m not going to ask if you are okay. I know you’re not.”

“I just feel like it’s all falling apart, John.”

“You don’t want to go home, do you?”

You shake your head, still unable to look at him.

“Well, you can stay at my place,” he offers. “I got a cottage not far from here and it’s on my parent’s property. My grandparents used to live there, but they are gone now so it’s mine. It’s nice, and you can go home whenever you’re ready—”

You look at him, and hug him tight. He hugs you back. “Thank you. I’ll pay you for staying, I’ll cook and clean, whatever.”

“Let’s just get out of here, yeah?” He looks around. “This place gives me the creeps.”

“It’s riddled with ghosts, I think,” you joke, but you really believe it.

“So why’d you come out here?” he asks, rising to his feet and offering his hand.

“Sanctuary.”

When you returned, you see Finn’s car still there.

“Thank God,” Finn smiles with relief. “Is your phone off?”

“Yes, I turned it off.”

He takes a deep breath. “If you like, I can take you home.”

“I’m not going home, thank you,” you tell him. “I am staying at a friend’s.”

“I can take you—”

“No, I’ve got it,” John nods. “I don’t mind.”

That was three days ago.

You like it here, really like it here.

Churi brought Luna to you, food and all…even picked up a small pan and litter for her. The second she gives you your cat, she hugs you.

“Tell me everything,” she says softly.

“I knew you’d ask,” you nod, and gesture to the kettle boiling.

“I did what you said,” Churi says as you sit down in the kitchen.

“I never thought a stable boy would live—”

“His grandparents’ old home. His parents are in the bigger house.”

“Ah.”

“Did you know he is studying to be a vet?” you inform proudly. “He’s attending the Royal Veterinary College just fifteen minutes up the road. He gets up and works at Trent, goes to school and then goes back to Trent.”

“Wow, he’s really driven.”

“Can you imagine studying all day and working around potential patients for the rest of it—”

Churi puts her hand on yours. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Are you okay?” she asks you.

“I just…needed to breathe,” you admit. “Going back to the apartment felt like something I couldn’t handle. I mean…he put my desk together, we made love everywhere, I just—he was the first tea I ever hosted, Chiru!”

“Any idea when you’ll be back in Brixton or the city?”

“Soon,” you nod. “He should have left on the junket by now.”

“I think he left today,” she exhales. “He’s been looking for you, calling us.”

“You told him I was alright—”

“Yes, and he was grateful for the emojis you sent-the prayer sign, the plane,” she pauses. “He went to your apartment, you know.”

“I thought he might.”

“Which is why you didn’t go home?” Chiru’s eyebrows raised, and she shook her head at you. “Mitra, you must go home. You can’t stay here forever, can you?”

You sigh. She is right, but you just don’t want to hear it right now.

“Stella is giving me food to bring to you and John, by the way, and she says she’ll call you tonight. Sophie says she’ll come by the stables, too.”

“Good, I’d like to have tea here with you all before I go,” you say. “It’s very peaceful here and Trent isn’t far away. We could make a day of it…or at least a nice ride and tea before John comes home.”

Days go by, and finally you have to go home…well, at least to the recreation centre in Brixton. You told people there never to tell when you’re coming before you started volunteering and if anyone called and asked, to give false dates and let you know. You set that up the second you started volunteering.

Much to your relief, no one was there. For days you were afraid if you left Ferny Hill, you’d be the subject of paparazzi. But, no, no one was there. Then, suddenly:

“Why?” you ask under your breath.

“Because my sis works at Hyde Park and saw something…interesting,” she chuckles. “you are going to be my big break.”

“You want to be a photographer, then?”

“A photo journalist, yes.”

You shake your head. “This may not be the way.” You frown at her. “If you like I can ask if you can look at the programs I work on,” you say with a shrug. “I work with children here, and at a couple of orphanages? That’s more interesting—well, the children are.”

She stands for a moment, and you see her face as she lowers her camera. “You want me to come with you?”

“This is the story, uh—”

“Dana.”

“Dana,” you reply. “You got a boyfriend? Girlfriend? Lover?”

She frowns.

“Ah, so you understand why I am not answering those questions,” you say. “No matter what you think, it’s still private. But this? It’s still good information, and a story can be written about it.”

You get the centre director’s permission to take pictures of certain places inside, and with a signed agreement, she could take the pictures as long as the children’s faces were not depicted for public consumption and the centre got altered and unaltered copies.

All in all, it was a nice afternoon, three hours total. You say your thanks and goodbyes, and head for the train station…

But then you notice it: four men get out of a dark car and start following you.

You see them. It’s so obvious. You switch streets, and they are not far behind. They split and inner alarms go off. If you go into a building they plan on covering the back.

Why? Why is this happening?

You draw a shaky breath. Henry is out of the country. You don’t care what is going on, and you want him here, but that’s nonsense. You duck into call Finn on your cell phone.

“Hey, love—”

“Finn—”

“What’s wrong?”

“Finn, I—I’m being followed.”

“Followed? By whom?”

“I don’t know—”

He chuckles lightly. “Are you sure--?”

“Yes!” you lower your voice as you duck into Argos Brixton. The department store is a decent size, and if you can just duck here or there you might be able to get out. “I’m coming to Trent, alright? Something is up.”

You buy a white fleece hoodie, black jacket and large gray backpack. You make the switch in housewares, putting your coat and bag in the large one and donning your new outerwear. You run to the bathroom to use the soap then to the bath area and find some samples to change the smell and look of the coat. You change your boots for gym sneakers you brought with you. You are a mixture of bathroom soap and bubble gum. You pull out your phone and hold it, pretend to text. Since you aren’t very tall, you could be mistaken for a teen.

To your relief, you find some teens from the center, and you mix in. Some say hello, having seen you and you smile. They keep talking and you follow as one of the pack. Luckily they are headed in the direction of the tube. You wave goodbye as if you know them all, some even waving back, and get on.

You are trying not to shake and you are trying not to look weird. You get off a few stops before you are supposed to, and take a bus to Trent. You walk in, and start running as soon as you pass through the gate. “Finn!” You race inside the stables. “F—”

You freeze. The very men you evaded are standing there!

“They got here just before you did,” Finn explains.

You are about to run when you hear a gun click. Your hands go up.

“Bloody hell, Wilson! That’s not necessary.”

“Tired of running after her, Graham,” a deep voice grounds out. “Stop where you are.”

You turn to them.

“Lower your hands, madam, you are not under arrest—”

“Why are you here?!” you snap. “Why are you following me?”

“May we use your office?” the less aggressive one asks.

“Yes, of course,” Finn looks utterly intimidated and you feel unsafe.

You all file into Finn’s office, but the door is closed on Finn.

“I am Graham, and my trigger-happy partner here is Wilson.”

Wilson nods, and puts his hands behind his back, standing at attention.

You shake your head. “I don’t know why you’re here—”

“I know.” Graham says gently.

You start going into your leg pack. “I’m pretty sure I’ve done nothing wrong, and my passport and visas are in order—”

“We know that, too.” Wilson says gruffly.

“if you were in my place, wouldn’t you be a bit nervous, panicked, even?”

Graham sits across from you and leans in. His demeanor is relaxed and gentle, as if he was speaking to a frightened child, and you are willing to accept his instead of anything negative.

“Allow me to explain, milady.”

You breath catches and you frown. What did he just say?

@mistress-of-ward @nuggsmum @messyinsomniacbookgirl @jencanbeyouryengeralt @sweetdreamsofgelato @mary-ann84 @omgkatinka @the-soot-sprite @viking-raider @keanureevesisbae @henryobsessed @summersong69 @kinbhot4henners @sunshine96love @michelehansel @radofrivia @thelastsock @defffcc @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocksn @mrskikirazz @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @musicartmayheminmyheart @michelehansel @tumblnewby @defffcc @tenaciousneckpartypainter @rn7rocksn @daydreamin83 @ruthoakenshield @forallthebrokenheartedthings @alphacancrii @liquorlaughslove @designerewriterchic @sofiebstar @tamychm @nikkilynn303 @circesgirl @aaescritora @xoxohannahlee @pixie88 @fckdeusername@maan24@rn7rocks @kaatelyyynn @october505 @absentmindedreader @introvertedmouse

#henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you

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shinsoussimp · 4 years

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all right, you said it’s fine, so here’s another one 🤍 (yes, i’m addicted to your writings so :0 )

mirio? big yes. hurt/comfort with a gay reader? definitely.

so like, the reader used to study in another school, and had been outed and everyone in his class were very mean and rude about that. so now it’s his biggest fear to be outed again, but he really falls in love with mirio after some time. they spend a lot of time together, and get really close. reader doesn’t know mirio likes him back because for him, every person will be mad at (y/n) for liking boys (because of the past trauma yk). and one day someone from their class accidentally activated their “saying truth” quirk on reader and confession to mirio just slips from his lips in front of him and the whole class. and like, after that he runs away in absolute panic, thinking everyone will mock and hate him again. he starts avoiding mirio just not to see him disappointed, when in reality togata just wants to say he likes him back? 🥺 so one day he just catches him and doesn’t let him to run? 🥺 saying he would love to be his boyfriend 👉🏻👈🏻 maybe a bit comforting from classmates yk? sorry it’s so long again 😞🤍

a/n: sephiii you’re requests are always amazing :) i would never say no to you sending one in! i hope you like it!!

a/n: y/h/n= your hero name, also i said parent (they/them) in an effort to be more inclusive, i don’t know people’s family life. if you have any other ideas where i can be more inclusive, please let me know!

TW: homophobia, violence (shoving), blackmail

a/n: requests are open! (p.s. i’m on a mirio kick right now to let everyone know ahaha)

Mirio x homophobia

becoming a hero was always your dream, since you were a little kid. you didn’t want anything standing in the way of that. so when you finally made your way to shiketsu high, you were determined to never let anyone find out about you being gay. but somehow, it still happened.

“yo, y/h/n!” a second year student ran up to you as you were walking to the cafeteria and threw his arm around your shoulder, “can you do a favor for me?~” he always would get you to help him cheat on exams, but at this point, you were tired of breaking the rules.

“dude i can’t keep doing this. i’m not gonna risk getting in trouble so you can get good grades. try studying.” you huff while shaking his arm off you. he moves to stand in front of you to block your path as you try to get to your table, and he gets visibly more and more angry.

“seriously?” he says through clenched teeth. you could tell he was one of those kids who was too used to getting what he wants whenever he wants it, and he doesn’t know how to handle anything different.

“i’m serious. we would’ve been caught some day.” you try to move around him but he grabs your arm and starts pulling you to the middle of the cafeteria.

“fine. then i guess i’m gonna have to tell everyone your little secret.” shit. you had gotten so used to helping him you forgot the reason why you began your little deal in the first place, he knew you were gay. before you could stop him, he had already begun.

“hey, everyone! i have a little announcement that you all would enjoy. y/n over here, y/h/n if you will, is gay.” you weren’t able to cover his mouth without him grabbing your wrists and holding them down by your sides so he could continue talking, “that’s right, he likes dick. do with that what you will~” he shoves you back a bit when he finally lets go of your arms, and waltzes out of the cafeteria like nothing even happened. everyone starts gossiping around you, giving you weird looks as you run off into the bathroom.

once the bell rang and you needed to go to class, you tried to get there early, so you didn’t need to walk in front of a full classroom. you sat in the back today, but that didn’t mean you were invisible. it started with the girls that sat in front of you giggling, then one of the boys that only had your number for a group project sent you an eggplant emoji. but the cherry on top was one of the most well known boys in your class coming up to you and asking, for everyone to hear, if you were trying to suck his dick. luckily the second bell rang and the teacher came in, forcing them all to back off for now, but this lasted for the next week. it lasted up until you couldn’t take it anymore. you stood up and stormed out of the classroom and never returned. you didn’t go to school for the rest of the year. and with you refusing to return to shiketsu high, you thought your dream of being a hero was ruined. but one morning your parent mentioned the idea of applying to ua.

even though you thought you had no chance of getting in, you took a chance. you went to the admissions office, sent in your application, did all the interviews, and now it was time to wait. and now after a long summer, you finally got a letting from ua.

you got in.

not only were you thrilled to be admitted to the best school for heros, you were thrilled that you never had to go back to shiketsu. you could start over, continue your hero journey. and hopefully you would not get in another situation like last time.

your first two months at your new school went great. you were a second year now, and getting to do many new and exciting things with your training. you made great friends and even developed a bit of a crush. this was dangerous territory, since you didn’t want anyone to know about your sexuality, but you couldn’t stop yourself from hanging out with him. the person in question? mirio togata. the cute third year you passed by in the halls and always came in your class to talk about his experience as lemillion. and you got to call him your friend. you two trained together, you hung out with him and the rest of the big three after school, and he always made sure to join you during lunch breaks at school. in such a short period of time, you two became best friends. and you would never risk messing that friendship up.

but then one day, the unthinkable happens. you thought since things had been going so well for so long, you were in the clear. nobody seemed to know, shiketsu kids didn’t snitch, and training was going incredibly. you and a group of second and third years were hanging out in an empty classroom when someone suggested playing truth or dare.

the rules were simple, pick dare and someone picks a dare for you to do, pick truth and you would be hit by your classmate, asami’s quirk. her quirk was called confession. when in effect, you will be compelled to spill one of your deepest secrets. but you seemed to have a bit of a misunderstanding of her quirk. you didn’t get to choose which secret. so little did you know, your fake secret that you ‘once called your teacher mom in 3rd grade’ was not going to be of use.

“you excited?” mirio plopped down next to you happily. you nodded, because you were. you were genuinely excited to have a friend group and play stupid games like this.

after a few rounds, mostly of people picking dare, you wanted to be the one to switch it up. so once mirio finished bawking like a chicken and walking all around the room with his arms bent like wings, you prepared for your turn.

“truth or dare, y/n?”

“truth.” everyone dramatically gasps, then all bursting out into a fit of laughing, talking about how you had some balls to pick truth. asami sat down in front of you and took a deep breath to prepare herself.

“you ready?” she smiles. you nod, letting her hand brush yours. you felt a rush of warmth through your body then suddenly your mouth was moving.

“i’m gay. i’m really fucking gay and i like mirio.” your hand slaps over your mouth, your stomach dropping as your whole body starts shaking. that was not what you wanted to say. but there is no going back now, and you didn’t want to be here when everyone started teasing you. you especially didn’t want to see what mirio had to say about it. you didn’t want to see the disappointment that would surely be on his face. you jump up and race out of the room, ignoring mirio’s pleas for you to stop running.

he was sent to talk in your class that day, but he didn’t see you. you had decided to go home early for the day. would you really have to leave ua? you were beside yourself with anger and sadness, having to leave the best school because of a stupid game spilling your secret. you knew when you returned there would be endless teasing. it was possible that your friend group spilled the beans to the whole school and now even the first years knew. your parent tried to take your feelings into account, but they wanted to remind you of your dream, your biggest passion.

“you want to save people. it doesn’t matter if you’re gay, you can still protect people, that doesn’t stop anything.” you keep your face shoved into the pillow you were hugging close to your chest as they spoke. they took a deep breath and placed a comforting hand on your back, “look worse case scenario, they told everyone, and now people tease you. they’ll probably get over it, and if not, it’s only two more years. then you get to live your dream happily, as yourself.”

their words encouraged you to return to school after about a week. but you still couldn’t face your friend group. especially mirio. so when the lunch bell rang, you left the school building and made your way to the side of it to eat lunch out on a bench by some trees. you figured that mirio or some of your friends saw you, but you prayed that they wouldn’t follow you. sadly those prayers would go unanswered because next thing you know you hear a familiar voice shouting your name. you turn around and see mirio jogging towards you. you turn around and start walking faster in an effort to avoid him, but right as you arrive at the bench you’re stopped by his hand wrapping around your arm.

“would you talk to me?!” he pulls your arm, making you turn around, “you drop a bomb like that and then fall off the face of the earth for a week?!” you sigh and set down your lunch and bag behind you, still not saying anything.

“y/n seriously. what the hell?”

“if you came here to make fun of me, just get it over with.” you finally look up at him, all of your walls up taller than ever before as you prepared to have your heart broken.

“what are you talking about?” his face has confusion written all over it but it has to be fake. he’s trying to trick you into thinking you’re safe then he’ll talk about how stupid you are to all of your other friends that has to be-

“you really think i would make fun of you?” his voice is soft and even in such a high stress moment, still puts butterflies in your belly. but he’s lying.. he has to be. he’s gonna react how everyone else did.

“y/n, i would never.” he takes a step towards you and reaches out his hand, but you slap it away taking another step back.

“i’m not gonna fall for it! you all are gonna react exactly how all those dumbass shiketsu kids did!” tears start streaming down your face and you realize that you’re shaking again. you sit down on the bench behind you and put your face in your hands as uncontrollable sobs kept coming. mirio knelt down in front of you and put his hands on your knees.

“i like you too.” your head shoots up and you look at him with wide eyes.

“w-what?”

“if you hadn’t ran out the day you said it, you would have heard that i like you too. and i didn’t know if you were gay or not but i really wanted to find out.” you relax a bit as your brain tries to comprehend the idea of something like this happening, “they all said that i was a lovestruck idiot... and they were all accepting.” he held your hands in his as you lifted your head so you could look at him.

“they all love you. and they’ve been worried sick, wondering what happened to you. but most of all me. i thought you left the school i-” he pauses to take a deep breath, “i thought i lost you.” his grip on your hands tightens. suddenly the tears streaming down your face were tears of joy, accompanied by a few laughs. he stands up and pulls you up with him, wrapping his arms around you, swallowing you in a warm bear hug.

“i would love to be your boyfriend, if you’re okay with that.” you giggle into his chest and grip onto the back of his shirt.

“i am okay with that.” he pulls his head back a bit to look at you, for a few moments not saying anything just making a smug face at you.

“i was hoping you would be, i mean you are ‘really fucking gay’“ he teases. you smack his chest as you shake your head, laughing. he explains how you should go talk to your friends and explain what happened, then you two could tell them the good news. he even started planning a date as you two made your way back to the school building, while holding hands of course.

you didn’t know it was possible, but you were going to be okay. you were going to be able to be yourself. you couldn’t wait for what the rest of your time at ua would hold.

#mirio togata #mirio x male reader #mirio angst #mirio fic #bnha fic #bnha angst #mha angst #mirio bnha #mirio fluff #bnha fluff

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halloweenhoneylover · 4 years

Text

the closing shift

summary: coffeeshop au babey!! spencer and reader are nerds in love who also work at the campus cafe together (spencer reid x fem!reader)

word count: 2.7k

author’s note: this one’s for u, anon!!! sorry if this is lame, i normally don’t like coffeeshop au’s but here we are. also a warning: there is a lot of doctor who junk in here and also it’s incredibly self-indulgent but i don’t care :)

“So what you’re saying is you don’t like the power of love and human goodness?”

Spluttering frustratedly, Spencer frowned at you, “Of course, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think that the special effects were cheesy and the plot was sometimes a little silly!”

You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment before relenting with a sigh, focusing back on the counter you were wiping down. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit that the Slitheen really did not look good, and that maybe ‘Love and Monsters’ was one of the stupidest episodes of television I’ve ever watched, but you have to admit that Ten’s monologue in ‘The Satan Pit’ was one of the best pieces of writing in the whole show. ‘If I believe in one thing, I believe in her?’ How were you not screaming at your TV when you watched that!”

Spencer lips curled into a small smile as you continued rambling and absent-mindedly cleaning the counter. You were not doing a very good job, but he wasn’t about to stop your spiel. It wasn’t often he was on the receiving end of a ramble, and as someone who was frequently told to shut up, he would never interrupt, especially when it was about his favorite show. Especially when it was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. No, he’d sit quietly and listen, thank you very much.

“Okay,” she brought her full attention back to Spencer. “I’ll forgive you for your horrible offence. If you take back what you said.”

She looked so intently in his eyes, so sincerely his knees wobbled a little. The full force of her attention was like the sun. He felt warm inside and out, but he might be burned from the intensity of its direct glare.

“Fine, season two of Doctor Who is not a complete abomination.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a satisfied smirk. “Well, thank you, Dr. Reid. I appreciate the kind words.”

He nodded, turning to the back room. He’d almost made it through the doorway before he muttered just loud enough for you to hear, “But season eight is better.”

A melodramatic gasp, and he felt a rag hit the back of his head, and he chuckled.

“You take that back, Spencer Reid!”

Making his way further in, his fingers found the knot behind his back, quickly untying and shrugging off the apron. “(Y/N), I only speak the truth. I’m a man of science, and science says that season eight is simply superior.”

You laughed along with him, murmuring grievances against this idiot genius. You reached behind yourself, fingers fumbling with the knot. After a couple unsuccessful attempts, you huffed and asked, “Hey, Spencer, do you think you could help me with my apron? I tied the stupid thing too tightly.”

He gulped, mumbling a sure thing in a way he hoped was nonchalant, but knowing himself, was anything but. Walking up behind you, he felt himself involuntarily shudder at your proximity, and he said a silent prayer to a god he didn’t believe in to try to keep his cool. You felt his fingers brush against your lower back, and you tried, gosh, you tried so hard to not audibly gasp (you’re not sure you succeeded). The brief contact unfortunately flooded your mind with thoughts about his long fingers that you had often admired (discreetly), and you thought about what it’d be like for him to touch you and for him to mean it, and you nearly passed out. The silence was deafening, which was funny because it seemed like you two could never shut up around each other, and the one time you needed to fill the tense air with something, there was nothing.

Finally finished with the knot, Spencer softly tapped your back twice with his index. “All done.” It came out as a whisper. He couldn’t have managed more.

“Thanks!” You spoke at normal volume and tried to put you back into regular conversation, but breaking the eerie quiet, it sounded like you were shouting.

He shot you a tight-lipped smile. “Are you all good to close up?”

“Yeah, I can hold down the fort,” you said rather breathlessly, returning his smile.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he pushed open the back door and waved. “See you Thursday!”

“See ya.”

As soon as the door shut, you heaved a sigh of relief and let the tension out of your shoulders, staring at the ground. You dug the heels of your palms into your eyes. Why did you freeze up like that? Why was it weird when he left? Why did you like him so much?

———

Thursday was Spencer’s favorite day of the week. The dining hall stocked chocolate donuts with rainbow sprinkles on Thursdays. He had his chemistry seminar with his favorite professor on Thursdays. Caltech’s chess club met on Thursdays. He worked his shift at The Campus Grind on Thursdays.

(You worked the same shift at The Campus Grind on Thursdays.)

Did Spencer really need a job? No, his education was entirely paid for by the school because when you have a child prodigy on your hands, you should try to keep them. And he lived in on-campus housing and ate on campus, and he didn’t have a lot of other expenses. But his advisor told him that he might get something out of doing a job that didn’t require 100% of his brain power, might get to rest his mind for a couple hours every week. He might also make a friend.

What he had not anticipated when he started at one of the various campus cafes was meeting you. He showed up to his first shift and nearly choked when he saw arguably the most beautiful girl he had ever met in the backroom putting on an apron. Your eyes lit up when you saw him. “Hey, you must be Spencer! I saw our names together on the schedule a couple times, looks like we’re gonna be work buddies!”

By the time you turned back to speak to your guys’ new manager, he noticed his jaw was completely slack, and he hoped his mouth had not been hanging too long. He also blacked out too long to ask for your name, which he was internally hitting himself over. And he hazily drifted through the training, his mind barely focusing on the coffee. To say he was distracted by the girl next to him and the way she smelled like coconuts and cotton was a major understatement. Times like these were humbling for a twenty-year-old with two and a half PhDs.

He could barely recall anything that happened until they were cleaning out the espresso machine together silently, and he was struck with a sudden need. “Hey, I never caught your name…”

“Right! My name is (Y/N),” she answered, offering him a grin.

“It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N).”

Neither spoke after that, both working quietly next to each other. Spencer sighed internally, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but he hoped they wouldn’t spend the semester in silence. And like some higher power was listening to his wishes, you turned to him, “So, Spencer, what are you majoring in?”

Hesitant to scare you off, he tiptoed around the subject. “Right now, I’m studying chemistry.”

“Right now?”

He glanced over at you, and despite knowing you for the entirety of ten minutes, he couldn’t deny you or the inquisitive gleam in your eye even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to. “I’m working on my PhD in chemistry. I already have two in mathematics and engineering. Oh, and I have two BA’s in psychology and sociology.” He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty at the dumbfounded look on your face, and he swallowed harshly. “Um, uh—what uh, what are you studying?”

You let out a brief laugh, and for a moment, he cringed, wondering if you were laughing at him. But just a look at you and the tenderness of your features, he knew he had nothing to worry about. Blowing a puff of air out, you grinned gently, “Well, your PhD’s are putting my bachelor’s to shame, so I’m not sure I want to say.”

“No, I’m sure whatever you’re studying is cool,” he reassured you.

Pleasantly surprised by the humility of your new genius coworker, you continued, “I appreciate it. I tend to err on the side of the humanities, not much of a STEM gal myself, and right now,” you both chuckled at your little joke, “I’m studying history and political science.”

“So am I standing in the presence of a future lawyer, or maybe the next president of the United States?”

“Good question, but I’m not sure. Would you vote for me?”

Squinting at you for a moment, he nodded slowly, “Yeah, I think I would. You’ve got a kind face.”

You raised your eyebrows at that, trying to suppress a blush. “A kind face?”

“Yeah,” he hummed, eyes flicking over your face. You felt shy under his gaze; it’s not everyday a hot genius boy stares you down and tells you you have a ‘kind face.’

Ducking your head, you fought a smile. “Alright, I’ll take it.”

And from then on, something clicked. You and Spencer talked for hours and hours during your shifts, joking and teasing (and grinning and blushing). He looked forward to working because that meant a chance to see you. (Except for Mondays, that was the one shift you didn’t have together, and it made Spencer want to scream. The dude he worked with, Andy, was nice enough, but the hours seemed to drag on when he didn’t have you to discuss weird sci-fi movies with.)

He was particularly looking forward to this Thursday because he knew you had a big presentation in your class about African revolution, and he wanted to hear all about it. In the brief moments of spare time at the cafe, he had helped you prepare and had listened to bits and pieces of it. This morning he’d sent you a quick good luck! text, to which you’d responded with thanks!!! and a stream of various heart emojis. He had learned early on that you were very fond of emojis, but it never stopped his heart from skipping a beat when you’d send him little hearts and smileys.

Entering the back room, he set his backpack on a hook and started to get ready for his shift. He gave a quick wave to the people from the last shift as they left, and he felt a little worry boiling in his gut because if they had left, that meant you were late, and you were never late. He wondered if something had happened in your presentation, and he was filled with dread. Solitarily manning the counter, he was ensnared in his thoughts; he couldn’t stand the idea of something going wrong and you being upset, so upset that you couldn’t come to work. He shifted uncomfortably, hand itching to grab his phone and send you a text to see if you were okay when he heard a door slam and a shriek from the backroom. “Spencer!”

Immediately, he ran to the back, expecting the worst, and he nearly fell over when you ran at him full-speed to launch into a hug. “Oof—” He recovered though, catching you, and he wrapped his arms around you so tightly and cradled the back of your head in his hand. His heart stuttered. He could get used to this.

You buried your face into his neck. “Oh, Spencer, you won’t believe it. My presentation went so well! My professor held me after class and told me I was one of his brightest students, and oh, I just don’t believe it!” He felt your face warm against him as you gushed.

“I believe it, I don’t doubt it for a second. You are so smart, (Y/N). I’m so proud of you. You deserve it.”

Breathing him in for just a moment longer, you finally released him, and both of you thought how everything feels a little emptier now that you weren’t holding each other. He couldn’t help but beam at you, though.

“Really, (Y/N), I’m so proud of you.”

“Hey, I can’t take all the credit! It’s all thanks to you being patient enough to hear me blabber on and practice, so thank you, Dr. Reid.”

He got incredibly flustered at the title and hesitated over his next words before settling on a soft anytime. And he meant it.

———

The rest of your shift that day was less eventful. You recounted some of the highlights of your presentation, to which Spencer listened with rapture. There was some discussion of who was at chess club today and if anyone there was a true match for Spencer (no one was). You played your favorite game called “Who Can Make the Most Disgusting Drink Out of Four Ingredients?” (You won with a mixture of coffee, coffee grounds, an excessive amount of salt, and raspberry syrup. (Ew, (Y/N) why is it grainy?)) And now nearing midnight, you sat at one end of the bar reading your textbook while Spencer cleaned up various mugs and napkins. He snagged the broom from the backroom and began sweeping. With a quick glance up at you focused entirely on your book, he smiled softly. Pieces of your hair had drifted out from behind your ears and framed your face, and the apples of your cheeks were flushed. To put it simply, you looked ethereal, and Spencer didn’t think it should be possible for someone to look so beautiful at the end of a long day, but here you were, always defying expectations. He thought you looked like someone from those Renaissance paintings you loved so dearly, but he knew that even if someone tried to commit your grace to canvas, it’d be to no avail. He was sure no one would be able to do you justice.

Looking down at the floor he was supposed to be sweeping, he let his thoughts wander farther. He thought about what it would be like to hold you everyday like he did today. He’d be the luckiest man on Earth, that’s what. For so long he thought about asking you out, but then he knew that someone like you would never be interested in someone like him. But then again, you were the impossible girl. You never did quite what he expected. And he never expected you to be into him. So maybe for once in his life, he’d go out on a limb and ask you if you wanted to go get dinner with him sometime. He’d take you to the Indian place on 12th that he knew you loved, and you’d sit in the oddly formal, always empty restaurant and laugh and giggle together because that’s what you always did together, and then maybe, he’d invite you back to his place, so you could watch Doctor Who, or maybe do other things (like hold hands), who knows?

He found himself praying to that god he didn’t believe in once again to find the courage as he finished up sweeping, and after he put the broom away, he walked up to you with butterflies running rampant in his stomach, so he could barely muster a glance at you. But he was going to finally do it.

“(Y/N), I —”

And that’s when he noticed that you had fallen asleep on your book. It had been a long day for you. He felt his heart grow tender and soft and if someone poked it, it very well might explode. His thoughts strayed to your conversation the other day and the quote you loved so much. I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just one thing, I believe in her. He takes a step or two closer, and brushing a lock of hair behind your ear with the gentlest hand, he thinks, yeah. I believe in her.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #do people read things at 2 in the morning?#lets hope so!#bc that's the only time i write :)#my sleep schedule is not :) good :)

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sapphicmsmarvel · 3 years

Text

Ghost Of You

song for this fic: ghost of you

hp masterlist

regular masterlist

Big TW for drug addiction, suicide, grief.

I wrote this after my sister's death in march, the exact same cause.

I was just able to finish this three months later, the ending is so abrupt because I don’t know what life is like after this kind of grief.

We may have disliked each other, but she was still my older sister.

This is how I'm able to cope, read it or not. Fanfic has saved my life many times and has helped me deal with losses.

harry potter was the only thing that got me through that, and that is still getting me through that.

-Fred admired the fact that you loved Ginny as if she were your own sibling.

-As far as he knew you were an only child.

-No matter what, you immediately would drop anything to help Ginny.

-When Fred and George befriended you their first year, they mentioned they have a little sister so you knew of her existence when she came to Hogwarts (as well as Ron but he’ll get his own chapter).

-Fred and George introduced you two, the twins would never admit it out loud but they were worried about her. She’s the baby of the family.

-Pretty soon you two had inside jokes, a secret handshake and were able to communicate just by looks.

-When Fred was dealing with his feelings for you, Ginny called him out on his shit. “Just ask her out.”

“Gin, do you really think she’ll feel the same?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny what I know.” Was her only response as she walked away.

-He confessed later that day.

-12 year old Ginny was a matchmaker for two clueless sixteen year olds.

-Fred quickly realized that Ginny looked up to you.

-It made his heart warm.

-But then he realized something.

-You and him were getting ready for dinner at your home.

When he turned to you, “Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” You turned to Fred.

“I know I’ve never asked you this. But I just realized, some girls I've dated, they immediately would kind of shun Ginny, why did you take to her so quickly?”

“You were my best friend, why would I reject your younger sister?”

“Even then, why?”

You sighed. “I never had a good relationship with my older siblings. Hell, they’re out there right now and I’ve never mentioned them to you.”

“Why?”

“For a reason.” Was all you said. “They abandoned me. My sister she…” You shook your head. “I was expected to raise her two children whenever I was home at the age of fourteen. Notice how I was always stressed at the end of a school year or going home for a holiday?”

“Yeah.”

“It was because I was helping take care of her children. My parents also raised them. But for some reason, every time she got addicted to drugs again, that expectation went to me. To be their mother. Nobody wanted her to clean up her act, they assumed that I would be the one to take care of them.”

“What’d your sister do?” He sat next to you.

“What didn’t she do?” You sighed, setting down the photos your Mum sent. “Addicts, they deserve so much help. But then there's my sister, who goes to rehab even though her plan was to get addicted again because she wants to please her parents rather than actually get clean for her children.” You shook your head, “sorry to get so angry, I just hate the people who give mental illnesses a bad name.”

He held out his hand, you grasped it. “When my magic developed, it was the same dynamic as Lily Potter and her sister. We were close and then...I had magic. There was a chance I wouldn’t because of the fact that my dads a muggle and my mums a witch. Whereas, my brother and sister are technically my half siblings, so they are muggles. When they learned of the Wizarding World, they were excited. New things, magic, blah, blah.” You swallowed.

“Then when I was ten, my brother got up and walked out of my life, never giving a reason. My sister's addiction was hidden for another four years after that. That’s when the chaos started.”

He nodded and kissed your cheek. You took a deep breath, “I’m honestly glad you asked, my dad texted me, she’s gonna be there tonight.”

He swallowed, “we’re a team alright? Give a signal and we’ll leave.”

“What’s the signal?”

“Uh,” he searched for something. “Say Georgie texted you, that he fucked some shit up I don’t know.” He laughed.

You laughed, “I will.” He kissed you forehead.

-The dinner did not go well.

-It ended with a horrible fight between your sister and you. So badly that Fred was worried it was about to turn physical. He sat with your nieces, the three of them watching nervously as the bullets of your words slammed into one another.

-That’s when your sister said they were leaving, took her kids and left. Your dad was furious at you, blaming you for the fight when it was your sister who threw the first dagger.

You sighed, and looked at Fred, “forgot to tell you, Georgie texted me earlier.”

-On the drive home, he held your hand. There was no sound coming from either of you, no music as the car flew to your apartment in Diagon Alley.

-You both walked in your shared apartment, you walked to the bathroom immediately, he got ready for bed. He was worried. You had never been so silent before.

-You walked out of the bathroom and joined him on the bed. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. “What for?”

“For making you endure that stupid fight.”

“Never apologize for standing your ground.” He kissed your cheek.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too, how about we go to the Burrow tomorrow, have the day with some family and relax. We can head over tomorrow morning.”

“They won't mind?”

“Like our family needs an excuse.” He wrapped you in his arms and you two dozed off.

-And then while you were at the burrow, you got a text message.

It was the worst day of your life.

Call me sweetheart.

It was your mom, you excused yourself to a greenhouse the Weasleys had added to their house. You called her:

“Mum? What’s up?”

“She's dead, sweetheart.”

“What?” Your heart stopped, you knew in your gut who it was. You knew but yet, you still had hope she wasn’t gone.

Your mother then confirmed your worst fear, that your sister was dead.

You numbingly agreed to your Mums idea of coming home for a couple weeks. And then said you needed a moment.

Your Mum agreed. While your sister wasn’t even her child, she felt for you.

You set your phone down on the glass table and sat down on the wicker couch.

You held your head in your hands.

You had a horrible fight with her the night before, she died thinking you hated her. She died thinking there would be no hope for your relationship.

She died thinking her little sister wanted her gone.

Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.

Your memories began to play on autopilot, of what she was like before the addiction, of being happy and actually having a relationship with each other.

Oh god, her kids.

Before your mind could spiral anymore, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up with tears in your eyes at Fred, who immediately wrapped you in his arms.

“What is it?”

“She’s gone.” You whispered. You weren’t sobbing, your tears were a constant river down your cheeks.

“Who, love?”

Then you said your sister's name, and he squeezed you tighter. You felt him press kisses to your hair.

After 30 minutes, his twin came looking. Fred immediately sheltered you away from the eyes of someone else. Fred began whispering to George what had happened.

Your phone began to buzz with messages, you silenced your phone immediately.

Fred walked over as George stood in the doorway in complete shock. “Georgies gonna distract the family while you head upstairs. I’ll talk to them.”

You nodded, he kissed your cheek.

You numbly walked up to Fred and George’s room to hide away from people to deal with your feelings. You crawled into Fred’s bed, enjoying the warmth and the smell of cinnamon that drowned your senses.

About thirty minutes later, you heard a knock on the door, you did not have the energy to turn around. It opened.

“Y/N/N?” Ginny's gentle voice whispered the nickname only she could call you.

“Hey Gin.” You whispered, not turning around.

You heard the door shut, then you heard her soft footsteps as she walked to the bed. You felt the bed dip as she sat down. “Sister time?”

You nodded and turned around, she immediately laid down next to you, she pulled a blanket on top of you two. You two were facing each other.

“Fred told you I assume?” You laughed without any humor behind it.

She nodded, “they told us all.”

“How did George distract you?”

She rolled her eyes, “the idiot ran outside and slipped in mud so we’d all go find him and laugh or help out.”

Your laugh cracked as it left your mouth. “He looked scared when he found Freddie and I.”

“We thought you guys were fighting.” She admitted.

You huffed a laugh through your nose. She asked, “are you okay?”

“I dont know.” You said helplessly. “We didn’t have a good relationship, her and I. I’m more emotionally drained right now. I cried it all out in Fred’s arms earlier. At least she’s not in pain anymore.” You said sadly. “Addiction is a true mental illness, I wish more people cared about these people.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I have no idea how to respond to I’m sorries so imagine I'm sending you heart emojis right now.”

She nodded. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“No, unless you can respond to my extended family texting me right now with their useless prayers and words.”

“I can if you want me to.”

“Oh yeah? What will you say?”

“Stop shoving words down her throat and let the girl breathe.”

You two giggled, “I have half a mind to let you do that.”

“Say the word and it’s done.”

“I love you, Gin.”

“I love you too.”

The two of you continued to talk, about your sister and what happened between you two. About a quidditch match, anything.

The morning of the funeral, Freddie sat down next to you on the twin bed you two had to share at your parents house.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I think I've figured out the worst part of this situation.”

“What?”

“That we’ll never know if it was a suicide or not.”

He gripped your hand tighter.

At the funeral, you had Ginny holding one hand, and Fred holding the other. The other Weasley’s were all in attendance, even Percy. Fleur came out with Bill as well as Charlie.

You didn't realize how concerned every single Weasley sibling was. Percy had never seen you so stoic, Fleur and Bill had never witnessed you be so withdrawn, Hermione and Ron have never seen you so emotionless, so cold to your surroundings. George was concerned for his new sister, Ginny was feeling for you, her best friend. Harry was grieving for you, his older sister figure.

Fred hated seeing you so unlike yourself.

Her kids sat with their step-siblings. So you sat with the Weasleys. Molly and Arthur cried, not just for your sister, but they knew you lost a piece of yourself with her that you’d never get back.

Your father and you had never had a lovey relationship, even with his daughter dead, your guard was so high up you couldn’t bring it down to give an affection to anyone but Freddie.

Your older sister's funeral was an event that you had not planned for.

You would now grow older than your older sister.

-After the funeral you and the girls were in your bedroom. Fred knew you needed some girl time. The boys and parents were downstairs with yours.

“I don’t know where to go from here.” You admitted.

They all looked at you in response, you continued. “Even though we didn’t like each other, I always thought she’d be there.” You felt the painful prickle of tears. You sniffed. Ginny reached for your hand.

With your free hand, you gestured to the bag in the corner. “That’s her bag, I have to go through that. I can’t make my parents do it.”

“We’re here for you.” Hermione said.

“I can still feel her, like her ghost is following me everywhere.” You confessed.

“I wish we had another chance at being sisters.”

The ending is so abrupt because I can’t relive the feelings I had after my sister's death. The last line of this sums it up though.

#Harry Potter #slytherin #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x slytherin!reader

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Text

Almost: Ch 6

Summary: Dean is a little too distracted by everything Cas. Even when he tells himself he has to move on and just be happy for his old best friend. But it's hard when Cas is now just a text message away again.

Read on AO3 link (maybe leave a nice little comment?)

Word Count: 2959 More Under The Cut

“Rich people really don’t eat, huh?” Charlie said as Dean gets into the drive-through line for some burgers and shakes. She leaned forward on the seat, her head closer to Dean’s as she tried to look at the menu. “Well, at least I know what their houses look like.”

“Why did we have to leave in such a hurry anyway?” Sam was in the passenger seat also staring at the menu before he turned to Charlie. “Are you getting a chocolate one or vanilla? I’ll get the opposite of you.”

“I’ll get chocolate. You get vanilla and Dean can get the strawberry one.” Charlie decides, patting Dean’s head. “Yeah, why did we leave? Didn’t dreamy little Cas just get there?”

Dean rolls his eyes but doesn’t look back at them as they made kissing noises at him. “I won’t buy you guys shit if you keep this up.”

That shut them up pretty quickly. Good. Dean was still trying to process what was even said. Cas’s number felt like it was burning in his pocket. He felt stupid for wanting to call him already just to hear his name being said by Cas’s dumb raspy voice. Years of not hearing it really was catching up to him.

Sam then hit Dean’s arm to grab his attention. “Dude, we’re next.”

“Oh.” He went up to the speaker and ordered whatever Charlie kept telling him to say. He wasn’t sure if he got something for himself or even how much it was, just handing his card over when he got to the window.

Charlie and Sam must have noticed his mind was somewhere else. Lost in the tingle that still lingered on his cheek. Lost in that big bear hug that Cas gave him. The way Cas said his name, like a damn prayer, when he finally saw Dean made him feel weak in the knees and he hated it. Hated that Cas already had such a stronghold of him.

Of course, they didn’t know that was what he was thinking about. And he’s sure as fuck not going to tell them any of that. It’s his guilty pleasure that he gets to relive in his head and their nosy asses can have none of it.

As soon as they had their food Dean parked them in the emptier side of the parking lot before turning the car off. “Okay,” He turned towards them and took the food Sam handed him. “Dude, this is strawberry. I don’t want that shit.”

“Too bad you already agreed.” Sam held his shake away from Dean.

“I paid so I should get first dibs.” Dean reached for it again but Sam held it back, his bitchface front and center. “Sam. Give it.”

“No. This one’s mine.” Sam opened the lid of his shake and licked the top of the ice cream. “See it’s mine now.”

Dean laughed coldly. “Like that will stop me.” Dean was about to jump his brother but Charlie, who probably was tired as shit of seeing their bickering and saw the signs that this was about to turn into an actual wrestling fight, reached forward and took the strawberry shake from Dean’s hand. Replacing it with her chocolate one.

“There. Happy?”

“No.” Not really.” The brothers both mumble as Charlie lifts her hand as a threat and even though she would never actually hit them they saw that she was annoyed. So they both quickly said, “Sorry.”

“Good.” She sat back in the seat and started unwrapping her burger. “Now can we get back to the topic on hand?”

“Which is?” Dean had a mouthful of burger as he talked.

“Why did we leave so early?” She stuffed a few fries in her mouth as she looked at him with raised eyebrows. Looking like a curious little chipmunk as she chewed.

“Yeah,” Sam took a bite of the small yellow pepper before he bit into his burger. “I thought Cas wanted us there or whatever.”

“He did.” Dean looked down at his burger as he talked.

“Oh, so you did talk to him!” Charlie moved forward in the seat again. She frowned at him/ “How was he? Nobody looked really sad for it being a funeral and all.”

Dean shrugged. “He seemed fine. Didn’t talk for long cause he told me to leave.”

“What?!” Both Sam and Charlie said at the same time.

“Why’d he tell you that?” Sam asked, looking at Dean with round puppy eyes, probably trying to read Dean again.

While Charlie quickly picked up with angry steam. “And after telling you to go? What the fuck kind of-!”

“Charles. Breath.” Dean put his burger down and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. “I guess I should tell you guys since I’m gonna have to tell Bobby soon.”

They looked at him. Waiting for answers so Dean quickly told them about the will reading he was invited to go to. Leaving them just as confused as Dean felt.

“But...but why you?”

“Shit if I know, Sammy.” Dean finished his burger off and worked on his fries, dipping them into the shake. “Cas just said Bobby and me gotta be there for it to be read or whatever.”

“What if you get money?!” Charlie hit Dean’s shoulder in excitement.

“Doubt it. I’ll be lucky if he gives Bobby’s shop back to us.” Sam and Charlie sat back in their seats, nodding in agreement. “I feel kind of bad that a lot of people weren’t mourning and shit but...that dude was weird.”

“Creepy.” Charlie added.

“Gave me the chills.” Sam shivered.

“Rest in peace, Chuck!” Dean added at the end, holding his spoon up in solitary. “May you give Bobby the garage and hopefully your kids won’t kill me. Salud!”

Charlie and Sam smiled, even Sam who rolled his eyes but played along, as they held their spoons up. “Salud!”

When Dean finally arrived home, dropping off Charlie and Sam first, he dragged his feet to his room. This is around the time he hated living by himself. When he comes home and the lights are all off. The air is still and cold. No warmth or sense of home even if this has been his home for the last three years.

Dean took off his clothes as he went. Dumping it all into the chair in his room before he pulled the covers from his bed to climb inside them. He was too tired from the emotional roller coaster ride he went on the last few days. Tomorrow isn’t going to be any better so he might as well get some rest now.

“Fuck. My phone.” Dean groaned as he kicked the covers off and dragged his feet to grab his pants. Digging into its pockets to grab his phone and then stiffening up when he felt the crumpled piece of paper.

He took it out and walked back to bed. Staring at the phone in one hand and the paper in the other.

“Hmm,” Dean hummed as he studied the number. “So Cas did end up changing it.” Explained the dropped calls and unread text at least.

Dean slowly added Cas’s number to his phone. He debated on having the name down as Castiel or Cas. Then he debated if he should add an emoji, just something as dumb as a ghost for ghosting him, but he decided against it.

“Just Cas.” He whispers to himself as his thumbs hovered over the screen. His eyes narrowing at the name that haunted him for years. Cause that’s what he was, right? He was just Cas. He wasn’t even his friend anymore. At least Dean doesn’t think so. Even though he wasn’t so sure if he could be just friends with Cas, not yet, but...“Fuck it.”

He quickly opens a new text box and shoots a small little text.

‘Hey. It’s Dean.’ Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t discourage himself from adding. ‘Just wanted to make sure you had my number too.’

Dean looked at the clock on the corner of his screen and thankfully it wasn’t so late that it’ll be mistaken as a damn booty-call. Not that Dean would do that. Not to Cas at least. Maybe he’ll call somebody else for that later cause right now he feels too damn lonely and it’s just fucking suffocating him.

He started to scroll through his list of possible hookups - not that big of a list anymore now that people are getting married and shit - when a text notification got his heart racing in his throat. He sat up against his headboard and took a calming breath. His thumb hovered over the screen because he was nervous. It’s probably just a dumb reply too and he’s making this into a big fucking deal when it’s not going to anything important.

If it’s not a big deal then open it. He tells himself before sighing and opening up the text.

‘Hello, Dean. I saved it now.’

“Of course.” Dean rolled his eyes and dropped his phone on his lap.

His hands went up to cover his face, palms pressing hard into his eyes as his fingers grip at his hair in frustration. He was just mad -no fuck that he was annoyed- at the fact that he gave himself that dumb pep talk and he still held on to hope that maybe Cas would say...what the hell did he want Cas to say to him?

“Hey, Dean, you looked great today so I’m leaving my fiancé for you!” Dean mimicked Cas’s voice out loud to himself.

He groaned and picked up the phone again to just shut it off. There was no need to reply to that. The conversation was over. Clearly, the dude was busy with his damn fiancé.

But then Dean stopped short because he found the ‘...’ that kept appearing and disappearing. Damn it! He’s hoping again.

Dean kept his eyes on those dots for what felt like hours instead of the minute that it actually was. His heart beating hard against his chest as he imagined Cas trying to think of what to say. His dumb concentrated face glaring down at the phone. His too big hands holding the phone in between them and his thumbs hovering over the board. Probably overthinking his words or correcting something that just didn’t sound exactly right. Was Cas overthinking his text or was Dean just a dumbass for believing that?

Then finally the dots were replaced by words.

‘I’m sorry if Mick was bothering you earlier.’

Oh. Not what he thought Cas was gonna say at all.

Dean straightened up against the headboard. Pulling a pillow against his chest to hug as he texted back right away. Dean wasn’t the type to wait to look cool and Cas knew that.

‘He wasn’t.’ Dean sent first and then he rolled his eyes as he sent the next text. Nobody can tell Dean he’s anything but supportive. ‘He’s a nice guy.’

Even if it fucking kills him inside. He bangs his head back against the headboard a few times.

‘Wow. That must have taken so much out of you to type out.’

Dean laughed. Of course, that bastard will know. ‘Shut up, dumbass.’

‘I’ll let Mick know you think so highly of him.’

‘Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘Is he not your idol?’ Cas sent and Dean rolled his eyes but Cas quickly sent another one. ‘Are you not practicing your accent so you can be just like him?’

‘Ha. Ha. Very funny, Cas.’

‘Thank you. Glad one of you thinks so.’

‘What? Mick not a fan of your dumb dry humor?’

Cas sent three texts back to back. ‘No.’ ‘At least I don’t think he does.’ ‘He doesn’t seem to understand when I’m being sarcastic’

‘Well, it takes a while.’

‘We’ve known each other for 5 years now.’

‘Oh.’ Dean said it out loud as well. ‘That long?’

‘Yes.’

‘Almost has us beat.’

‘…’ Dean thinks he fucked up somehow but before he can completely freak out Cas texts. ‘Mick doesn’t come close to what you and I had, Dean.’

His breath catches in his throat and Dean starts to choke on-air as he reads the text again. What the hell was he supposed to respond to that?! “Lol. Good.” Dean jokes out loud as he wrote those words down but erased them just as quickly.

‘Sorry. I should go. Sorry to keep you up.’

Shit! No. No. Don’t go Cas. ‘No biggie. Talk to me whenever, Cas.’

‘Thank you. Goodnight, Dean.’

‘Night, Cas.’

Then - cause Cas couldn’t get any damn cuter - he sends a sleeping cat emoji along with a flower emoji.

Something came over him. Dean can say he was possessed or something but he sends the damn heart emoji. Then before he can see Cas’s reply - if he does reply - he turns off his phone.

“Yeah,” Dean tucks himself in his bed. Covers over his head as he closes his eyes. “I’ll deal with that in the morning.”

“I’m just saying,” Bobby has been just saying all the way to the lawyer’s office. “We better be getting something good if they’re making us waste another afternoon not working. Are they gonna pay our bills? No.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just get everything out now before we get inside.” Dean tells him as he parks the car. He turns the car off as Bobby already reached to open his door. “Hopefully Chuck liked us enough to just give us the shop back. Cause as long as we own it and not them then that's good.”

“That’s all we can ask for now.” Bobby gets out of the car and quickly closes the door behind him.

Making Dean flinch as he sighs, his head hanging for just a second before he followed Bobby out. Thankfully, because of Chuck, they got to keep the shop open as long as they have but now they’re in a solid place where they can keep it open, and if one of the Novak’s gets it...Dean was just sure they would sell the property. Their family business will be no more.

Why else would Chuck want them here if it’s not for that?

Dean quickly caught up to Bobby, who didn’t bother to change out of his working clothes and had the damn ripped trucker cap on, before he noticed that his Uncle was walking towards someone.

“You’re late.” Cas quickly reaches to take Dean’s hand to drag him inside the large office building as he updates them. “Gabriel is inside trying to keep the peace but don’t worry,” He turns his head to Dean and winks at him. That bastard. “We will be your buffer so you’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Buffer?” Bobby’s voice gets Dean to stop floating away into Cas’s eyes. “We’re gonna need a damn buffer? What has your Daddy gotten us into, Cas?”

“I’m sorry, Bobby. If only I knew.” They get into the elevator and Cas lets go of Dean’s hand to smooth his clothes down. Eyebrow raised as if telling him ‘Couldn’t pick anything nice to wear to this important event?’ but Dean also just came back from work. He was lucky that his damn button-up didn’t have any oil stains. But then Cas smiled, “You look nice.”

Before Dean could answer, or even think of any words, Cas moved on to Bobby. Surprisingly Bobby let Cas fuss over him.

“The lawyer told us that all of us, including you two, had to be present in order for the will to be read.” Cas fixed Bobby’s hat and nodded before he stood in front of them, facing the door with a heavy sigh. “Hopefully you guys are ready for some fun Novak family time.”

Dean didn’t stop himself as he quickly reached to take Cas’s hand in his. He pretended not to see Cas’s eyes widen as he faced the doors as well. “As long as it’s not some big dumb elaborate joke. We’re missing work for this you know.”

“I know.” Cas squeezes his hand, smiling before he turns towards the doors as well. “I’ll take you both out for dinner after this if you like.”

Both. Dean’s heart raced even if it does sound like a date with his Uncle tagging along.

The elevator door opened and Cas quickly started pulling Dean along again. Bobby clearly was looking at them but right now Dean didn’t care as he bumped shoulders with Cas. “That sounds great. What do you have in mind?”

“Whatever Bobby wants of course.”

“I wanna get the hell out of here.”

“I was thinking more like in the realm of Biggerson’s?”

“Yeah, sure, we can do that too.”

Cas and Dean both laughed as they bumped shoulders, fingers locking together now before they stopped in front of the right door. Cas turned to smile at Dean, it was soft and reassuring but he was asking Dean something.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“If you’re sure.” Cas quickly tells him as he squeezes his hand once before letting go.

Dean really missed that weight in his hand now.

As soon as the door opened Cas walked through it - he easily ignored the angry glares that seemed to sting Dean frozen - and Bobby had to shove him a little for him to start walking. When the door closed Dean flinched hoping this would end soon.

This was going to be a long meeting. But hey, Dean goes to where Cas was patting the extra seat next to him on the couch and falls beside him, at least Cas was here.

“Now that we have everyone. Let’s get started. And please remember that security will call the police this time.”

Oh. Fuck.

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confused-android · 4 years

Text

Day 13, Todd - Family

----------------

Amanda: hey, what time are you showing up at mom and dad's on tuesday? (7:02PM)

Todd: For what? Why would I go to their house? (7:05PM)

Amanda: …for hannukah? they sent out the invite three weeks ago, asshole. check your fucking email (7:10PM)

Todd switches apps on his phone and opens his Gmail account. The only things in his inbox are bills and spam. He looks in his spam folder, and even checks his agency account, just in case they had, for some reason, found that email address and sent him an email there.

Nothing.

He searches both accounts for his mom's email address, and finds only the last email she'd sent him, before all of this shit went down. Before he'd told Amanda the truth, and she'd told their parents. Before he was on the FBI's Most Wanted list for almost three months. Before they opened the agency.

From: Debora Brotzman <[email protected]> Date: 4/8/16 2:14 PM To: Todd Brotzman <[email protected]> Subject: Visiting Mandy?

Hey sweetie, it's MOM. Mandy said she's feeling better this week – are you going to visit her? Call me when you get there, if you can! :-) Dad found a place to give him an interview, even with his knee, so send him some love and prayers! :-) I miss you, you're doing great.

Love, MOM <3 (Mandy says this is a heart, but in case you can't tell, imagine I put a heart there!)

He hadn't called her on that visit – all of his attention was taken up by Dirk, and it felt weirdly vulnerable to call his mother in front of some weird stranger. After that visit to Amanda, he'd been a little too busy to call her during the Patrick Spring case, and then he was afraid calling her would be trackable, and would bring the FBI down on his and Farah's heads. And since getting back to Seattle… Well, he's tried calling his parents a few times, and sent them an email over the high holidays, but they haven't responded.

He knows why, but it's just been easier to pretend that they were busy, to let Amanda send him occasional messages when she visited home, to imagine that they just… hadn't gotten around to responding to his lengthy apology email.

That strategy doesn't seem to be possible, here.

Todd: No email. (7:43PM)

Amanda: you sure? (7:44PM)

Todd: Yeah. (7:46PM)

Amanda doesn't respond and Todd slumps back into the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. This was… this was utterly predictable. He knew this was coming as far back as Amanda's first Pararibulitis attack, and this is what he knew would happen if they ever found out, and he can't pretend that they're just busy any more. He hasn't been invited home for the family Hanukkah celebration. He's not family any more.

This is the natural consequences of his actions, and he isn't even sure if he deserves to feel miserable.

Fuck.

Why does this suck so much? It's not like he was close with them, anyway. Not for a lack of effort on his parents' behalf, of course. That last email from his mom is typical. Just that it's hard to want to spend time with people you hurt, you're hurting, even if they don't know it. He kept hanging with Amanda because she needed him, and he needed to keep trying to make up for how shitty he was, but there was no way that he could ever save up enough to pay his parents back for years of – of stealing from and lying to them. So spending time with them, talking to them beyond occasional five minute phone call and a yearly awkward hanukkah gathering, never really happened.

Does this even matter? Should it matter?

Of course it matters. It's a punishment from his parents, for being awful to them. He's supposed to feel like shit.

Well, that's successful, then.

Dirk and Farah are out at some kind of trivia night thing, and Todd is honestly kind of relieved. He's not sure if he can handle them right now. Not in a bad way. Just that, Farah wants to be comforting but isn't ever really sure how, and Dirk is sure that he knows how to be comforting but rarely succeeds, and Todd always has to pretend that he feels very comforted by whichever of them has drawn the short straw to hang out with him when he's miserable, and he doesn't really feel like pretending right now.

His phone dings.

Amanda: i texted mom. (8:12PM)

Todd: …? (8:14PM)

Amanda: she said it wasn't an accident (8:20PM)

Todd: I figured *shrug emoji* (8:22PM)

Amanda: i feel kind of weird about this, tbh? (8:24PM)

Amanda: like, i'm still pissed at you, but you know that, and we're working on it (8:24PM)

Amanda: and i told mom that and she said that you emailed her for yk and apologized and that she didn't respond (8:24PM)

Amanda: and that sounds shitty of her? (8:25PM)

Amanda: but also you were shitty (8:26PM)

Amanda: like, really shitty (8:26PM)

Todd: I know that. I was shitty. And she doesn't have to respond to me. (8:27PM)

Amanda: it just feels weird bc she's our mom (8:31PM)

Todd: Yeah. (8:32PM)

Todd: I'm… having some feelings about it. (8:32PM)

Amanda: well i guess i'm proud of you for having feelings? idk (8:33PM)

Amanda: do you want me to not go? (8:37PM)

Todd: No! (8:37PM)

Todd: No, no. Go spend Hanukkah with mom and dad. I'm bummed, but I'll be fine. (8:37PM)

Todd: I'll try emailing them again next Yom Kippur, I guess. That always seemed to mean something to dad. (8:39PM)

Amanda: that could work (8:40PM)

Amanda: idk (8:40PM)

Todd: I don't know either, if it helps. This sucks, but I knew it was coming, I guess. (8:42PM)

Amanda: :/ (8:45PM)

Todd: :/ (8:46PM)

Todd drops his phone on the coffee table and stands up, shoves his hands through his hair, and sits right back down. Then he stands up again, because while he has no idea what to do with himself, he at least wants to not know what to do somewhere other than the couch. He looks in the fridge without taking anything out of it, contemplates and rejects the idea of a shower, and then grabs the pipe and lighter from his dresser and climbs out the kitchen window and on to the fire escape. He leans up against the side of the building and shivers as a gust of December air hits his neck and seeps in through the fabric of his hoodie.

"Fuck," he says, voice lost in the night, and cups the bowl in one hand and lights it with the other. He takes a long inhale. The smoke floods his lungs and he tops it off with clean, cold air, then holds the breath for a beat before exhaling. He lets the smoke drift away and sits with the scent lingering in his nose before taking a second hit, and then a third. He taps the ash out through the grate next to him, shoves the pipe and lighter back into his hoodie pocket, and thumps his head back against the brick.

It's hard to not feel like a complete piece of shit when your parents have disowned you. Like, the people who are supposed to love and care for you no matter what just don't want to see you for the holidays? That's pretty bad.

He knows that it's not like he doesn't deserve it – he did a horrible thing. Like, a really horrible thing. The kind of thing that gets you disowned by your parents. But it… it really sucks. This whole situation sucks. And it's a situation he made, which means that he sucks.

It's cold outside. Not quite freezing, but not that far above it, either, and his hoodie isn't quite cutting it. He doesn't go inside, though. If he goes inside, he'll check his phone and reread the conversation with Amanda, and have to start thinking about it all over again. So he just stays on the fire escape, buries his chin in the collar of his hoodie, and tries to think about anything other than his parents choosing to ignore him, and not see him for the holidays.

"Fuck," he says again. And that seems to sum it up.

Todd loses track of how long he spends on the fire escape, but it's long enough that he's not really cold any more, just trembling slightly, when the door to the apartment bangs closed.

"Shit," Dirk swears, his voice drifting through the window. "It's bloody freezing in here."

"The window's open," Farah adds, baffled, and then says, "Todd?"

"Todd!" Dirk echoes, his voice a little louder than hers.

"I'm out –" Todd coughs, then tries again. "I'm out here! Sorry!"

He can hear some bustling and movement from inside, and then a long leg sticks through the open window and taps around, looking for the floor, and is then quickly followed by a body. Dirk steps out of the way for Farah, who is altogether more graceful when exiting the building, and they both look down at him, separate expression of confusion on their faces.

"Why are you out here?" Dirk asks bluntly.

Farah shakes her head and puts on hand on Dirk's shoulder, asks, "how long have you been out here?"

Todd shrugs. "Maybe since nine? I'm not sure. What time is it?"

"It's almost ten," Farah says, and crouches down in front of him. "What the hell, Todd?"

"I'm sorry," he says, too tired to really get riled up, or even defensive. "I didn't know what time it was. I left my phone inside."

"Will you, um. Come inside now?" Farah tries, and looks up at Dirk for back-up. Dirk has a funny expression on his face, though, and steps around both of them. He sinks to the floor next to Todd and wiggles up close, until they're pressed together at the shoulder and hip. "Dirk!" Farah exclaims.

"Come on," Dirk says, and gestures to the floor on the other side of Todd. She opens her mouth like she's going to object again, but then something on Todd's face, or on Dirk's face, seems to speak to her, and she scoots back a bit and tips off her heels and down to sitting. Farah holds still for a long moment, steeling herself with a deep breath, then presses against Todd's other side. The brick at his back and the metal grate under his ass are still cold, but his two best friends are warm on either side of him. For a moment, at least, he feels like he has family.

------------------

Link to: day one, Farah - Youth day two, Farah - Dance day three, Farah - Gore day four, Farah - GNC fashion day five, Farah - AU day six, Farah - Family (to be written) day seven, Farah - Pride (to be written) day eight, Todd - Youth (to be written) day nine, Todd - Dance (to be written) day ten, Todd - Gore day eleven, Todd - GNC Fashion day twelve, Todd - AU

prompt list

#dghda #dirk gently #DGHDAtober #todd brotzman #family #marijuana use #sad Todd #h/c? i guess?#sorry todd #but you definitely did this to yourself #fanfiction #my fic

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perfeggso · 4 years

Text

till the sun’s seeing through my eyes (yumark)

hitting for six

Yuta and Mark are next-door neighbors who grew up together, joined at the hip until Yuta went off to college. Due to their four-year age gap, Mark’s freshman year at the same school marks the halfway point of an unprecedented amount of time apart. Yuta is sure he can handle it, until Mark’s arrival home for spring break makes him wonder if the fondness he has for his friend might be blooming quite literally into something stronger. It’s up to him to handle the consequences.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Masterlist

Characters: Yuta x Mark + NCT ensemble, other SM (and non-SM (?)) idols tbd, character families

Genres: heavy angst, fluff, Hanahaki!AU, small town!AU, slight Witchcraft/Magic!AU, College!AU

Warnings: blood and gore, mentions of death, disease, vomiting, college-typical alcohol use, swearing

Rating: T

Length: 8.3k

Yuta twirled the stick of rock candy he’d picked up at the market around between his lips, enjoying how it felt rough on his tongue and filled his mouth with the flavor of unadulterated sugar. He checked his phone – no new messages.

He tapped the toe of his sneakers against the linoleum floor of Kun’s coffeeshop and drummed his hands against the seafoam counter before pulling the candy from his lips with a pop and dunking it in his glass of mint tea. All around him, the clinking, hissing, and chatter of a well-liked café filled his ears, and the arousing scent of coffee steam kept him a fidgety kind of alert. On second thought, replace “alert” with “distracted.”

“Did you hear me, Yuta?” Sicheng was saying, sitting at the table nearest the espresso machine and picking at a mini egg custard tart. Yuta had not heard him, that much was evident.

Yuta sighed with some effort, then made a fake sorry face. “No – no, I apologize, babe, I didn’t.”

Sicheng rolled his eyes. “Whatever, it wasn’t important.” He took a large bite of his tart, pale, buttery crumbs affixing to his lips.

“Neko latte!” Kun interrupted, setting a white coffee cup in front of Yuta, the frothed milk on top of it shaped like a stubby-tailed cat that wiggled as the cup moved. Yuta had to restrain himself from jiggling its foam butt into oblivion. Kun returned a moment later with a plate. “Aaaand, let’s see, one slice of orange poppy seed bread.” He dropped his smiling customer service face momentarily as he leaned in towards Yuta. “I thought you said you could handle calling out the orders. That was my condition for letting you behind the counter, wasn’t it?”

Yuta shrugged, repeating the order at double Kun’s original volume and smirking when a customer instantly shot out of her seat to come collect it. Yuta downed his tea, burning his throat, and stuck the melting candy back into his mouth as she made her way over, pushing the now-empty cup forward as an encouragement to leave a tip in it, which the poor girl did. Kun snatched the sticky bill from the cup and shook it out, disapproval contorting his face as he voiced his disappointment with a simple “nope.”

“But Kun, I watched her earlier and she didn’t leave a tip when she ordered,” Yuta protested, making himself laugh until it was threatening to become a cough. Dammit. He pulled in a shaky breath. “I’m only trying to help.”

Kun pointed to the seating area. “Out.”

Yuta sulked his way to the chair opposite Sicheng, noting on his way that it was still pouring not insignificantly outside. Yuta had gotten off work early because of the rain; the indoor soccer field had been reserved weeks earlier for the high school team. Instead, he’d taken his kids to Yukhei’s gym for a short workout and then sent them home, choosing to wile away the rest of his time waiting for Mark with his buddies over a warm beverage.

“Has he responded yet?” Sicheng asked.

“No,” Yuta pouted. He’d sent Mark a text nearly twenty-five minutes ago saying he was ahead of schedule and to come meet him at Kun’s shop. “Ugh, wait, I’m sorry. What were you saying earlier? Nothing you say is unimportant, friend.”

Sicheng looked like he wanted to smack Yuta and hug him at the same time. Yuta was used to this.

“I was only teasing you for missing my speech last night because no one cut you off,” Sicheng clarified, wiping his hands against each other once he’d finished eating.

The memory of heaving in his bathroom in an attempt to extract whatever was obstructing his airways hit Yuta like an unforeseen ocean wave. He nodded slowly, schooling his face to pretend to be irritated rather than scared. He didn’t want to lie to his friend, but not even he knew what the real issue was, and it would undoubtedly get sorted, so why worry people?

Yuta made his face into the disappointment emoji. “Mm-hm,” he said. “Well since you can only process my suffering as it pertains to you, maybe you’ll cut me off next time you have something important to say.”

Sicheng raised his eyebrows. “Someone’s feeling bitchy today,” he observed. “This is because your boyfriend’s not texting back, isn’t it?”

Yuta scoffed. “Boyfriend,” he huffed in disbelief, but the word stirred a sickened feeling inside him. He chose to ignore that. “Yeah, it is,” he teased, “you jealous?”

Sicheng shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “It means you’ll let me be for a couple weeks.”

Yuta laughed, his body once again nearly giving into coughing. Like, choking on one’s dinner and needing the Heimlich kind of coughing. Instead of letting that happen and calling attention to himself, he doused his throat in the contents of a glass of water.

His breathing had been a bit better since he’d spoken with his mother that morning, but the problem wasn’t gone, and the raw coughing fits that started the day before were only growing more frequent. A particularly violent one had gripped him during practice, scaring some of his kids enough that he’d run away to the bathroom to get it under control. Thankfully, Yukhei had been in another room.

Yuta came from a tradition of hedge witches, of which his mother was a shining example. She ran an apothecary in town with his father; handling the medicine and potions side of it while he handled the business angle. She was a skilled potion-maker and healer, and she had a keen sense of spiritual effects on the physical. She was often able to gain insights that seemed so spot-on that Yuta had no choice but to believe whatever she told him to do.

She’d encouraged her children to utilize tarot cards from an early age and endeavored ever since to teach them everything she knew. Now and then, having someone so spiritually inclined as a parent could be burdensome, but it was times like these – when Yuta felt something strange and unwelcome stirring in him – that he felt he was lucky.

When Yuta had gone to the main house that morning, he found his mother in the kitchen, making banana pancakes as his little sister looked over her advanced biology homework. The high school still had a week left before spring break.

“Hi Haruna,” Yuta greeted, shoving her face softly into her papers and receiving a well-earned glare.

“Good morning, dingus. You really shouldn’t be partying when you have work in the morning.”

Haruna was a senior, less than a year younger than Mark (a fact which regularly escaped Yuta’s mind) and possessed an attitude problem – though one quite different from Yuta’s. That morning, she wore a long, eggplant-purple frock dress with lots of heavy eyeliner and her hair in a helmet-like bob. She might have been sartorially challenged and a bit of a bitch in Yuta’s view, but she was also his adorable little sister, and a veritable genius, he had to admit.

Yuta went to the fridge and pulled out an apricot yogurt. “I assure you I can handle myself,” he said, grabbing one of a collection of mismatched spoons and plopping it into his breakfast. “The last thing I need is a seventeen-year-old lecturing me on alcohol.”

Haruna tried to flick some of the syrup on her fork into her brother’s hair but missed. “I can’t wait until Momoka comes home to visit,” she grumbled. “Maybe you’ll listen to her.”

Yuta’s mother gave her youngest and middle child a heavy look of disapproval as she flipped a pancake with a wet, resounding plop. The action itself communicated as much authority as any scolding words could have. Yuta just smiled sweetly, digging into his yogurt.

“Yuta, dear,” she began, “can I interest you in some pancakes?”

Yuta shook his head, feeling a little guilty, but he was rarely very hungry in the mornings. “No, this is enough for me,” he said. His mother smiled. It was the same smile Haruna would flash when she was about to tease him.

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way over here just to bother your studious sister and refuse my cooking, so there has to be something else, hm? I’m right, aren’t I?”

Yuta sighed. As usual, she was indeed correct. “As a matter of fact, there is something bothering me.”

His mother listened attentively as he recounted the last day’s events: the asthma scare, trying to use the potion she’d taught him with a prayer, his concern over the reading he’d had that morning. All the while, she finished shaping her stack of pancakes and leaned on her elbows, steam rising from the food and swirling in front of her paisley house dress, fluffy hair, purple kerchief, and concerned face.

“It sounds to me like you’re having anxiety about change,” she offered once he’d finished. “You always tend to have flare-ups during transition periods.”

“Yeah,” Haruna cut in, spearing a chunk of pancake and narrowly escaping dropping it on her school papers, “remember when you were a freshman and you had a panic attack before coming home for winter break? You said you could hardly breathe all night and that you didn’t think you wanted to come back.”

Haruna seemed a little too casual with that difficult memory for Yuta’s liking, although she was right that he hadn’t forgotten. He pinched his eyebrows together.

“Is this a transition period though?” he asked. Everything for him was more or less the same as it had been all year.

His mother nodded. “I’d say so. Some of your younger friends are coming home, and Taeil will be going back to the city soon. There are a lot of moving pieces in your life at the moment, dear. I don’t think it's at all strange that you’re feeling off and maybe hiding some things from yourself.”

“Alternately,” quipped Haruna as their mother went to fetch a cloudy, pastel purple concoction she had sitting in a beaker by the window, “you’re just a drama queen.”

Yuta started. “Wanna get your butt kicked by a college athlete?” he threatened. Haruna stuck her tongue out at him.

“You mean former intramural college athlete?”

“That’s enough!”

Yuta and Haruna both turned to face their mother. She looked like her hair would be suspended in exasperation if she were in a Ghibli Movie. Yuta knew that meant it was time to Shut Up. Oops.

She sighed, running her hands over the lip of the beaker in her hand and muttering to herself to calm down. Then, she slid it forward to her son.

“Bring this to work with you, Yuta,” she advised, voice still stern. “I made it fresh this morning for the shop, but I think you could use it. It has lavender, mint, chamomile, soy oil, salts, and I’ve charged it with moon water. It’s something I’ve been messing around with for dealing with anxiety and stress during liminal periods in life.” Yuta nodded, listening attentively and twirling the little vial in between his fingers. She went on. “Then later whenever you have time, I want you to sit alone with your confusion for a little while. I think that might give you more insight into what is driving this spiritually and subconsciously. Try not to smother it, whatever it is.”

Of course his mom’s advice was essentially “meditate.” Why had he even bothered to ask? He nodded one more time, subdued, and dropped the vial of pale liquid into his pocket. He would put it into a water bottle and bring it along.

Yuta finished his yogurt and chucked the container into the recycling. “Thank you, Mom,” he said, snagging a pancake on his way out of the kitchen just to win a little more of her favor. “And have a good day, Haruna.”

“You too, dingus.”

“Tell me if you’re feeling better tonight!” his mother called after him, finishing off with a mild threat: “And I’ll be able to tell if you didn’t follow my directions!”

Yuta sighed for what felt like the eightieth time all day, watching the café’s glass door from over Sicheng’s shoulder for any signs of Mark. He didn’t know how to summon people or things, but he half-imagined that he did, concentrating so hard on the door that it was making his eyes cross. And in a matter of seconds, it worked (or, at least, the universe gave the illusion of it working).

Mark rushed into the coffeeshop, looking harried and tugging a cumbersome guitar case along with him which he tried desperately to protect with a too-small umbrella. The image put Yuta at attention, smiling.

“I’m so sorry!” Mark spluttered as he rushed through the door. “I was practicing, and I didn’t check my phone!”

“Whoa there,” Kun warned from behind the counter. “This does not need to be advertised to my entire clientele.”

Mark shook out his umbrella and shoved it into the holder in the entryway, checking with Yuta that they planned on staying for at least a little while and apologizing sheepishly to Kun.

He sat down at the table with Yuta and Sicheng as Yuta grinned at him.

“Don’t be sorry, Markie-boy,” Yuta said, poking Mark in the side and making him almost giggle his way out of his chair. As the chair tipped and then slingshotted violently back to its starting position from Mark regaining his balance, it clattered so loudly that it attracted more concerned looks than Mark had when he’d busted through the door. Yuta hardly seemed to register this as he gushed about how devoted his friend was to his craft that he would haul his equipment through a rainstorm. Kun rolled his eyes and huffed in defeat at yet another disruption.

“Mark, the usual?” he asked, and Mark nodded after nervously confirming Yuta didn’t have other plans for them to go eat somewhere.

Only then did he allow himself to settle in, peeling off his damp jacket and balancing his guitar case against the side of his chair.

“Did you carry that all the way here?” Sicheng asked, and Yuta shot him an obvious look.

“Of course he did,” he replied for his friend, and Sicheng glared at him. “The kid can’t drive, after all. Just like you.”

Mark nodded in confirmation as Kun set a mug of hot chocolate and a cream cheese bagel in front of him. “I love being referred to as ‘the kid’ as if I’m not present,” he snarked. “Also, thanks, Kun.”

“Sure thing.”

Yuta crunched absently at the end of his rock candy. “Aw, don’t go trying to make me feel bad when you forced me to wait for thirty-five minutes and didn’t even tell me you were on your way. It’s like you want to keep me in constant suspense with your little surprises.” Mark scowled, but his mouth was too stuffed with bagel to form a retort, so Yuta went on. “Anyway, you got a guitar in there?”

Mark swallowed. “What do you think?”

“I think we’re just impressed you lugged it all the way here,” Sicheng clarified, trying to clear the air of Yuta’s usual bitchiness. “Surely, you brought it for a reason.”

Mark clapped his hands against each other to rid them of crumbs, body going taut with excitement.

“Actually yes!” he mouthed around his food. “I did have a reason. I wanted to show off what I’ve been practicing!”

“Oooooh!” Yuta buzzed, applauding preemptively at hyper-speed. “You might want to check with the stickler in charge though,” he warned, stage whispering and indicating towards Kun. The subject of the jest frowned at his table of friends.

“I can hear you, Yuta,” he said, “and it’s fine. Just give me a minute to turn the speakers off.”

Soon enough, Mark had extracted his guitar from its case and had it over his knee, strumming experimentally to warm up and drawing the attention of most of the customers behind him.

“Don’t look now, Mark,” Sicheng began. “But it looks like you’ve roped yourself into a little concert.”

“A little what now?” he asked, immediately going against the advice he’d just received and turning around to meet the gazes of at least fifteen people he only marginally knew. “Oh, uh, okay. This is fine.”

Yuta smiled to himself as he watched his friend adjust his fingers over the metal strings and clear his throat, red face betraying that he might not, in fact, be fine.

Pretty soon though, he was finger-picking his way through the intro to Frank Ocean’s “Cayendo.” Once Mark started singing, Yuta found himself lulled into an admiring trance at the smooth sweetness of Mark’s voice. Mark was usually shy about singing solo, but he’d been working on it and Yuta loved that he had gained some confidence. The fact that the song was in a language Yuta couldn’t understand served even further to pull him under its calm spell.

He pretended to swoon at the little performance, rolling his eyes around and fanning himself theatrically. “Ooh, Markie, take me now,” he joked, just loud enough for his table to hear and no one else. Mark’s ears went red and he struggled to sing through a giggle.

Right in the middle of the song though, Mark sang a stanza that Yuta did understand. It ended with a melancholy plea of love:

When I still really, really love you, like I do

If you won't, then I will

If you can't, then I will

Is it love to keep it from you?

It was such a sad sentiment. Yuta thought that if he were a more sentimental person, and under different circumstances, he would have started to cry. Though, maybe he wasn’t as unsentimental as he thought he was…

Mark transitioned back to singing in Spanish and Yuta took the moment to lose himself less in his friend’s voice and more in the space around them: the chatter of impressed coffee-sippers, the whirring of the espresso machine, the soft and appreciative expressions on his friends’ faces. It was almost as sweet as the leftover sugar which coated the inside of his mouth – almost sweet enough for him to forget that some kind of repression within him was causing him vascular stress. Almost; almost.

Mark plucked the last note of the song and the café broke into a pitter-patter of applause which echoed the pounding of rain outside, and in that moment, as if to remind him of the tenuousness of his almosts, Yuta found himself hurled into the most intense pain he’d felt in the last twenty-four hours.

He bent himself over and started retching into a napkin. It was the same sensation he’d gotten the night before at the party, when he’d locked himself in the bathroom and coughed himself raw into the white sink, trying to force something out that just wouldn’t budge. He felt like he had a copper wire weaving through his muscles, and someone was sending shocks of electricity through it.

Sicheng and Mark stared at him in concern and Sicheng pushed a glass of water his way. He choked out his thanks before downing it in one go, once again taking note of the clump of – something – which drifted back down along with the liquid. By the time he had himself back under control, both his friends were posing some variation on the same ‘you okay?’ question.

“Yeah, yeah,” he lied. “Just aspirated some very sharp candy.”

Sicheng winced. “Ouch,” he said. “At least you had the courtesy to wait until Mark was finished.”

Yuta stuck his tongue out, but the way his friend went so casually back to teasing him actually made him feel a little better.

“I know the Heimlich maneuver!” Mark said, a stupidly proud grin crossing his face as he set his guitar back into its case and puffed his chest out involuntarily. “So I could have saved you if it came to that.”

Yuta smiled weakly. “That’s very reassuring, Mark.”

“NBD.” Yuta groaned, the sharp pain from only moments ago leaving him just as quickly as it had come. He cringed. Had Mark really just said “NBD?” Whatever. Mark continued.

“Seriously though, what did you guys think?”

“It was really good,” Sicheng said, “and I would say, a glowing testament to your four years of high school Spanish.”

Mark snickered. “What about you, Yutaaa?”

“Well if you couldn’t tell by the way I reacted at the beginning, I loved it! Really, like your voice just keeps getting better and better.”

Mark placed a hand over his heart, meaning to indicate that Yuta’s compliment had touched him.

“Aren’t you not supposed to be using instruments though?” Sicheng chimed. “I mean, considering you’re an a cappella person?”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Very funny,” he said. “But thanks, guys. I think I might play it live sometime on the Serotonin Hour.” That was the name of the radio show Johnny had left to him upon graduation.

“You know,” Yuta began, rapping his fingers against the table, “when Johnny willed his time slot to you, I don’t think he expected you’d use it for such self-serving purposes.”

Mark rolled his eyes even farther into his head this time. “It’s an hour where I impose my music taste on the small group of people who actually bother to tune in. What could be more self-serving?”

Yuta clicked his tongue. Mark had a point.

“Anyway,” said Mark, hopping to his feet, “what do you want to do, Yuta?”

***

Since it was raining out, they decided they would have to stay mostly indoors, so they resolved to wander around the market hall until they came up with a more exciting activity, Yuta letting Mark store his guitar in the trunk of his car while they perused. Sicheng was invited along too, but he had a dance class to run in half an hour and needed to review his lesson plan ahead of time, so it was just the two of them.

Well, it was just the two of them until they got to the Jung family farmstand at the end of the long, warehouse-like building. Jaehyun sat behind it, writing something into a notebook and looking so bored that his face was practically melting into the hand supporting it.

“Oh, thank god,” he said when he saw his friends approaching. “It’s been such a slow day I was ready to choke myself out just to have something to do.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Yuta guffawed at his friend as Mark nodded slowly.

“Nice to see you too, man,” Mark said.

“Want anything?”

Yuta and Mark surveyed their options: a selection of dairy products, meat, and eggs in a set of coolers, and a table covered in artichokes, celery, pears, asparagus, broccoli, brussels sprouts, cabbages, and a veritable rainbow of root vegetables. As usual, the Jung family farm’s output looked delicious. Maybe Yuta would get something for his parents to put in tonight’s dinner. He grabbed a bundle of radishes by the leaves and shoved them at his friend with a grin.

Mark, on the other hand, knew immediately what he would go for.

“And, uh, can I get a banana milk?”

Jaehyun nodded as Yuta gave his younger friend his best side-eye.

“You just drank a giant hot chocolate. Haven’t you had enough dairy for one day?”

Mark pouted, fishing for his wallet, and Yuta couldn’t help but smile at the way Mark’s eyes looked like shiny tea saucers. He could be devilishly cute sometimes. Cute enough to make Yuta want to buy shit for him, which he did, paying for the radishes and the milk before Mark even had the opportunity to complain.

“Drink up!”

Mark glared. “Fine. I’ll just sneak-buy you something next time.”

Yuta wobbled his head like an anime heroine as he spoke. “Oh, so I’ll get a next time? Man, this date is going so well!” he said, and Mark’s ears flushed for the second time in thirty minutes. A niggling voice in the back of Yuta’s head told him he wanted to see Mark like that more often. He brushed that idea away, not quite knowing how to process it.

“Whatever,” Mark mumbled as Jaehyun looked on in his usual casual detachment. Yuta turned his attention back to him.

“By the way, Jae, where are your parents? Can’t they come relieve you of your existential dread?”

Jaehyun blew a puff of air at his bangs. “I wish,” he responded. “They’re out of town for the weekend though, so I’m left to suffer alone. Oh – which reminds me! Can you go check on Sugarfoot and Lacey for me? They probably need their water troughs refilled right about now. And besides, I’m sure they miss Mark.”

Yuta and Mark agreed easily. Everyone loved those horses, even if Sugarfoot could be a pain in the ass. When Yuta was a teenager, she had apparently decided he’d lived long enough, because she tried to buck him off until Yuta was pretty sure he’d suffered acute whiplash. Besides Jaehyun, Johnny was the only person she seemed to tolerate (and tolerate simply meant she was a bitch to him rather than straight-up murderous), but alas, Johnny wasn’t around.

“Perfect,” Jaehyun said. “I’d do it myself, but everyone here knows my parents and they’d definitely somehow manage to tell them I’d abandoned my post. You know where the keys to the stable are and everything, right?”

“Yup!”

And with that, Yuta and Mark left Jaehyun to return to pondering auto-asphyxiation.

It had stopped raining outside, and the sky was in the process of clearing from a mournful grey to a clear periwinkle, like a windshield-wiper was slowly swiping across it to rid it of clouds. They ran into Taeil on the way to Yuta’s car, in the middle of walking five dogs of varying sizes and breeds.

Naturally, Mark became immediately preoccupied by the tangle of fur attached tenuously to Taeil’s wrist by a set of leashes. The cute scene made Yuta’s chest go tight with fondness.

Yuta told Taeil they’d missed him at the party the night before as Mark rolled around on the wet ground, getting his face smothered by a particularly friendly Chow Chow and laughing like his lungs were about to burst out of his chest.

“I know, I’m sorry!” Taeil said, trying not to let himself get tugged around. “It was just last minute and I’d already been roped into cooking for my family, and we had friends over – bad timing.”

Yuta waved him off. “Don’t worry, I’ll only hold it against you forever. But when do you go back to the city?”

“Next week,” Taeil replied, leaning down awkwardly to save Mark from five rough tongues. Taeil didn’t have a dog himself (although he did have a goose in his backyard, a fact which Yuta was never not perplexed by) but his family owned the local pet shop and he always had dog-walker duty when he was home. It was also how he made money when he was in high school. “We should definitely get together before I go back though!” Taeil continued. “You guys can help me make this pasta dish I’ve been wanting to try. Sound good Mark?”

Mark got up, brushing the wet dirt off his backside. “What? Oh yeah, for sure! I’m always down to eat – and to see you, Taeil. I didn’t forget about you.”

Taeil looked dryly at his younger friend. “Yeah, of course. But listen, Mark, it’s really good luck we’re home at the same time. I need you to tell me all about how the Aca-Fellas are doing.” Mark nodded shyly. Taeil had been the star of the a cappella group at his college, so he’d had plenty of run-ins with the Fellas at competitions. His own superiority at singing was something it was at times difficult to get him to shut up about. Taeil continued:

“Anyway, I should be going. These guys are getting squirrely, and I don’t want them to do their business right here. I’ll see you two around, I guess. Enjoy the rest of your date!”

Hey, Yuta thought, that’s my joke. Somehow it made him feel weird to hear someone else use it.

***

They were at Jaehyun’s stables after a short drive, and they found the keys easily. Mark scratched lovingly at Lacey’s chin as Yuta filled the troughs with water. Then, they decided it was as good a time as any to see if Johnny was free to FaceTime. He was.

“Heyoooo,” Johnny greeted once his pixelated face flashed onto Yuta’s phone. Yuta laughed. His friend looked happy and healthy. “Oh what? You have Mark with you? Sweet!”

They caught up on Johnny’s life for a few minutes; he was having a great time on his own, but he missed everyone and couldn’t wait to come home in the summer.

“Hurry home,” Yuta joked, getting up from the bail of hay he’d been sitting on because Sugarfoot was cribbing on the door to her stable. “I think Taeyong is wilting without you here.”

Johnny chuckled indulgently. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He gasped and his image froze in the exaggerated reaction face he’d pulled, making Mark squeak with laughter. “Is that my favorite girlie?” came his crackling voice.

Yuta held the phone up to Sugarfoot, nudging her head a bit to get her to detach her teeth from the wood. “Sure is.”

Johnny asked if Jaehyun was there, so Yuta informed him on their friend’s predicament. Then Johnny addressed Mark, telling him he should try braiding Sugarfoot’s dark mane – he’d found she had come to enjoy it. Mark, being the least experienced with Jaehyun’s bitch of a mare, immediately fell for it and tried, causing Sugarfoot to squeal and jerk her neck away from his touch. He fell back on his butt in surprise and Johnny cackled through Yuta’s phone speaker.

“Aw, I see college hasn’t made you less gullible, Markie-boy.”

“It most certainly has not,” Yuta confirmed, and Mark attempted a glare, but it only ended up looking like what he’d done when Johnny tried to teach him how to flirt that one time.

Johnny continued. “Anyway, Mark how are you really? I don’t care about this old hag; Yuta, give the phone to Mark.”

Yuta handed over the phone with a casual threat of murder.

Mark was doing well. Johnny asked if his a cappella group had let him rap yet. Mark rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, leaning against the stable door right next to Lacey.

“Naw, not yet,” he said. “Just beatboxing for now. Eventually...”

Johnny shrugged. “It’s okay. When you’re a senior you can run the group and do whatever the hell you want. And, when they see how good you are, that’ll really show ’em.”

Yuta watched the conversation unfold, reveling in the warm feeling he got from watching some of his favorite people interact.

“Are you doing the Serotonin Hour justice, by the way?” Johnny asked. “Playing that good shit?”

Mark fumbled around a response so Yuta cut in, yelling from off-screen. “He’s great, Johnny! Wish you were here to tune in because I think he might be surpassing you in quality already.”

Yuta heard Johnny scoff as Mark looked embarrassed. “Impossible!” Yuta leaned in next to Mark and Johnny asked about his own parents.

Yuta frowned. “Can’t you just call them and ask how they’re doing?”

“I did! I do!” Johnny said, exasperated. “I wanted to hear it from a third party though, otherwise all they tell me is ‘we’re good, John, we’re good. Everything’s just fine.’ Know what I mean?”

Mark answered. Mr. and Mrs. Seo were doing just as well as they let on to their son, as far as he could tell. This seemed to satisfy him.

Johnny had to go soon after this, so Yuta and Mark took the opportunity to get back in Yuta’s car and drive to his house, where brand new purple crocuses had pushed through the dirt in the front yard.

Yuta led Mark straight to his loft when they arrived, happy to finally have some actual alone time with his friend. He didn’t know where this territorial streak was coming from. He usually did it as a joke – especially with Mark and Sicheng – but all of a sudden, he didn’t feel like he was joking anymore. He shrugged it off mentally. It probably had something to do with his repression, he figured, realizing he hadn’t followed all his mother’s instructions yet. Oh well, the meditation could wait.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” he offered. “We can hang out all day that way, until you’re absolutely fed up with me.”

Mark giggled as they traipsed through the wet grass, passing the fresh crocuses.

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good,” Mark agreed. “I’ll text my parents and ask them.”

“I don’t think you’ll need to,” Yuta remarked, pointing straight ahead to where Mr. Lee stood in his driveway, getting ready to go out. “Mr. Lee!”

Mark’s dad turned around, startled for a moment, before waving.

“Your son is eating dinner over here!” Yuta yelled. “We’ll take good care of him!”

Mark laughed nervously at Yuta’s side as his dad consented. Yuta had to admit that his life was a little emptier when Mark’s ridiculous giggle-fits weren’t a daily feature.

Back in Yuta’s room, Mark hooked his phone up to Yuta’s Bluetooth speaker and played one of his most recent DJ set playlists while Yuta sat at his vanity and yanked a radish from the bunch he’d bought earlier from Jaehyun, biting off a chunk. It tasted watery and sharp.

“What are you doing?” Mark protested. “I thought those were for your parents.”

“I’m only taste-testing,” Yuta defended, mouth full of radish. “Calm down.” He poised the other half of the radish as if he were about to overhand chuck it in Mark’s direction. That was, in fact, what he planned to do. “Open up.”

Mark’s eyes went wide. “But it has your spit on it!”

Yuta rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a baby.”

Mark nodded in acquiescence, opening his mouth for a split second before thinking of something else to worry about.

“This seems dangerous though, like what if I choke on it?”

“Then that’s really too bad because I do not know the Heimlich,” Yuta snarked. “Try not to.”

Mark opened his mouth again and Yuta threw the radish in an arc the few feet between them. Mark shuffled a little to align his mouth and caught the radish, doing a little dance of victory when he realized he’d succeeded.

“Yoooooo!” he yelled around his mouthful.

Yuta clapped, he remarked to himself, like a cheerleader congratulating his boyfriend. Whatever. He wasn’t above that.

“That’s what I call synchronicity!” he said.

Then, Yuta decided to experiment with combinations of the new earrings he’d bought recently while he and Mark talked. They ended up mostly reminiscing about the stupid hijinks they’d gotten themselves into over the years: the time they got drunk and went skinny-dipping in the bioluminescence despite a slew of recent shark sightings (Mark kept trying to drift off into the mist and when they heard a loud splash near them in the water, Yuta asked Mark if he’d retrieve his dick if it got bitten off. “Is that something you would want me to do?” Mark had responded); the time they went cliff-diving as a group and somehow Yuta managed to injure himself while stumbling over rocks to take a picture and then tried to tell everyone who hadn’t been there that he’d hurt himself jumping into the water so he wouldn’t sound like an idiot; the time Mark tried weed for the first time and became convinced he was suffering an aneurysm, begging Yuta to make him a potion for it; all the times Yuta and Mark travelled to dance competitions together as kids and shared hotel rooms, planning their entire futures as they waited to get sleepy. They had promised to always have houses next to each other, and that their families and spouses would be forever close.

Yuta sometimes found that, with long-time friends he didn’t get to see as often as he would have liked, it was easier to reminisce than to create new, whole memories. It had nothing to do with Mark’s value as a friend, and they still came away from every summer with plenty of additional experiences and stories, but Yuta hated the feeling he sometimes got of their rhythm being off during the shorter breaks. He worried their friendship would calcify into something past tense. But then again, he figured, a deep understanding like what he and Mark shared didn’t need constant updates.

Being with Mark sometimes took him back to being eighteen – right before he left for college – and in a way he liked that as much as he liked his friend. He just got an occasional sinking feeling that they were missing each other’s landmarks. It was irrational, but he couldn’t deny it.

Mark had moved on to updates about his friend group as Yuta held a thin and dangly silver earring against his lobe. Mark nodded in approval and Yuta worked to stifle a sudden bout of coughing. Ah yes. There it is.

Later, at the dinner table, Yuta hardly got a word in edgewise with his parents and sister grilling Mark on how his first year was wrapping up: was his friend group holding up? Yup. Did he like his second semester classes? He did. Was he still sure he wanted to pursue a conservation major? Yes. Did he know who he’d room with the next year? He was going to try to room with his friend Yeri, but they had to sign a consent form for co-ed housing first. When was his next a cappella performance? The big one was in late April. Did he have a significant other?

Yuta almost hacked up a spoonful of his root vegetable soup before glaring at his mom, the source of that query.

“Aish, why does everyone wanna know that?” asked Mark, setting his spoon down for a second. “Sorry, it’s just really funny to me. No, I don’t.”

Yuta looked across the table to his mother and caught her sending an irritated look right back at him. He figured it was probably related to the vague threat she’d made earlier that she would know if he didn’t follow all her advice by the time he got home in the evening.

Once they’d finished eating, the boys helped wash the dishes and Mrs. Nakamoto gifted Mark a little vial of her signature lucky potion for him to use during finals.

“Bye, little dingus,” Haruna called to Mark as he and Yuta were on their way out for a quick post-prandial stroll. Yuta turned around.

“Don’t talk to your elder that way!” She rolled her eyes.

Outside, it was fully dark, and a distinct late-winter chill tinged the air enough that Yuta had to burrow his chin into the collar of his bomber jacket. Rather than the chatter of crickets they would have heard at that hour during summertime, the air sung with the hush of breeze rustling the pines and the distant break of ocean waves. Yuta thought bittersweetly about how the next time he’d see Mark for an extended time, the crickets would be back.

“Sorry for all the prying,” Yuta grumbled as the two made their way to the little pedestrian suspension bridge over the river on the edge of town. The river led to the ocean eventually, but inland, it felt thin and closed-off all the same. This bridge passing over it was one of Yuta and Mark’s favorite spots to sit and chat late at night without anyone hearing. In fact, it was that type of spot for most of the town’s young residents.

“Don’t be,” Mark said jovially, kicking his feet leisurely as he walked. “I expect it at this point. Bet you remember what that’s like.”

Yuta nodded. He did.

“You know,” Mark began, “it’s actually sorta calming to get the same questions over and over again. Cuz like, for some reason I keep getting really stressed out when I come home. I don’t know why…It’s kind of annoying.”

Yuta pointed at Mark in recognition as he chimed in. “No – I know exactly what you mean. I used to get that too. Remember when I had that panic attack?”

Mark nodded. “Oooh yeah, man, I do. You were calling me at like two in the morning and you sounded like you were crying. I had no idea what you were on about. But I guess now I understand more.”

Yuta smiled to himself as the sound of the river added its own particular hush to the mix of natural noises. He tried not to take too much comfort in the idea that his friend was now suffering the same way he had. At least it was a pretty privileged form of suffering…

Yuta took a deep breath, looking up and trying to find stars in the hazy dark sky.

“My mom calls it liminality. She says it's natural to feel spiritually detached at times of transition. It’s like your identity is thrown into flux and it can be hard to balance your competing selves all at once. You’ve got your independent college self and my little Markie boy who lives with his parents and can’t drive.” At this, Yuta grabbed Mark and tried to give him a noogie. “I think that’s what’s stressing you out. Might do you some good to recognize it and hear it verbalized.”

Mark laughed. They were approaching the entrance to the bridge. “I guess that makes sense. I – wait.”

Yuta took a second to register that Mark had cut himself off and stopped walking. He was staring into the distance towards the bridge, so Yuta followed his gaze. He blinked a few times in the dark, but once his vision focused, he noticed what Mark had been looking at: a dark lump in the center of the suspended walkway. It seemed to be moving – writhing almost – and Mark placed a finger over his mouth to indicate they should be silent. Little groans and giggles emanated from the wiggly lump over the rush of the water. It was a person – no – people.

Yuta felt himself about to start laughing, and he didn’t want to disrupt whatever moment was going on in front of them, so he grabbed Mark’s arm and hauled him away, running back towards their houses and cracking up the minute they thought they were out of earshot.

Mark tried to catch his breath from all the exertion. “Were, were they –”

“Fucking?” Yuta finished for him. “Yeah, I think so.”

Mark leaned over his knees. It was the same position Yuta had used several times in the last day to combat his lung issue. “Shit, man,” he said. “I was not expecting that.”

Yuta shook his head in disbelief. “Me neither. Here; on that note, let’s get you home. The Lees deserve their son back.”

“Sounds good. That’s enough excitement for one night.”

***

Yuta tiptoed back into the kitchen before going to the barn to sleep, opening the fridge to sneak another few bites of the raspberry meringue cake his mom had bought on a whim from the Seos while shopping for dinner.

Her voice in the dark startled him so badly that he jolted against the refrigerator shelving, rattling a whole row of bottled drinks and sauces and causing a racket.

“Holy shit, mom, you’re going to kill me,” he said, holding a hand against his chest like a 19th century gentlewoman.

“Come to the living room with me, Yuta,” she said, bypassing his griping.

Yuta gulped, following his mother’s directions until he was sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of her lounge chair.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d notice if you blew off my instructions?” she asked, sipping from a cup of tea. It smelled like chamomile and it was making Yuta sleepy.

“I know,” he said, “but I was with Mark all day and I didn’t want it to be weird for him while I like, went off into a corner to ruminate on my inner demons or whatever. I was still gonna do it. Also, I drank the potion you gave me.”

“I understand Yuta,” she said, cutting him off before he could spew any more excuses, “but you’re going to do it right now. I want you to feel better.”

“I already do feel a little better,” Yuta said, though he knew he was lying. His mom knew it too, because she gave him a skeptical sideways glance.

“You looked like you were holding in a coughing spell all through dinner,” she informed him. Had he? Yikes… “So, close your eyes.”

Yuta knew how this was going to go, but still, he let his mom lead him through breathing and visualization, focusing on tracking and changing the color and temperature of his internal energy as it passed through each of his limbs, his gut, hit neck and shoulders, his head, and finally, to his lungs. He tried to pull air in until it touched the extremity of them, boundaries of his body going fuzzy in concentration, but it was difficult for him; shaky almost.

His mother’s voice floated into his consciousness, instructing him to imagine the hollow of his mind and let thoughts begin to trickle in without obstruction; to let them come and go without judgement.

He thought of what Mark had been saying on their walk and how it resonated with his own experiences, how it frustrated him that he could never quite recreate the comfort of his and Mark’s dynamic when he visited him at school and they were with all Mark’s first year friends (at least Kun and Jaehyun were around at times, but still). He thought about how weird it felt for all his friends to be scattered around. Mostly though, he thought about the strange burning tightness that had been threatening to cut off his air supply over the last day whenever he dwelled too much on thoughts of his best friend, on observing him, on feeling lucky to know him.

Next thing he knew, he was coughing aggressively again, dragging in empty breaths whenever his throat gave him a break from its violent convulsing. The metal wires felt like they’d made their way into his heart. Neither his breathing nor his coughing was satisfactory though; there was still something stuck. What on earth was wrong with him?

Yuta latched back onto the sound of his mother’s voice as he calmed down and opened his eyes. She knelt next to him on the floor, rubbing over his back and knitting her brows in concern.

“Oh darling,” she cooed. “Have some tea.” He drank gladly, but this time the obstruction inside him stayed right where it was halfway down his windpipe. “It’s just as I thought. Something is blocking you off from your spiritual self.”

Yuta blinked some tears of exertion from his eyes, smirking as he returned somewhat to himself.

“You sure it’s not just my sarcasm?” he joked, and his mom scowled.

“Well, that’s certainly not helping,” she said. She kissed his forehead and pulled away to find her tarot deck. “But I am proud that you took that seriously. It obviously stirred something. Let me do a quick reading for you and then we can both get to bed.”

Yuta waited as she set up the deck and drew a six of cups, reversed. He sighed. Intense nostalgia; feeling caught in the past or with a past self. That much was obvious.

Yuta’s mother smiled at him softly. “Whatever this is, it’s holding you hostage in memories and longing.” He nodded, remembering his earlier conversation with Mark where they couldn’t seem to stop dwelling on an idealized highlight reel of teenage shenanigans. Right. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

“Not really.” Yuta yawned. He didn’t know if it was because he was actually tired or because he wanted this to wrap up.

Mrs. Nakamoto started packing her cards back up. “That’s alright. You should get some sleep anyway. Good night, dear.”

“G’night.”

***

Yuta gave back into coughing the minute he’d crossed the threshold to his room. He ran to the small trashcan next to his desk, still full of bottles from the night before, and heaved into it so hard he thought his eyes might pop out. Finally though, he had a twinge of relief when the thing that had been caught in his airway materialized on his tongue and his trachea cleared fully for the first time all day. He reached into his mouth and plucked out the offending object, holding it between his fingers over the trash. It was long and yellow and smooth, shaped like the wooden paddles Donghyuck’s ice cream shop gives out for testers.

A horrifying thought crossed Yuta’s mind as he rolled the delicate yellow petal softly between his fingers, watching it disintegrate under his touch and the acid of his saliva. He turned to the bouquet on the coffee table to his left, shivering as he caught a glimpse of the sunny yellow rays of petals adorning each of the three baby sunflowers in the vase. His heart dropped into his feet.

Of course.

23 notes · View notes

crewhonk · 5 years

Text

Only Happy Accidents (two)

Summary: After being ghosted by YN, a girl he turned out really liking, Steve goes to her door to find out just what he did wrong.

Warnings: pregnancy test stress, gross food cravings, NatBucky fluff, stressed!Steve

Songs: “Archer”- Taylor Swift

Masterlist

____________________________

November 14th / 2nd Week

YN YLN felt like someone came down from heaven and took a shit on her face. She had felt wonderful since Steve had been over up until now, and she groaned, burying her face into her pillow and trying t find any lingering scents of Steve on her pillow. She made a noise in the back of her throat when she found nothing but the scent of her own shampoo. She reached over to her phone under her pillow and looked at it, a thrill shooting through her body when she saw that she had a text from none other than the Retired Captain America.

From: Grandpa

Morning, pretty thing :)

The dork hadn’t sent her one single emoji, and she doubted that if he even knew what they were that he would like them. ‘too kiddish’, she could hear him say and she kicked her feet like a teenager.

To: Grandpa

Morning, handsome! How was ur morning so far??

She locked her phone and checked the date on the lockscreen, squinting at the number suspiciously. There was something supposed to be happening right now. Today was a Thursday, so she had it off, but there was something else personally.

Her eyes widened, and every nerve in her body felt as if it had been dipped in ice water.

She was supposed to have gotten her period eight whole days ago.

She ripped her blankets off of her, and pulled her pants down, groaning when there was no blood to be found and cursing to herself. She had always been regular with her cycle. She tracked it, and took vitamins and magnesium and iron supplements and even went sustainable with it— got a diva cup and everything. Sure, her period sucked but it was usually one thing that she could count on to be on time.

She rushed to the bathroom to splash water on her face and wracked her brain to try to remember if she and Steve had used protection. They had in the morning, she knew— she made sure to roll the condom on herself and everything but the night before was so quick and hurried and oh, God. No. No they had not used protection.

Fuck.

“MICHAELA!” She screamed, walking quickly out to the kitchen where her best friend and roommate was, hunched over some law books and eating her smoothie bowl breakfast. YN didn’t even bother teasing her about it and met Michaela’s surprised eyes with her own very, very scared ones.

“What? Are you bleeding out? What the fuck?” She yelled back, clutching her heart while moving to mop up the glass of water she spilled across the island.

“No I’m— okay, so you know the guy I had over on Halloween that I told you about?” She started and Michaela nodded nervously.

“Magic Dick Steve? I remember.”

“Well I don’t think— I don’t think we used protection? The first time? We were both pretty drunk and—“ YN had started to shake. “And I might be reading into it too much but I’ve been really tired lately and my boobs are really, really sore and I’ve been really nauseous? Maybe It’s the flu but I’ve— my period it late.” She finished, and watched as Michaela’s eyes widened.

“You’re never late.” She whispered, and YN felt tears well up in her eyes.

“I know.” She mumbled and Michaela stood, walking around the counter and pulling her to her. She hugged her tightly and pulled away, dragging YN down the hallway and back to the bathroom.

“I didn’t tell you this, but a few months ago when you were in Peru with that Anthropology dig, me and Charlie had a scare and I got a whole bunch of these guys.” She held up a box of thin, paper pregnancy tests from the bottom cabinet.

“Isn’t that when you went off your pill?” She asked, taking the box. Michaela nodded.

“Yeah, turns out my body freaked out hugely and said ‘fuck you’ to my period that month.” She shrugged. “Take a few, and we’ll take it from here, okay?”

________________________

So, YN peed in a disposable mouthwash cup (and on her hand a little bit, but we won’t talk about that) and dipped three tests into it, laying it out on the edge of the tub and sliding down he closed door after setting a timer on her phone. Time seemed to become impossibly slow for three whole minutes and she jolted violently when her phone went off. She checked it, and tears welled up in her eyes when she saw that she had gotten a text from Steve.

From: Grandpa

I’m pretty good. miss you though.

She put her phone back down and stood, opening the door and calling shakily from Michaela. She showed up seconds later, and wiped YN’s tears from her face.

“I can’t— I can’t look.” She whimpered and Michaela shushed her softly.

“You can.” Her voice acted as an anchor for which YN could ground herself with and she tried to move her feet towards the tests.

“What do I do with Steve? I can’t— it would trap him. I don’t even know the guy. I can’t just drop a bomb like that on him when we haven’t even gone on a date yet.” She cried and Michaela frowned, her heart breaking for her friend.

“From what you’ve told me, he’ll be there for you. He seems like a good guy. Now, let’s look, okay?”

YN nodded and with the help of Michaela, walked across the bathroom and ducked down to see if there was anything other than the first red line. She squinted, and let out a huge breath when there was no line on the first two tests. She checked the last one, and every organ in YN’s body burst into flames when she thought she could see a second, very faint line.

“Michaela.”

“What.”

“Is that a second line? On the last test.” She whispered, as if raising her voice any louder was going to make the line darker. Michaela leaned in close and squinted, freezing when she did, in fact, see the second line.

“I think so. I think it is.” She confirmed, and YN’s knees gave out. Her hand absently fell to her lower stomach and she lower lip trembled.

“This may not be it, though okay? Let’s go to Planned Parenthood and get a real test, okay? Then we can spend thirty dollars on a really good test and we’ll make a plan from there, okay?” Michaela sunk other knees and held YN’s face, wiping more tears away and offering her a small smile.

“Okay.”

_______________________

There was no way that all ten tests in front of her were wrong. There was no way the printed diagnosis from Planned Parenthood and a pamphlet reading ‘Plans For The Single Parent’ were telling her that her uterus was empty. There was no way the Clearblue test reading ‘Pregnant: 2-3 weeks’ was wrong— it better not be, considering it was a whole thirty dollars.

YN sat staring at them, bouncing her leg and glancing at her phone every few seconds, half expecting for Steve to already know despite his three unresponded-to-texts still on her lock screen. She could hear Michaela talking to her boyfriend, Charlie in the other room and YN felt truly and utterly alone.

However, her hand had yet to leave her stomach during the whole day, as if the idea of a baby being in there (despite it being no more than a bunch of cells at this point) was a point fo focus for her. Despite the overwhelming elements fo her situation, there was a flutter of excitement in her chest. She had never wanted kids, and then the snap happened, and she was gone and then she was back, and her dad, who was in a plane during the snap had fallen from 5 miles in sky and landed belly first in the ocean. But now that it was a very real possibility, she couldn’t help but get a little excited.

There was one one person she truly wanted to talk to, right now. The urge to hear their voice overpowered any other feeling and YN reached for her phone, choosing the first contact she recently texted and waited as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mom? I need your help.”

_______________________

November 31st, 4th Week

“This is probably the grossest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Why are you making this monstrosity in my house?” Michaela groaned, pulling the neck of her turtleneck sweater over her nose as she walked into the kitchen. YN rolled her eyes and shook her head, bouncing lightly to the music playing from her laptop.

“Just because you’re the pickiest human in the world doesn’t mean other people can’t eat fun foods,” YN replied, lifting the lid on the stove and sniffing deeply.

“Canned crab with sauerkraut on crackers is not a fun food.” Michaela grumbled and sat at the counter. YN rolled her eyes and stirred the pot, shrugging her shoulders.

“What baby wants baby gets.” She replied simply and closed the lid, leaning against the counter beside the stove and cocking her head. “Would you prefer boiled clams in hot sauce or crushed up Doritos dipped in a Starbucks Frappuccino to this or—?” YN trailed off and Michaela gagged openly, covering her mouth.

“Maybe a salad. With nutrients that the baby needs.” She replied and YN rolled her eyes, opening the cabinet beside the fridge and turning around to stare at Michaela. Her eyes raked over the prenatal supplements and vitamins marked for different days of the weeks and then to the daily pill organizer in YN’s hand.

“I’ve also cut my coffee from five cups to half a cup because I’m paranoid and I’m not eating dairy, which is hard because you know how much I loved pineapple and cottage cheese together. And this is the only meal I’ve been able to eat this week without getting nauseous and throwing up.” She commented, turning back and turning off the stove. Michaela walked over and leaned over the pot, wrinkling her nose but grabbing a spoon nonetheless.

“I’m going to try it. Not because I’m curious but because I’m supporting my single-pregnant best friend.” She said, saying a little prayer and shoving the goopy mess into her mouth. She froze, chewed once and gagged, grabbing YN’s hand and spitting the mouthful of food into her hand.

“I hate you.” She grumbled and stuck her head under the sink, rinsing her mouth and making her laugh loudly, clutching her chest. It was only seconds after that there was a knock on their door which YN made to get. She turned to her friend and pointed.

“I made you do nothing. That was fully consensual on your part.” She laughed, spinning and opening the door with a smile.

It was Steve. Holding a bouquet of her second favourite flowers. Smiling nervously with those blue eyes and big muscles and beard and short, carefully styled hair. She remembered in flashes the sound he made when he moaned. The sound he made when she made him laugh. The way he looked sucking whipped cream off her finger. The way his voice sounded that one time when they talked until five in the morning.

So, she did what any sensible person did and slammed the door in his face.

At the sound, Michaela walked around the corner, peeking behind YN to see that the door was still closed. There was a knock and Steve’s voice saying something YN couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in her ears.

“Who is it?” Michaela whispered, seeing the fear in her eyes.

“Steve.” YN replied, her mouth feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton. Michaela pushed past her and looked through the peep hole, ducking immediately and turning to her with wide eyes.

“That’s Steve?! You fucked Captain America on our kitchen counter and then hand fed him waffles?” Michaela whisper-yelled.

“First off, he’s not Captain America anymore. Sam Wilson is, and second yes. Steve isn’t really an uncommon name so..” YN trailed off uselessly and Michaela looked to YN’s stomach.

“Well I mean it makes sense,” Michaela said quickly. “All of your symptoms are stronger and you only had sex once without protection so it makes sense he has super sperm.” He said and YN shushed her as if Steve was on the other side with his ear to the door.

“What do I do.” YN deadpanned and Michaela bit her lip.

“You know what I think you should do. I think it’s time to tell him.” She said and YN nodded, wiping her hands on her pants and walking to the door, hesitating briefly before turning the doorknob and opening it.

“YN. Hi.” He seemed breathless, and he looked at her softly. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I should have texted, but you weren’t responding and I got worried.”

YN shook her head and opened the door wider. “Steve, I think you should come in. We need to talk.” She whispered, and his shoulders fell as if he was expecting her to say something like this.

“I figured.” He mumbled, handing Michaela the flowers and following YN to the living room where she pulled a shoe box from the shelf under the table and placed it on the top.

“What’s going on, YN? Did I do something wrong?” He asked, turning towards her. She sat straight, not taking her eyes off the box in front of her and shaking her head.

“You’ve been perfect Steve, and none of this is your fault, I should have been more responsible.” She whispered, her throat thick. She could hear Michaela eavesdropping from the kitchen.

“Then what—?” He trailed off and went to touch her, but pulled away at the last second, not wanting to upset her further.

“Something happened and I don’t— I don’t know what to do.” She said, finally looking at him with shining eyes. His face crumpled at the sight of her tears and h scooted closer to her, grabbing her hand gently.

“I can help, YN. Whatever it is I can help you.” He said softly, holding her hand in both of his own.

“I couldn’t ask that of you, Steve. Not with this— we hardly know each other.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. She noticed briefly how good Steve looked in his brown coat and jeans and scarf and boots but shook her head when her periphery caught sight of the box on the table.

“YN.” He said sternly and she melted slightly, squeezing her eyes shut.

“I’m pregnant, Steve. The baby is yours— it has to be. There hasn’t been anyone since the snap except for you.” She finally said in one quick breath, she looked up at him to gauge his reaction. His face was a flat of marble, no expression or emotion in his eye. She half expected him to stand up and walk out until she remembered that this was, in fact, Steve Rogers and walking away from a challenge was unheard of. That’s what the textbooks said, anyways. She lifted the cover on the box and he peered in, eyes widening when he saw all the tests and pamphlets she had been reading and collecting.

“Okay.” He said finally and he seems to be wracking his brain for something to say. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Were you just going to wait until you had him to tell me and collect money or something?” He asked. YN raised her eyebrows and shook her head fervently.

“No, no, no, no, Steve. I would never. I just didn’t— I don’t— know what to do.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, reassuring her by his tightened grip on her hand.

“I wasn’t sure how to tell you and what you would want to do with her.” She said and he raised his eyebrows.

“It’s a girl?” He whispered, looking down to her stomach. She shook her head.

“No, she’s nothing more than a bunch of cells, but ‘she’ just comes naturally to me? You said she was a ‘he’ earlier, so.” She smiled softly and he returned it, not looking away from her stomach.

“Well, what are the options?” He asked, looking up at her and she shook her head.

“One, I keep her and you leave.” She started and he looked genuinely affronted.

“Not a chance. Next.”

“I go to Planned Parenthood—“

“No. Next.”

“I keep her, and you stay.” She whispered, looking up at him nervously. He froze, but nodded surely and cleared his throat. When he spoke he sounded rather choked and it made tears return o her eyes.

“That’s an option for you?” He whispered and she nodded.

“It’s my ideal option, Steve. This is your baby too.” She replied, equally quiet. He looked up and pulled her closer to him and she let it happen. Now, their thighs were pressed against the other and their heads were closer together.

“You move into my place, though. I’ll get rid of my office so we can make it into a nursery and I keep work at work and family at home. I’d like to know you’re both safe.” He said, jumping to what he wanted to happen. She nodded.

“That’s petty reasonable.” She commented. “I don’t have much, so it shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Your turn. Name a demand.” He returned and she wracked her brain.

“I want to go part-time at work, but I won’t if we can’t afford it.” She said. Thinking about the cost of things came naturally to her since she had grown up in the Bronx.

“Babe.” He whispered, amused and smiling.

“What?” She whispered back, smiling as well.

“I have about 100 years of government compensation in my bank account. Plus I was a Stark Employee and an Avenger for twelve years. Money isn’t an issue, I promise.” He explained, and she nodded. The relief that had washed over her then was overwhelming and she coughed into her fist, a sob building in her throat.

“Sorry,” She choked, rubbing her eyes. “This happens a lot.”

“It does!” They heard a voice from the kitchen and YN glared a the door.

“Fuck you, Michaela!”

“Promise?” She called back and Steve smiled, chuckling lowly.

“Your turn.” She said, nudging him. He sucked in a breath and thought hard.

“I’m at all the appointments. I’m at all the classes. We don’t announce it to the public, but we don’t hide the fact that you’re pregnant. I’ll have to talk to Pepper soon, but only when you’re ready. I want to be in this with you. The whole ride.” He said and YN blinked more tears out of her eyes. He pulled his jacket off and pulled his sweater sleeve over his fist and wiped them from her face gently. She sucked in a breath and leaned into his touch slightly, not fighting it when he pulled away from her.

“Good.” There was a pause of silence before he shifted nervously, a new idea popping into his head. “What?” She asked.

“This is gonna be a little extreme, actually.” He sounded afraid, but she nodded for him to continue despite her own nerves rising. “I’ve been learning that it’s okay to have kids with your boyfriend or girlfriend now, and that’s really great and cool but it doesn’t work for me.” He said and she looked up at him, alarmed.

“What?”

“We don’t have to, but my Ma would roll in her grave if she found out I had a kid with someone that I wasn’t uh— legally bound to.” He winced at the formality of his own words.

“I don’t think I understand,” She said. She did, she just didn’t quite believe what exactly he was asking her.

“I would like to marry you. It’s really important for me that my kid is uh— mine. And was born into a marriage, you know?” Steve’s voice seemed far away as he continued to speak, and YN swayed in her seat.

“YN?” He asked, watching her eyes become unfocussed and falling for Michaela. She heard nothing more before her eyes closed and she slumped back on the couch, unconscious.

________________________

The first thing YN remembered when she woke up was a cool cloth being pressed to her forehead. She sighed at the sensation, rolling her head away from the glaring light from the window and opened her eyes, smiling as Michaela looked down at her.

“Hey, Mich. I had the weirdest dream.” She started, groaning a the pounding headache in her brain and sitting up slowly. “Remember Steve? Magic Dick Steve? Yeah. That’s Steve Rogers. Anyways, I had a dream that I was pregnant with his kid and he asked me to marry him. He was wearing his suit, though which as weird because I couldn’t see his face behind his helmet-hat-thing.” She mumbled, rubbing her forehead.

“That wasn’t a dream, YN.” Said a low voice from the kitchen. YN looked over and her eyes widened when she saw Steve Rogers walk through the door, a plate of crackers and crab and sauerkraut in his hands. There was also a reusable mouthwash cup filled with her medication and a bottle of water in his other hand.

“Holy Moses, baby Jesus in the garden be with me.” YN prayed briefly and accepted the plate of food from him, piling it into her mouth much to the amusement of Steve and the disgust of Michaela.

“It’s the same thing my ma used to crave, actually.” Steve shrugged. “I tried to make it one time back in the day for mothers day but the only fish I could afford was the crawdaddies from the pond down the street and the crackers I stole from Bucky’s house. I couldn’t even use the stove, yet so everything was raw.” He smiled when she laughed loudly at his story. “Yeah, she wasn’t too big of a fan but she appreciated it all the same.”

“That’s really cute, Rogers.” She smiled.

“I’m sorry for dropping that request on you, I never meant to hurt you.” He muttered eventually and she shook her head.

“I’ve actually fainted twice already so it isn’t too much of a big deal, but yeah. That was a good request.” She scratched her nose and took all the pills at once, gulping down half the bottle with it and leaning on her elbows.

“I’m sorry again.” He whispered and she shook her head.

“It’s your kid, Steve. It only makes sense you would want that for her.”

“Him.” He teased and she rolled her eyes.

“I’ll do it.” She said finally and his head whipped over to her as fast as lightning. She was half worried that she would need to take him to the hospital incase he tore something.

“What?”

“I’ll marry you. I think you’re a pretty great guy, Steve and I’m not getting any younger, anyways.” She shrugged and Michaela gaped at them like a fish.

“You’re 24, YN.” She scolded and she looked at her friend.

“And my baby daddy wants to stick around and support us. It’s only fair I do this for him.” She shrugged, looking between their stunned faces.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, aghast and shocked but looking sedately overjoyed.

“As sure as I’ll ever be, Rogers.” She stuck out her hand and he looked at it with a raised eyebrow. “You take care of me and your kid and I marry you? Sounds like a pretty good deal to me.” She commented and he took her hand in his.

“It’s a deal, then.” He smiled softly and tried his damned best to not jump across the couch and kiss her. This was never how he wanted to propose to someone, but hey, he was 106. Never a time like the present, right?

“Damn it.” Michaela swore. The newly-engaged couple looked over at her and she shook her head at both of them. “I’m gonna have to find a craigslist roommate aren’t I?”

_____________________

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose / laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot / vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers smut #steve rogers soulmate #steve rogers series #Steve Rogers smut #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #Dad!Steve #dad!steve rogers

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blacksteel-art · 6 years

Text

Let me Tutor you, ma

Title: Let me tutor you, ma.

Author - Me (Blacksteel)

Fandom: Black Panther

Pairings: Erik Stevens x (modern-day witch) Reader/OC and Erik Stevens X The female race.

Notes: Tbh, I’ve thought about this for a while and tbh, Erik ain’t shit. SMUT eventually

Summary: Serina, a music major is absolutely failing Pre-Calculus because math has never been her strong point and who could absolutely help her out? Erik Mfin Stevens, and of course, she doesn’t want it, but she doesn’t have much a choice now.

Part 1 of ???

__ You’re gonna be my love Na neo animyeon and wae nae modeungeol julgeI love you baby Nuguboda deo sojunghae neon naegen jeonbunikka Erik wasn’t a stranger to that language, he knew it, fluently. He didn’t know anyone who was Korean at the college though, it was a large campus he could have just missed em. He opened the music door and his eyes widened just a smidge. What kind of thick woman with gold hair, who could speak Korean— Gakkeumeun meolli isseodo

Geuraedo nae ireumeul bull--- His thought was interrupted when she spotted him and cut her singing short, stopping the music with a button. “Can I help you?”

“Nah Shawty don't stop on my account.”

She was already in a nasty mood and Erik Stevens was just going to make it worse. She knew about him, and his type of persona, some type of aloof guy with a crowd of guys just like him.

How annoying.

“You can go. Erik Stevens. This is a private session that's why it says, Private.” She pointed to the sign with her arched eyebrow.

She waved him off and went back to her sheet music in front of her, absolutely content with ignoring him. Not thinking about his big headed ass. Nope. Not her! He eyed her and smirked, that fanged smile showing through, she could see it out of the corner of her eye and it sent a shiver down her spine.

Damn him and his groupies.

“Alright baby girl no need to make such a fuss.”

Fuck.

He turned and left no other word after that. Just what was she supposed to say to that?

Shutting the door behind him, he opened his phone and furrowed his brow. He didn’t know why, but that sassy voice of hers would absolutely sound beautiful choked on his dick. That would come later though. — She let out a very animalistic growl before crumpling the stupid test paper in her hand. Stupid dick munching cock sucker. Her math teacher didn't make it any better, with his constant ridicule of her and his absolute refusal to help her. The music major was absolutely on her own for Math, none of her friends were good at math either so tough tiddy for her.

Her professor was supposed to help her, but he always brushed her aside and when she failed a test blamed it on her priority of music. Often telling her how she had no talent and there's no future in it for her. She heaved a heavy sigh before chucking the wad of paper behind her. It was bullshit, she fucking hated math, continuing on her trek, she got maybe four more steps before that annoying ass voice piped up.

“Damn shawty, you’re failing precal?”

“I’m not failing, precal." She whipped around before snatching the now uncrumpled paper out of his hand.

"I just didn't pass this one test." Folding her arms as she looked away from him.

"No need to be so uppity, Princess."

"It's Serina." She told him before brushing her hair behind her ear. He loomed over her from behind, practically towering over her. She shuddered and swallowed back that apprehension that absolutely shook her to the core of her body. Why was his aura so heavy? Why did he feel like a predator about to devour her?

"Serina..." He tasted the name on his name. He decided to only use it on special occasions.

"I could tutor you, ma. You'd pass then, fo sho." He told her.

She sucked her teeth.

"Nigga...whats in it for you?" She didn't trust him not one bit.

"Why you think there's somethin in it for me?"

She lifted a finger and placed it on his chest before narrowing her eyes.

"Niggas like you, don't mess with girls like me. Wallflowers and all that, unless its a dare or you want something."

"You been watching allota that white people shit huh?" He asked. She sputtered and narrowed her hazel eyes at him even more. Goddamn, he couldn't get enough of that look.

“Answer my question, Erik Stevens.”

He lifted his hand and tilted her chin up with his hand as his predatory gaze bore into her eyes. He was so smug, she hated it. She hated what it did to her, how it made her feel warm. Running his tongue over his gold fang, he chuckled before leaning closer.

“I just want to tutor you ma, we can work out the messy details later.”

She sighed.

Just this once.

He opened his phone and she poked her number onto the touch screen before he saved it. Serina with a little moon emoji next to it, he noticed that was her theme, it was on everything she owned.

“If I fail Erik Stevens, I’m coming for you.” She told him with a mock little growl, one he found to be actually cute?

“It’s a promise princess.” — Leaning over her altar she dropped the crystal into the purified water before clearing her mind and lifting the feather she had blessed.

‘Let the air here be filled with wisdom

Let my mind be open to new knowledge.

I ask you oh god of wisdom

So mote it be.’

Blowing out the candles and closing the prayer, relishing in the power she felt roll over her body from her own god. Opening her eyes, she looked at the little window where her puppy lay sleeping. She was such a precious little thing, a princess if anything. A knock came from the door before she turned and closed the door to her altar. She trotted to the door and tugged up her thigh high socks once more, laying a hand on the knob she peeked out the peephole and her eyebrow rose. Unlocking the door and stepping to the side as the groupie proclaimed king walked in. "Nice place ma, all you?" She watched him take it in and she smiled a little humbly. It was a one bedroom, enough for her and her pup. It was lightly colored with dark blinds and a nice seat on the windowsill, a small cactus plant there with a label. 'Prickly kuma.'

"Yeah, it was a gift from my parents."

He noticed she had multiple shelves but they were secure, they also had different little plants resting on them. Lights were strung across the apartment, giving it an inviting glow. Her blinds were shut for privacy he imagined, he could vibe with that. He turned and looked at her as she entered her kitchen and picked up a tray of something. "Ice cream or no?" He was a little distracted and just nodded.

"Sure princess." He had to admit, he was impressed, she obviously cared about her apartment, it fit her. He eyed the door that said 'The witch is in' and rose an eyebrow. A witch? She could be mean but to call herself that? He wasn't with it, at all. She set the tray down and he leaned over and eyed it.

"Snickerdoodle cookies with apple pie filling in the middle and a side of ice cream. Help yourself, I need to get my books." She walked into her room without hearing his response.

Was there anything this girl couldn't do, though on the outside looking in, she was just being a good host he was doing her a favor after all. He sat in the chair with a fluid grace that she saw as she exited her room, was everything he did fluid, almost like a cat.

He eyed the books in her arms before setting them down on the table as she plopped down in the seat next to him. She turned and looked at him. "So Professor Stevens, what are you gonna teach me?"

#erik killmonger x reader #erik stevens x reader #reader fanfiction #black panther #black panther fanfiction #OC x canon #my writing #professor stevens #bp #tbh ive been wanting to write this lol

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3laxx · 6 years

Text

Cola Date 4 - Sleep Date

Being afraid is exhausting... And Nino just seems too comfortable

Chapter 4! Kinda like the chapter names... I'll try to keep them. Anyway, I just can't stop writing on this story so I went ahead and continued x) Enjoy~

Ao3 / FF.net

As relieved as he was that she seemed to feel more comfortable now, he still couldn’t shake off the uneasy feeling that slowly crawled its way up in his throat. It wasn’t that he felt uncomfortable being here. It was just that he feared she was stumbling into something she might regret.

He didn’t want her to be too naïve around strangers. After all, he could be anybody. He just didn’t want her to be too trustworthy. And, well, best would be to let someone who knew her best know he was here. That way he’d feel better. And he was sure she’d feel better, too. Because as much as he liked her and as much as he trusted her already, he couldn’t forget that they just knew each other for a few hours.

Just as he wanted to ask her for her phone, to get Marinette’s number and call her, he realized Alya had fallen asleep. Well…

He knew where her phone was. He had seen her putting it in the front pocket of his jeans when they had talked on the couch. He was sure it was still there. With his eyes rolling he leant back against the backrest, shaking his head. He wouldn’t just reach into her pocket, that was off limits. No, he’d just have to wait for the storm to pass, for her to wake up again and then he’d be fine to go.

Not that he wanted to, honestly…

Another lightning illuminated the room and he felt her face contort against his chest, then a way louder rumble crackled and made the windows vibrate. She whimpered in her sleep, holding on tighter and curling up even more against him.

Suddenly, a light bumping sound on the couch let him listen up. It had sounded like… He slid his hand beneath the blanket and felt around on the couch next to her. His fingers met something else than the cushions, something hard and-… her phone. It had just fallen out of the pocket.

With a smile he pulled it out from beneath the blanket and laid it down next to them on the couch. Whenever Marinette would call, he’d be able to take it, because he didn’t want to unlock her phone. Or, well, he wouldn’t be able to. But even if she didn’t have a code, he didn’t want to just search around in her phone.

So, whenever someone wanted to know she was safe he’d be able to tell them. That was a start, at least.

His arms around her tightened as he saw another lightning flashing. The thunder didn’t take a lot of time to follow. She shivered once again and he leant his cheek on her freshly washed hair, smelling after his shampoo. She must’ve been immensely stressed if she just fell asleep like that on a basically stranger to her. Admittedly, a stranger who helped her out of an uncomfortable date but still.

Just as he was getting sleepy as well, her phone began buzzing again. A quick glance confirmed that it was her friend, Marinette.

He shot another gaze down to Alya and swallowed as she didn’t react so he hesitantly took the phone, tapping the green button to take the call.

“Hello?”, he carefully asked, quietly not to wake her. Immediately, he heard the person on the other end breathe in through her teeth at his voice.

“Who are you?”, she hissed before he could continue, making him flinch.

“Uhm, hi. I’m Nino Lahiffe, waiter in the restaurant where Alya had her date.”

Marinette obviously tried to keep her voice calm but he could hear the boiling in her throat.

“And what are you doing answering her phone?”, she asked, a dangerous tone swinging with her words. He gulped, pulling Alya closer against him as the next thunder let her whimper in her sleep. His prayers that Marinette hadn’t heard her distressed noises were forgotten as she spoke up again, “What are you doing to her?!”

“N-Nothing!”, he was quick to answer, “I brought her home and she was scared of the storm so she asked me to stay. She’s fallen asleep on top of me and I can’t move, I would’ve left already but she was so afraid I couldn’t just leave her alone. I tried asking her for a phone number from you or her parents or someone she trusts to tell them I’m with her but she was already asleep when I wanted to ask!”

A short silence in the call made him squint his eyes, afraid of her starting to yell, but as he heard her exhale he allowed himself to calm down.

“… You sound honest.”, she finally admitted.

“W-We’re at her home, yes. You can come over o-or track her phone or anything you want, really. I just-… She’s asleep, so I didn’t want to leave her yet. You can check that I’m telling the truth with the restaurant of my family, where Alya went today. My mother saw Alya and me heading out. And I can give you my phone number and ID or-… Or send a photo, if you want.”

Another silence let him sigh but Alya once again shivered, her arms around him trembling. He adjusted the blanket and held her closer, gently rubbing over her back with soothing motions of his free hand.

“… Maybe a photo, yeah…”, Marinette sounded smug now. He also heard a quiet thud and then pages rustling so he assumed she searched for his family name and the number of his parents, “Is your father named Alain or Jacques?”

“Jacques.”, he replied without hesitation, “Alain is my uncle. But they’ll both be down in the restaurant right now. Call the number under my father’s name though, my mother Amélie will accept.”

“Cool, okay. I’ll check in with your parents and see if what you told me is real. And if it isn’t so help me god. Is that understood? I will track you down and hurt you.”

Nino swallowed thickly, nodding quickly.

“Yes, that’s understood. If you don’t trust me you can always come over to her place, we’re on the couch and she’s sleeping.”

“If your story is valid I’ll stay put. But I’ll skin you alive if it isn’t.”, he nodded once again and was about to say something but she already continued, “Oh and send that photo, I wanna see what you look like.”

With a click she had hung up, probably wanting to check in with his parents as fast as possible. Much to his luck, her phone number was displayed on Alya’s screen so he fumbled to get his phone out, quickly typing in the number before it’d fade. He quickly took a photo of him and Alya sleeping against his chest, his arm still tightly wound around her back, awkwardly smiling.

Then he sent it to the new number, with a short text that it was him and that he had gotten her number from the call. Marinette sent a short reply back in which she thanked him and said his mother had said the same thing and also reassured her that he was trustworthy.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that. His mother, the life saver.

But nonetheless, he had a weird feeling about this in his stomach. Sure, he was trustworthy. But he could’ve been anyone. Well, if anything, Alya should’ve declined the shower and called a friend like Marinette to get her and drive her home. She shouldn’t have stayed and shouldn’t have let him bring her home. And really, he shouldn’t have stayed, no matter how nice she was, no matter how bad he would’ve felt about leaving her alone.

It just didn’t sit well with him. Because what if it had been someone else? What if Alya would’ve been in trouble now? What if she was too naïve?

His stomach turmoiled while thinking about who could’ve been in his place. Did she know in which danger she could’ve been? Did she know what could’ve happened to her, simply because she hadn’t been skeptical enough?

Nino bit his lip, looking down to the sleeping girl in his arms. His insides squirmed with the thought of her being in trouble now instead of being with him…

But answering Marinette was probably more important now. He wouldn’t want her to think he was one of the guys Alya could’ve been with now. So, he sent her a relieved emoji back and then a second text, in which he asked her if Alya had a second key hidden somewhere outside her door. Marinette replied that she had a key and would come over as soon as Alya asked her to or if she didn’t hear of them for too long. He sent a thumb up back and locked his phone again, sighing deeply as another thunder rumbled over their heads. Alya sniffled slightly, causing a pang to shoot through his heart and to look down to her again. He saw her chin quivering and a stray tear rolling down her cheek, now certainly a lot more visible than the ones before, disguised by raindrops. He softly wiped it away with his thumb, then checked his phone, cursing as he saw that the playlist had paused when he had taken the picture. He quickly pressed on play again just as another thunder began crackling over the city, but luckily, Alya relaxed. He sighed again, feeling his eyelids growing heavy as well. Her deep, even breaths were enchanting and the soft rising of her chest against him was so soothing and calming that he couldn’t help but slump against her as well.

He gently led them both to lay down to the side, her on her back and him on his side, his arm folded beneath her neck and head. He grabbed a pillow from above them, gently putting it between her head and his arm so they could both lay comfortably, then he pulled the blanket to over them both and grabbed another pillow for himself, nestling close to her. She merely pulled out her lower arm but kept him close with her other hand clenching into his shirt, her legs still slumped over his.

He grabbed his phone and sent Marinette another photo, saying he was becoming tired as well and if she had a problem with him sleeping as well.

Her response didn’t come immediately but when it did he chuckled at her threat if he had lied. Skinning alive and castrating were the nice ones.

He reassured her that he wouldn’t try anything and that he would keep both their phones on loud so that they’d wake up at any calls or messages. She sent three dots and then that it was fine, as long as he kept an eye on her during the storm. He sent a simple okay, then put his phone away and snuggled himself in. Sleep took him quickly, with her warmth pressed against his stomach and chest and her hand occasionally pulling on his shirt. The faint sound of the music sounded out from his headphones on her ears and his eyelids were drooping as he gently tightened his hold around her, trying not to think about how surreal their situation felt.

Apparently, it had just clicked.

It had turned dark when Nino woke up, slowly blinking to adjust to the situation. The storm outside was still rumbling on but they had apparently slept through most of it. From time to time a few lightning flashes faintly lit up the sky but the rumbling thunder only followed good fifteen seconds later, meaning the storm was kilometers away.

A weak melody played through the room, at first he didn’t realize where it came from, but as he felt something tugging on his shirt and looked down he saw that Alya was still curled up against him and the headphones were still playing his music, even if they had slipped off of her head by now.

He smirked and softly pulled them off, placing them down on the little couch table and turning them off to savor the silence.

His gaze once again flew down to the girl in his arms, her face slightly turned upwards and her top lip sticking out just a little bit more than her lower lip, her face relaxed and calm. Her fingers were tightly clenched into his shirt while the other hand was slumped over his waist, her hand flat on his back. Honestly, he didn’t care if they only knew each other for a few hours.

Gently, not to wake her, he pulled her a little closer, resting his chin on her head while she curled up tighter against him. Her breath stuttered for a second before evening out again, her forehead and nose now pressed against his chest. He smiled as he felt her shiver at another low rumble, tilting his head to nuzzle her hair.

“… It’s okay…”, he breathed, feeling her slump again, her fingers in the fabric of his shirt relaxing, “… It’s over… You’re okay…”

She breathed through, then he relaxed as well. The sky was quiet again and the city noises slowly began sounding over the low rumbling far in the distance. The room was dimly illuminated when a street lantern was turned on right in front of it but the curtains held off most of it.

Nino held Alya close as he watched the almost non-visible heat lightning that sometimes made the features of the dark clouds ahead visible. The girl sighed, then snuggled closer, pressing her nose into his shirt. He couldn’t fight the heat inflaming his cheeks in a traitorous blush.

Anyway.

Finally, he leant up and took his phone from above them, looking at the illuminated locking screen. A few new messages, some from his mother asking him where he was, one from his father and a few from Alya’s friend, Marinette.

He rubbed his eyes as he unlocked the phone, answering his mother that he’d brought the girl home and had stayed with her until now, then he read the message from his father and figured his mother would tell him.

But Marinette’s messages were last. Because he was the most terrified of her. What if she thought he wasn’t who he had said he was? What if she was already fuming, ready to run over and bury him alive?

He reluctantly tapped on the new messages but relaxed as he read them, a relieved sigh slipping out. She was just asking them if they were okay and to tell her as soon as they woke up. He quickly typed that he had woken up by now and sent a picture of the peacefully sleeping Alya, tightly pressed against him. Just a minute after the picture had sent his phone began buzzing, a call from Marinette.

He accepted halfheartedly, trying to stay quiet not to wake Alya.

“Hi?”, he whispered, surprised as Marinette answered in an equally quiet voice.

“Hi Nino, Marinette’s here. I saw Alya’s still sleeping?”

He nodded, a dreamy gaze sneaking on his face as he looked down to her.

“Yeah, still sleeping. How, uhm-… How do I get her to bed without waking her? And most importantly, how does she let go?”

Marinette giggled breathily, obviously trying to hide it by holding her phone away, then her voice was there again.

“So, first of all, Alya’s a cuddler while sleeping. She doesn’t let go too easily. Secondly, Mister, you’re not getting her to bed, I’ll do that or she herself when she wakes up.”

Nino sighed, nodding.

“Alright. So, wanna come over? It’s only dribbling a little now and, uhm, I should maybe get home.”, his phone buzzed with a new message and it only took him a split second to look at the suggesting emoji his father had sent before dryly continuing, “Nevermind, I don’t need to be anywhere.”

Marinette giggled again, then she breathed through and her rustling hair suggested she was nodding.

“Alright, I’ll come over. I’ll tuck her in bed and then I wanna get to know you.”

He smiled, his embrace around the exhausted girl tightening.

“Sounds like a plan. You have the keys you said?”

Marinette confirmed and he just barely heard a metallic sounding noise, then she threw a short “Be right there” through the line and it clicked.

Nino leant back again, resting his head on the couch while waiting. His thoughts strayed off and he found himself getting back to the same topic as before falling asleep again, furrowing his eyebrows.

Was Alya always like this with strangers? Or just with him?

He frowned as he realized his hands were still wrapped around her. He hadn’t exactly discouraged her either, to trust a stranger that is.

Well, again, in the restaurant that had been easy. It had been in public and people had seen her with him. And she had probably seen that his house was always open. The front doors practically never closed since his family liked to be open and heartfelt with each other. The kids ran around everywhere and everyone knew what the others were doing. He had just closed the door when Alya had taken a shower, to give her the needed privacy, otherwise it had stayed open.

But inviting him, a stranger, into her apartment? Without thinking twice?

No… He remembered back, to her fearful face, her desperate need to be close to someone. She hadn’t thought at all. She had been afraid.

His frown deepened and his embrace around her involuntarily tightened.

He didn’t like the thought of her being naïve. But she had been out with that questionable guy, she had immediately trusted him… He couldn’t shake off the feeling that he should probably talk to Marinette about this.

Wanna buy me a coffee?

#miraculous ladybug #fanfic #alya cesaire #nino lahiffe #marinette dupain-cheng #djwifi #cola date #fluff

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zoebechtle-blog · 6 years

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Unlikely Chapter 1

I will be the first person to tell you - there was nothing about this relationship that made sense. On paper, we were painfully dissimilar: him, a sexy, successful Irish popstar wanted by half the world, and me, an American werewolf living in London. Well, not quite a werewolf, but it took monthly waxings to keep my Greek heritage off my upper lip. I barely topped out at 5’2” on a good shoe day, and leaned more towards the plump end of the body shape spectrum. My grandmother often spoke of my child bearing hips and tried to convince me that men liked a big ass and full boobs. She had yet to be proven right. Meanwhile, his chicken legs looked like they could barely support him. He binged watched ESPN and Golf Channel, and I had zero hand/eye coordination (the fact that I played soccer in high school was a fluke - there were no cuts). Before I met him I barely even knew what a melody was and had forgotten everything I had learned in elementary school music classes. He played the guitar like he was born with it, and pulled notes out of the air to make music that made my heart ache. As I said, nothing about us made sense.

I’d moved to the UK to attend grad school four years ago, and ended up staying. After spending my first year year here alone, and going on what can only be described as a series of tragic dates with men I’d met online, I was lonely and seemingly incapable of making friends. In an act of desperation, I texted my godmother’s niece, Hannah. The one and only time I'd met her we were six. She had told me that my hair cut made me look like a boy and I tripped her going up the stairs. It definitely was not love at first sight. I’d come to London with the number programmed into my phone, but determined not to contact the now-grown mean girl. However, desperate times...

It turned out that Hannah had actually grown up quite kick ass. She did something in the financial sector I could not begin to explain, but she was funny, charming, and when drunk could belch the alphabet. Given that my previous 52 Saturday nights had been filled with Netflix and listening to my neighbors fight or fuck, I latched on quickly. Over the course of the next few years I became friends with her crowd of friends, and a few people I befriended came into the mix. It was a small but lovely urban family, and for the most part we all accepted one another for who we were. I barely missed getting laid so good that my head pounded into a headboard while screaming out for God. Barely.

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Hannah was obsessed. Seriously. I was ready to brain her. The girl had finally swiped right and found a guy she was really into. For weeks we heard about him ad nauseum - Willie was Irish, worked at a firm four doors down from her in The City, and seemed like an all around decent chap. Being bitter, I naturally hated him before I met him. The nail in his coffin came the night Hannah casually brought up his roommate, and how she thought I’d like him. Nope. Not the dreaded friend fix up.

“Stop it right now. You know that’s a hard no.” I flung a piece of baby corn at her out of my stir fry to accentuate my point.

“C’mon. He’s proper cute, and is laddy without being a lad.”

“Yeah, because everything about me screams that I’m the lad type.”

“It’s not like a new type would kill you. There are only so many men in London who live in their mother’s basements with cats.”

“Never going to let me live that down, are ya?”

“Nope. Come on. He’s a musician and he’s hilarious. I met him at their house the other night. I think you two would get on. So does Willie.”

“Willie hasn’t met me. How does he have any idea who I’d get along with?”

“Obviously he’s heard all about you and the rest of the gang and seen pics on my Insta.”

I went back to my dinner frowning. It’s not that I didn’t want to meet guys, it’s that I was scared to meet them. Undoubtedly I would say something weird or awkward, or give out far more information than they ever wanted to know. A few dudes had piqued my interest over the years, but no one that I liked ever really liked me, and vice versa. A lot of mediocre to decent sex had been had (I’m not angel - momma knows what she likes), but that whole happily ever after thing didn’t seem like reality. At 27, I resigned myself to possibly getting a hamster (allergic to cats and who wants to walk a dog in London?) and embracing my spinsterhood.

This conversation and my lack of game stayed in the back of my mind for the next few days. Hannah was right about needing a change in my scenery. Especially since the failed date with the cat dude. My eyes itched in the memory. However, it was Thursday, and Thursday was quiz night at the pub. Most of our crew usually turned out to showcase our combined hundreds of years of education and to get a decent drunk on. I intentionally scheduled a light caseload on Fridays in the event of a hangover. I may get older, but wiser didn’t seem to be coming with the territory.

As luck would have it, I stayed late with a client this evening so I had to book it from the Tube stop to the pub. I texted Paul, one of our friends, asking him to save me a seat and order me a Stella. And a shot of Jameson’s. It had been that kind of day.

A text buzzed from Hannah as I got within a block of the bar. “Are you coming from work?”

“Yup. Got tied up in a session. Be there in 5.”

“What are you wearing?”

“Are you trying to come onto me, perv? Work clothes.”

“That you rolled around the floor all day in?”

What the fuck? I looked down at my black jersey pants and green boatneck tee. It wasn’t the most fashionable thing, but I did spend the majority of my day on the floor working with kids with autism. It’s not like I could do that wearing cashmere and stilettos. And who the fuck was I trying to impress? Two of the guys in our crew were gay, and I’d hooked up with the straight one already. These people had seen me vomit through my nose. Nothing I do could phase them.

Walking into the bar I greeted Eric, the doorman, with a wave (yeah, I’d made out with him once upon a tequila evening) and flashed a peace sign to Allie, our favorite server. We sat the same table every week thanks to the fact that Paul worked a few blocks away and often took a late lunch/early dismissal to get here in time to secure a table. Counting heads, I noticed the numbers were off. Instead of our usual 7-8, there were 10. Oh hell. New people.

As I got closer, I noticed Hannah hanging on the arm of one of the new faces. Great, it’s meet the boyfriend time. And he obviously brought his friends. I said a silent prayer that they weren’t stupid-we take pride in our 10 week unbeaten streak. Oh well, here goes nothing.

“What’s up, bitches?” I shouted as I wrapped my arm around Carly’s shoulder.

“Zoe!” Multiple people responded in salute as I squeezed in next to Paul. The empty seat was flanked by an unfamiliar blonde head, and being me, I didn’t look at him or acknowledge his presence.

“A Stella and a shot, my queen,” Paul said, gesturing to the table while offering his ruddy cheek for a kiss.

“Thank you, pookie bear.” I leaned down and blew a raspberry on his cheek.

“Zoe!” I heard Hannah trying to get my attention from three seats away. Grabbing the shot and sucking it back (oh, burning), I made eye contact with her, silently yelling for her invasion of my safety zone, and waved.

“This is Willie!” She squeezed the arm of the pale, dark haired guy next to her. He grinned, and shit, I did like his smile. He practically was a heart eyed emoji looking at Hannah, so I could check my attitude for the night.

“Hi, Willie,” I shook his outstretched hand. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise, Zoe. I hear I need to be on my toes around you lot.”

“We’re friendly savages once you get to know us,” I assured him.

Hannah piped up, “This is Deo, Willie’s brother.” Deo had eyebrows that challenged my tact, but he gave me a friendly smile. I made brief eye contact and nodded. Fine and dandy.

“And this is Niall. Willie’s roommate.” The blonde on my left grinned at me and offered his hand. Well holy motherfucker. This is why she was asking if I had changed. He was beautiful. Seriously. The scene from Wayne’s World where Wayne sees Cassandra for the first time basically became my life. I swear I could hear “Dreamweaver” playing in the background. I averted my eyes as I felt Paul elbow me.

“Hi,” I was very focused on tucking my purse under the table and adjusting my jacket just so on the back of the chair.

“Hey there,” he said. His voice sounded like the shot of Irish whiskey burning its way to my stomach. Oh hell. His (large, beautiful) hand was still hanging out there, waiting to be acknowledged. Unable to respond to basic decorum, I gave him a sideways high five. Oh my god. Paul loudly snorted into his beer as my face flushed hotter than the sun.

My phone beeped, saving me from more embarrassment. I looked at the text from Jess, sitting across the table. “Breathe, Z. And wipe the drool.” My response was the middle finger emoji. While I was texting her, Brian sent a message from the other side of Hannah, “Your game is on point as always.” “Piss off. It got you into my bed twice in the last year.” Ugh, he was pompous asshole. Unfortunately, he was also genetically blessed, so I sometimes got weak.

Unsure what to do and faced with a dry throat, I knocked back most of my pint. Sweet, sweet beer. My right leg start jiggling uncontrollably as I stared at the table in front of me. I could literally feel the heat coming off of Niall, and knew with the tight fit of the table if I turned even slightly our legs would touch. I scooted closer to Paul.

“Oi, Z! You’re on my lap. Unless you suddenly grew a cock, I’m not drunk enough for that!” Oh fuck you, Paul. I could feel Niall laughing beside me, and prayed it was at Paul’s inappropriateness and not my obvious social anxiety. Sensing my nerves, Jess stood and announced a toilet break and motioned for me. Carefully standing to not rub my ass on Niall’s shoulder, I slid behind Paul, digging my nails into his shoulder and hissing, “Another pint and shot, dickface. And this round is on YOUR tab.”

In the bathroom, Jess pulled out her makeup bag. “Okay, we need to cover up this flush. You look like a drunk sailor.” Hannah burst into the room with Carly hot on her heels. Christ, we were such a cliche.

“I can.not. believe you didn’t tell us Niall Horan was coming to quiz night, Hannah!” Carly stole a lipstick from Jess’s bag and started re-lacquering her lips. “I mean, what the fuck? We’re your best friends!”

Hannah took the compact of powder foundation from Jess and started working on my face, even as I tried to smack her hands away. “I didn’t know he was coming for sure. I invited Willie so you all couldn’t dodge meeting him. He asked if it was okay if he brought his mates.”

“Wait, you didn’t know Willie is Niall’s cousin? Do you not follow any of their instagrams? They post pics of each other all the time!” Jess shrieked.

“Yeah, I found out last week when I went over to his house. He hadn’t told me before. I assume he didn’t want a girl using him to get to cousin.”

“Niall FUCKING Horan and you didn’t tell us!” Carly continued to rage, pulling out her bun and fluffing her hair.

I stood in shock while Hannah tried to put concealer on a zit on my chin that wouldn’t go away and Jess sprayed something into my hair. “Wait up. Who the hell is Niall Horan and why are we freaking out that he’s here? Should I be freaking out? I gave him a fucking HIGH FIVE.” I didn’t know who he was but I could feel the panic rising.

All three stopped and looked at me. “Zoe. Niall Horan...From One Direction.”

“Oh my god. He’s the blonde one. I only know the name of Harry with the long hair. The blonde one is super cute.” Three pairs of eyes looked at me as if to say, “Duh.” “Omg, I’m sitting next to him. I GAVE HIM A FUCKING HIGH FIVE, HANNAH. Jesus.” The layer of powder spackling my face was now useless. My flush could heat a thousand homes during a blizzard. “Is this the cousin you wanted to fix me up with? Are you insane?!”

“Wait, what? You wanted to fix Zoe up with Niall?” Carly looked offended, and frankly I couldn’t blame her. She was the hot one. Hannah was the sweet one, Jess was the responsible one, and I was the funny one. We all had our unassigned roles, at least in my head.

Rolling her eyes, Hannah resumed my impromptu makeover as I stood, still dumbfounded. “Yes, slag. You have a boyfriend, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I’d drop him in a sec,” Carly interrupted.

“Anyhow, yes, I wanted to fix up Z. His sense of humor is almost as evil as hers, and she deserves a nice, normal guy.” She poked me in the chest with a mascara wand to make her point.

“Hardly normal, isn’t he?” I responded, finally gathering a few of my thoughts. Jess laughed at my gaping jaw. “Han, I’m going to die at this table of embarrassment, and even if I don’t, Paul is going to murder me if we lose because my brain is cheese right now. I can’t TALK in front of a regular guy I don’t know. Nevermind one who is fucking famous.”

“Relax, Z.” Carly finally sensed my pending tantrum and threw her arms around me. “You’re fine. And remember, Paul is an asshole if we lose at trivia. Those bastards from Social Meme-ia are dying to break our streak. Tossers.”

An hour and a half later, we were in the middle of round two, and solidly kicking ass. I still had not made eye contact with Niall, though a few times during moments of excitement, I had bounced up and down and our legs collided. Each time I yanked mine back in horror, and I could hear him let out a little laugh. Carly had switched seats to be sitting across from us, and she was all but laying her tits on the table at him. I admired her confidence. Niall appeared to be eating it up, so good for him. Two whiskeys and three beers into the night, I was loosening up. Now I could at least blame my flushed face on the booze.

“Next two questions are for our science geeks in the crowd,” Ted, the quizmaster informed us. “Yes!” Paul pumped his fist and threw his arm around my shoulder. “This is all you, Zo!”

“No pressure or anything, thanks,” I laughed. The two questions dealt with the brain, and I squealed in delight. We won top points and took a solid lead. I made eye contact with the leader of Social Meme-ia and raised my eyebrow cockily. And maybe scratched my nose with my middle finger. Take that, losers.

“Science geek, eh?” Niall nudged my arm, forcing me to look into his blue eyes that basically cut my soul. He smiled the sweetest, softest smile I had ever seen. I (thankfully) resisted the urge to caress his cheek. And I realized I had not responded and was just staring at him.

“Um, yeah. I have a biology degree.”

“Don’t let her fool you, Ni,” okay, when did he become ‘Ni’ and why was Paul bellowing in my ear? “My Zoe girl has three fucking degrees and is the queen of the science category. She kills that ‘FUCKING WANKER at Social Meme-ia every FUCKING WEEK.’”

Trying to apologize for my drunk friend, I explained, “Paul leans on me because the only organ he can name is a penis.” Did I really just say penis?

Niall’s face turned bright red and he started cracking up. “You are all amazing.”

“Thank you, Ni!” Paul again shouted in my ear, causing me to physically cover it from his thunderous drunk voice. Also, again with the Ni? Had they even spoken to one another before this exchange? I took a swig of my pint and realized he was talking to me again.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, do you use your biology degree? What do you do?”

That’s an easy simple question. Even I can handle this. “Me? What do I do?” Okay, maybe not. He nodded at me encouragingly, and I polished off the rest of my Stella. “I use my powers for good instead of evil. I’m an occupational therapist at a clinic for autistic kids.”

“Very cool. I work with an autism charity in Ireland.”

“That’s cool.” God, Zoe. Open your mouth and let words fall out. It’s not hard. “Um, which charity?”

Allie came to the rescue with another round of pints. Niall motioned to me and himself, and she nodded in some understanding.

“What was that about?” I questioned.

“I ordered you and I another round of Jameson. I think we need to bond over shots-you’ve got a lot to say in that pretty head that you’re not letting out.” His grin split his face and I, to my own shock, found myself smiling back at him.

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ladyghouls · 6 years

Text

I wrote this random scenario from the a third party perspective through text messages of an OC I have and a conversation with Bakugo Katsuki during the apprenticeships with the Pro Heroes. This is basically dumb teenagers not realizing they have the very shy beginnings of friendship budding, and one of less than a handful of numbers Bakugo has of people from UA, the others being Kirishima and maybe Kaminari (they all have rude nicknames in his phone). His - from his perspective - bad experience during his trip triggers wanting to vent to someone. My OC grew up in an orphanage and in/out of foster care after running away from an abusive home life, resulting in basically living on the street for a while as a young child until someone dropped her on the doors of the orphanage when they found her passed out under a bridge from malnutrition. She has not told anyone at UA - outside of staff who are aware of the basics - of her nonexistent home life. I live for angst.

Bakugo: HEY DUMBASS, look at this stupid FUCKING hair god this whole fucking apprentice shit was a regret, I’m not learning anything I swear to GOD

OC: thanks for the blackmail material that you definitely willingly just sent…good GOD INDEED THANK YOU LAWD for this precious gift *prayer hands emoji*

Bakugo: WTF NO DELETE IT FUCK YOU ASS

OC: fat chance, moron

Bakugo: I’m blocking u fucking hell

OC: are u really not learning anything from Best Jeanist? I figured he wasn’t THAT bad…

Bakugo: All he gives a fuck about talking about is public rep and looking good for an audience or other dumb shit, nothing about actually fighting villains…so, shitty Hair 2.0

OC:…i’ll just keep my mouth zipped on that one

Bakugo: The fuck does that mean?!

OC: uh you have a shit attitude about literally everything 100000% of the time? heroes are in the public eye, there’s really no getting around it. how u gonna rescue booger-nosed children from burning buildings if they’re scared of u?

Bakugo: STFU, i dont give a shit about being LIKEABLE of all things, as long as what needs to get done gets done i dont care if they’re scared of me. Villains SHOULD be scared of me anyway so BOOM NO PROBLEMS

OC: *inserts 10+ upside down smiley face emojis* perfect logic

Bakugo: fuck you

Bakugo: hows your shit going, plz tell me they shaved your head or something equally funny

OC:you wish. not bad actually, learning a lot

*no reply for like 10 minutes*

Bakugo: fuck you

OC:worst part is this shit bed they gave me since the agency is out of town. it’s literally a giant brick with a sheet on it. Cementoss prob made it. ive slept on worse tho so i wont complain

Bakugo: HAHAaa brings you back to your days under the troll bridge i bet

*30 minutes, no reply*

Bakugo: because you’re a troll, dumbass

*no reply*

Bakugo: fucking hell i’m BORED over here dont let me suffer take a fucking joke shit

*no reply*

Bakugo: not like u ever lived under a real bridge right

….*no reply*

Bakugo: ….fucking shit are you for real a troll

Bakugo: hey

Bakugo: u serious?

OC: I’ll talk to you later

Bakugo: WTF ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS?/1??? look its none of my fucking business not like i give a shit but

OC: goodnight, bakugo. please stfu

Bakugo: *reply written, but unsent*

#bnha #mha #bakugo katsuki #bnha oc

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honeyedhoseok · 7 years

Text

Noona

word count | 2.1k

genre | noona x jungkook; college au

warnings | profanity, smut (in the future) [M]

Part 2

Jungkook flicked his thumb upwards, scrolling past the endless pictures on social media of other university students unpacking their things, saying goodbye to their parents, some even already prepping for a night out on the town in celebration.

Jungkook’s own apartment was a disaster state, but not because of his own belongings he needed to unpack. He’d brought his clothes, video games, and bathroom stuff for good measure because that was most important. The scattered mess of boxes and unpacked totes that lay in the living room and kitchen were all from his hyungs he was rooming with this year, Jimin and Taehyung.

“Y/N’s not going to text you back any faster if you stare the screen like that, Kookie,” Jimin teased, unpacking a box full of blankets next to the couch and tossing one to Jungkook.

He draped it over the back with a scowl painted on his mouth. “I wasn’t waiting for her to text me bac—“ He was interrupted by the sound of his phone going off in his hand, a snapchat notification from you which he quickly opened. You were sitting with your roommate on your bed, a bunny-ear filter contorting both of your faces and making your eyes impeccably big. He snapped back a picture of his legs with Jimin in the background, typing out “How’s move in going?” lamely before he sent it.

“Dude you’re still talking to her? I thought you gave up on that,” Taehyung commented with a grunt, passing through with a large box of kitchen stuff in his hands. “Hey are you gonna keep dicking around on your phone or actually help us set this place up?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but dragged himself off the couch and into the kitchen, placing cooking pots and pans under the sink in the extra cabinet space. “I never said I gave up on her, I said that I wasn’t going to try too hard from now on.”

Which was a lie.

Jungkook was trying extremely hard, and for all the wrong reasons. He knew you were older, probably out of his league, and deserved better. But he wanted you so bad it made his teeth ache. Most of it was physical, but he didn’t care. The emotions could come later, after he made you moan his name like a personal prayer.

“What you’re saying is you sent her a dick pic and she responded with how cute, so now your ego is hurt?” Taehyung snorted, darting out the way of Jungkook’s fist that shot out to punch him in the stomach.

“What I’m saying is,” Jungkook began, blowing out a breath, “It’s inevitable that it’s going to happen. So all I need to do is sit back and wait.”

Jimin’s cocked an eyebrow at his younger friend, “How are you so sure?”

Jungkook’s phone went off in his pocket then in perfect timing, making a smirk cross his features. “Why is she still talking to me, then?”

You were asking yourself the same question.

You’d gotten Jungkook’s snapchat after hanging out with him and his friends over the summer. They were all fooling around, doing ridiculous jumps off the diving board and into the pool. You’d noticed the younger boy’s broad shoulders and toned muscles from the moment he’d stripped his shirt off and dived in, and you hadn’t taken your eyes off him since.

Jungkook, noticing that you were videotaping him earlier, came over to sit beside you and ask you for your snapchat ID so that he could see the video. Your eyes wanted so badly to follow the trails of water that dripped from his hair and onto his chest, rolling down his pecs to the little trail of hair that dipped into the center of his trunks. Instead, you focused on his face, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he talked to you, the furrow of his eyebrows, the veins in his hands as they wrapped your phone to take a closer look.

Since then, your relationship was a flurry of normal conversations that turned increasingly flirty the later they spanned on into the night. Jungkook was very vocal about what he wanted from you, but you were doing everything you could in denying him the pleasure of getting it.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want him—god, did you—but there was something inside that tingled at the thought of riling the younger boy up. You wanted to keep him distant enough where he fawned after you, but close enough to keep the hope alive that you would eventually give him what he was craving.

It was a sick, twisted relationship that you two had going on, but it was much too fun to stop. However, the ante was upped the moment he decided to drop the bomb that he was going to be a freshman at the same college you went to. Jungkook was closer than ever to getting what he wanted, in the realist way possible, and you both had a feeling your flirtatious relationship was going to soon come to an end.

You snapped him one more picture with your tongue out, sending it with no caption to keep your streak alive as your roommate stood up from your bed, stretching. “I’m gonna go nap before we head out tonight, I have a feeling it’s gonna be a late one.”

You nodded, setting your phone aside. “I need to figure out what I’m wearing.”

“Why, all you’re going to do is talk to that kid all night long,” Yujin laughed, rolling her eyes.

“He’s not a kid!”

“Y/N, you’re a senior and he just got out of high school good.”

“So!” you retorted, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “He doesn’t look like a kid, that’s for sure.”

“Ah ah ah!” Yujin yelled, placing her hands over her ears and walking out of your room, “I don’t want to hear anything that has to do with what he looks like. He’s too young! End of story!”

You giggled as you heard her close the door to her own room, still mumbling nonsense to herself to drown out the sound of your voice. Your phone dinged again and you dived for it, counting to ten before you opened a picture from Jungkook.

What are you getting into tonight?

“Fuck, man, someone placed a fucking C4 right beside the door! How’s a guy supposed to camp in this building?”

“That’s the point. You don’t camp, you twat. You get down there and do some real work, like me!”

“Says the guy who’s thirteen and twenty-two.”

“Fuck you.”

Jungkook tossed his controller to the side as he noticed his phone lighting up beside him, ignoring the complaints that were trailing from Taehyung’s bedroom about the shittiness of their online team.

The three normally split up while they were gaming, but since they lived together now they had to come up with a different system. Jungkook was on his own console in his bedroom and Taehyung was doing the same in his, with Jimin joining in on the unlucky person who lost rock paper scissors. It was a bitch to play split screen while online, so Jungkook was going to make sure he always won.

Noona

Text Message received 8:51pm

I’m going out with my roommates tonight to celebrate moving in, wish you could come!

Text Message sent 8:52pm

Don’t get too lit, wouldn’t want you going home with a random guy

Of course he couldn’t come, he was too young to drink in public. Jungkook cursed himself for even sending something as insecure as that, but your quick reply made a smirk twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Noona

Text Message received 8:53pm

Wouldn’t dream of it, little baby ;P

The nickname annoyed him slightly, but it was kind of cute coming from you. Jungkook would deal with whatever it took if it meant that you’d finally come home with him one day. He sent you a smirk face emoji before tossing his phone to the side again, picking up his controller and rejoining the game that Jimin and Taehyung were still losing.

It was multiple games and hours later, when Jungkook was laying in his bed in the dark, when you sent him a random snapchat. He hadn’t expected to talk to you for the rest of the night considering you would be drinking with your roommates so he opened it quickly, his eyes grazing the picture seconds before it disappeared off his screen.

You were pouting in the backseat of a car, your roommates head rested on your shoulder, with the caption Yujin got sick so we left at the bottom.

Jungkook swiped right on your name, opening the chat feature in snapchat and quickly typing out Is everything okay?

Y/N 12:22am

She’s fine

Really drunk

So am I tho lol

Jungkook 12:24am

I told you to be careful

Y/N 12:27am

I know

You should have been ther

I woud have been focused on u instead drinking

Jungkook laughed at your grammar mistakes, shaking his head against the pillows on his bed.

Jungkook 12:29am

Lol you’re wild

Y/N 12:35am

And you’re cute

His phone buzzed again, a snapchat of your bare legs in bed, obviously having made it safely back to your apartment and already put Yujin to bed. Jungkook sent a picture of his face, the flash blinding him a little with the brightness and showing off the paleness of his upper chest.

Your reply was instantaneous: hot

You didn’t know what made you type the words you did next, but you were sending them before you could think twice about what you were about to do. Jungkook and you both knew it was a bad idea to keep texting when you were drunk. Your conversations always went south this late at night, especially when you were under the influence. But the little shit always wanted them to go this way, even if it was just so he could tease you about it the next day.

Y/N 12:51

Fuck

You should come over

You waited, blinking at your screen in the dark at the words you’d just sent. Your fingers tightened around your phone as you watched the icon that let you know Jungkook was typing disappear and then reappear a few times. You blew out a breath of relief when he finally replied, a smile playing around the edges of your lips.

Jungkook 12:52am

Send me your fucking location

You giggled in the darkness, about to type out an address before realizing that you didn’t have the address of your new apartment memorized. Yujin knew, but she was fucking passed out drunk in her bed at that moment and no help to you whatsoever.

Y/N 12:54am

Ummmm

I don’t lnow it, its jst the apartments by the rec center

Jungkook sent you frowning emoji.

Jungkook 12:55am

Y/N I don’t know where the fuck that is

I just moved in today!!!!

Y/N 12:56am

I’m sorry!!!!!!!!!!

Jungkook 1:00am

Let me come see you tomorrow

You’re mean for teasing me like this

You thought for a moment, picturing Jungkook in your apartment with Yujin’s judgy eyes watching his every move, and you were shaking the idea out of your swimming head before you could even dwell on it long.

Y/N 1:02am

There’s a party tomorrow on campus, you jimin taehyung should come

We can meet..and I’m make up for tonight

Jungkook, being the ever persistent one, immediately typed out: Oh yeah? How? You sent a smirk face back, playing coy.

Y/N 1:05am

You’ll just have to wait and see

Jungkook sent you a picture then, and you clicked on it nonchalantly, expecting another snap of him in the dark with his eyebrows furrowed and a somewhat flirty threat. What popped up on your screen took your breath away, your eyes darting to take it all in a memorize it in your head before it went away.

It was a picture of Jungkook’s lower half in his bed, the comforter pushed off his frame and towards the end of the bed where his bare feet rested. He was gripping his evident hard on through the material of his grey sweatpants, the tendons in his forearm standing out somewhat menacingly.

Don’t fucking tease me noona. Stop playing hard to get

The picture disappeared much too quickly for your liking and you sat in the darkness, feeling your blood rush to your already hot face. Your core was flooded with feeling suddenly, too, making you clench your thighs together underneath the white duvet that covered your bed.

You took a few breaths in and out before typing out an excited reply, biting your lip:

Y/N 1:11am

Im not teasing. Just wait until tomorrow

Goodnight

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #bts jungkook smut #busanboysnet #helloblamebts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

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casualpastelgay · 7 years

Text

Title: There’s My Beautiful Princess’s Smile

Pairing: Zen(Hyun Ryu) x MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 1931

Type: Fluff

Notes: I was having some emotional times over the past week or so due to some real life stuff. I wanted to write this just a self-serving thing for me, but decided to share it with you guys as well. Just as a warning, this does include some things that could allude to the idea of depression, if you don’t like topics like that I’d say to not read this fic. Contains: supportive mom (boy)friend Zen, a sad MC, cuddling, a little bit of kissing, and ultimately a good time.

Your body slumped backwards into the fluffy pillows of your bed, an exhausted sigh escaping your lips as you pulled the blankets up to your chin then promptly kicked them off. Nothing had gone right today. Nothing. Your work on gaining guests for the next RFA party fell through the cracks as you accidentally named the competing product in an email to them. The week already hadn’t been a good one for you, this was just icing on an awful, lopsided cake.

An almost silent prayer for comfort slipped from your lips as you pulled a pillow from the opposite side of the bed into your chest, hugging it close as you breathed in the only slightly lingering scent of your boyfriend. Zen had already been gone before you’d woken up and wouldn’t be back until later in the night. You squeezed your eyes shut as you imagined his strong arms around you and the warmth like the sun that always seemed to radiate from his smile.

Tears of frustration threatened to spill down your cheeks as you pressed your face into the pillow. You chided yourself mentally for wishing Zen had a different job, something perhaps with easier hours. If he didn’t have this job, he wouldn’t be as happy as he was. He was your knight in shining armor, if you told him you weren’t feeling well he’d drop everything to come to your side. As much as you wanted him with you, you couldn’t bear the thought of him abandoning his responsibilities, especially with a role he’d been pining for so long.

You couldn’t help imagining him with his costar, she was beautiful. In your subconscious you knew it was just your bad week murmuring sick ideas to you, but it still hurt to know he could be holding her at this very moment. You clenched and unclenched your fists, chewing on your lip as you tried to think of something, anything else.

Darkness clouded your mind as you curled into a fetal position, still clutching Zen’s pillow. The evil in your mind screamed at you, it told you that you weren’t good enough for him. That you’d never be good enough for him. All your failures bubbled in your gut, twisting it into a coil that rose into your throat. It choked you, forcing the hot tears you’d tried to keep at bay to wash down your face.

Why was nothing ever right? Why were you never good enough? Why couldn’t-

“Jagiya?” A soft whisper made you raise your head, in your fit of sobs you hadn’t noticed the bedroom door open. You saw Zen in the doorway, momentarily frozen in shock at your state. “Are you ok?” He quickly moved towards the bed, sitting down on the edge of it and reaching out for you.

You practically jumped into his waiting arms, clutching at him desperately as you cried. It broke Zen’s heart to see you this way, he cradled you close as he tried to calm you down. One of his hands moved in slow, comforting circles on your back. He stayed uncharacteristically silent as he held you, which you misinterpreted as disgust. “I’m sorry, Zen.” You whimpered into the sleeve of his jacket, then attempted to pull away from him.

Zen didn’t let you move an inch from his chest, his forehead dropping to press against yours as you stared up at him with tears still in the edges of your vision. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Jagiya.” He wiped one of his thumbs softly under both of your eyes then let his fingertips trail under your chin. Zen hesitated for a moment, he wished to kiss you, to banish all your sadness away with his touch. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

You pulled your face away from Zen’s, an ashamed look passing over your features as you hesitated. You didn’t want to pull him into your problems.

“MC?” He pressed, his voice still gentle as he tried desperately to get you to talk to him. If he couldn’t eat your sadness away with his lips, he at least wanted you to confide in him everything that was bothering you. “If you think it’s stupid to tell me, it’s not.”

A snort broke through your weak gasps, Zen was always in your head no matter the situation, it seemed. “I’m just frustrated, I’ve been having trouble with getting new guests. I royally screwed up an email to someone today.” Your voice cracked between syllables as you nuzzled into his shoulder, breathing in the scent straight from the source now, rather than his pillow. A faint smoky smell clung to him, he must’ve smoked before he got home. “Aren’t you home early?” You tried to change the subject as you noticed a different scent on him. Perfume.

“The director had a family emergency.” Zen shifted your weight in his arms slightly as he forced you to look up at him. “I can tell that’s not the only thing that’s on your mind, please talk to me.” You bit your lip once again as Zen’s concern for you, and his love for you, shone clear in his voice.

“Don’t worry ab-“

You tried to sway Zen from wanting to hear about your thoughts about his costar and about yourself, but he cut you off before you could complete your sentence. “I will worry about it, Jagiya.” His voice was stern, but still loving as he shifted you again, pulling your face closer to his.

Tears welled in your eyes again as he fixed you with a compassionate stare that threatened to see directly into your soul. “I… I was just worried about your costar. I’ve seen her in things on TV she’s so beautiful and talented and… And I can’t help feeling like you’d be happier with someone like he-“ Zen quickly cut you off with a soft kiss. He didn’t want to hear you finish that sentence. He didn’t want you to even think something like that.

“I love you Jagiya, no actress is going to change that.” He spoke against your lips, then brushed his mouth under your eyes. Your hot tears clung to his lips as he raised his head to look at you again. “I’d offer to drop the musical now, but it’s a little late in the game now. I wish you’d told me earlier.”

You started to shake your head before he ended his sentence. “No, no, I want you to keep that part, you worked so hard for it.” You pushed your aversion into the bottoms of your feet as you stared up at Zen, the uncertainty of yourself washing your gaze. And Zen could see it clear as day.

A surprised half-yelp jumped from your lips as Zen suddenly stood up, still cradling you against his chest. “What are you doing?” You squirmed slightly, which he responded to be tightening his grip again.

“I want to show you something, MC.” There was a strong emotion behind Zen’s voice, it worried you that you couldn’t place the emotion to a name. He carried you to the living room couch and set you down, promptly plopping down next to you and tossing an arm over your shoulder to pull you so you leaned against him.

He hummed to himself as he picked his phone up off the coffee table, unlocking it then opening his photo album app. Zen’s finger paused briefly as he glanced over at you, smiling slightly as you cautiously peered at the screen. “This album,” Zen tapped on an album titled ‘Jagiya’ with an emoji kissy-face next to it. “Is very important to me.”

Zen handed the phone to you, your eyes widened as you saw just how many pictures were there. There were just under 1000 pictures, all of them of you. Some were selfies you’d sent him, some were selfies he’d taken with you unsuspectingly in the background, while some were selfies of both of you when you knew he was taking them. Your eyes naturally drifted to some specific photos, or screenshots rather, from the messenger app you shared.

Some of the screenshots were from when you had just recently met Zen, before you’d even seen his face. “Do you know why some of these are so important to me, Jagiya?” You looked up at him, waiting for him to answer his own question, because frankly, you couldn’t fathom why he’d taken some of the screenshots.

He chuckled softly a slight blush crossing his features as he thought back on when he’d first started talking to you, something about your energy had really made him take a liking to you right away. “I knew you’d be important to me when I realized every time you complimented me or encouraged me to do something, I could feel it in here.” Zen raised your free hand to cover his heart, the arm around your shoulders bringing you to lean more into his warm body. “It’s a little embarrassing to admit, but I had this album made and titled before I’d met you face to face.”

You blushed furiously at his admission. “Did you have a prophetic dream? You creep.” You scolded him, but the bashful smile playing on the edges of your mouth just made Zen laugh again, a loud, whooping sound.

“There’s my beautiful princess’s smile~” Zen sang, his face dipping towards yours suddenly to give you a quick peck on the cheek. “And I may be a creep, but you still love me, right?” He teased, taking his phone back when you held it towards him.

“I suppose.” You huffed, still embarrassed from his revelation and the album he’d shown you. Zen quirked an eyebrow at the nature of your response, then raised your chin with two of his fingers and kissed you again. It was gentle and sweet, it tasted like a flower made of milk chocolate on the tip of your tongue.

Zen continued his gentle attack of your lips until he felt wetness on his cheeks, making him snap away instantly. “Jagiya?” He hurriedly wiped the tears that had begun falling down your face again with his thumbs. “Did I upset you?”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing yourself close to him as you smelled again the muted scent of cigarettes tainting the skin of his neck. “I’m just emotional today, I’m sor-“

“Don’t apologize again. I’ll have to do something drastic if you do.” Zen hugged you back, his face nuzzling into your shoulder as he pressed soft kisses to the collar of your shirt.

“What do I get if I don’t apologize again?” You questioned him, batting unlinking your arms from behind Zen’s neck to bat his head away as he got dangerously close to kissing your neck. An action you knew would lead to other activities you weren’t feeling energized for at the moment.

Zen looked at you, a slow, deliberate smile spreading across his face as he considered his options. “Want to go get something sweet? We could go to that new bakery in town.” He responded, a sudden, bursting excitement in his voice.

“That sounds nice.” You smiled back at him, then gasped when he suddenly stood up, almost knocking you on the floor in his haste. He apologized softly and helped you stand up straight, then practically leaped towards the front door.

He adjusted his jacket, then turned towards you. Zen held out his arm and you linked yours through it.

“Then it’s a date, Jagiya.”

#my writing #fluff #mystic messenger #mysme #cheritz #zen #mystic messenger zen #mysme zen

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mandimormon-blog · 7 years

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Seaweed and Dirty Filters

Typically, as I type a blog, I have bullet points or a keyword list stored as a note, on my phone. Not because I forget everything, but I forget everything UNLESS someone offends me. In the case, I remember the exact year, day, weather, time, location, minute, what clothing we both were wearing, and whether or not I was having a good hair day.

Last week, as I pecked away at the keyboard, I forgot a little gem. It’s probably because my mind shifts focus dozens of times and when I remember where I was originally going with something, it’s too late. It’s posted.

Picture this. We go about the same weekly, school routine, day-by-day. We arise and shine forth, extra early or most of the time not a minute before 7:00 a.m. expecting to be arriving at school sometime between 7:55-8:05. A long time ago, (like last school year), I used to be up before the sun, getting five miles in and starting morning chores long before 7:00 a.m. rolled around. This year, however, my son began all-day Kindergarten meaning, I have about seven hours a day to get household chores underway, a run in, weights in, and all of the errand running done (because let’s face it – it’s easier to fly solo when purchasing the weekly groceries). I require my sleep. I even get lots of stars on my FitBit for getting enough sleep per night. Yep, that feels like a participation trophy but it’s a good feeling to get enough sleep not to mention healthy, so I’m not ashamed.

Back to rolling out of bed at 7:00, dragging my feet down the stairs, “inspiring” my children to get dressed in the clothing they laid out for school, the evening before. Mamma-pedia’s Definitition of “inspiring” means bribing; repeating up to, but not more than 12 times; announcement of privileges; threats of privilege-removal; threats of calling the parent (in the restroom upstairs) into the conversation; and shouting, as a final resort.

Then a breakfast compromise, naturally, because no two children enjoy the same thing at the same time. Then hair. Oh hair. Have you met my middle child? Undoubtedly, everywhere we go this little chicky receives a minimum of three compliments on her naturally curly loose locks. Caring for these gorgeous locks isn’t a beautiful process. This little girl is very independent and stubborn. Every. Single. Day. Is a battle over the hair. Every. Day. If I choose to pull it into a ponytail or bun, she’ll remove it immediately because it wasn’t her choice. After the effort to catch her running around the couch, bar, up the stairs, around the table, and spray detangling all over her, the floor, sometimes even my husband if she has to be lovingly restrained, hair styled and then it’s removed, in the blink of an eye, you can only imagine how frustrated I become. Actually, not that frustrated anymore. I can’t be fazed. I just look like the Kermit memes or the emoji with its mouth closed straight across and eyes shut.

Hair, eventually check, usually minutes before 8:00. Then it’s teeth brushing, book bag gathering, shoe placement or shouting about shoe placement, and running out the front door.

As parental blood pressures return to stable, we call on someone to give a morning family prayer, (yes, on the way to school in the truck, the whole family), and discuss the children’s agenda for the day. On this given day, it was Friday, and as we slowly inched our way closer and closer to the drop-off location. I remembered it was Friday and Jude’s show-n-tell day. I said to him, “Jude, is today show-n-tell?” His response, “Oh yeah, I forgot.”

I looked to my left and to my right. “Well, maybe we can find something in dad’s truck you can take in.” He held up a paint-stir stick, “I can take this!”

I opened the glove box and pulled out the contents. Without thinking and laughing a little, “Here’s a Book of Mormon, you could take that.” He began hopping in his seat, “Yes, Yes! I want to take that!”

I looked at my husband, who tried convincing him it probably wasn’t a good idea to take that to show-n-tell. But Jude was insistent now. He was so excited, so we couldn’t take it from him. We just hoped for the best. After dropping the children off, my husband and I conversed about how this was going to go down. I laughed and said there would probably be a note sent home with him. But, honestly, I wish I had the faith this kid has to be bold and absolutely satisfied with things I choose to do.

The day went by, that was the day we went to the temple last week, so my mother picked up the kids from school. She told us this story when we returned from our day-date. Note, she usually waits in the carline. Today, a few classes were out to recess while she waited.

She said as she was sitting in the carline she was looking around at all of the children playing on the playground. She noticed one little boy, but thought it couldn’t possibly be Jude because that child had no hat and no gloves on, this day was chilly. But then she realized that little boy absolutely had to be Jude because he was running around the blacktop, carrying a Book of Mormon in his hands.

I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at this. I even pulled Jude into the conversation my mother, husband, and I had, to ask about taking his show-n-tell to recess. Sure enough, he let us know he did have it, it took it outside for both recesses.

Jude seems to be on a roll and has been for a couple of years now. I’ve always heard the baby of the family is the comedian.

On Wednesday, I was terribly busy. I know you’re probably thinking ‘Yeah right’. Valid. Truly valid. But I dabble in a lot of extracurricular activities. For one, I run. I like to 5-6x a week. So maybe an hour, hour and a half a day. Weightlifting. That’s 20-40 minutes. On this particular day, I had to run, weightlift, runner-bathe… ‘Mamma-pedia’s Definition of “runner-bathe” – wash face, blow-dry sweat into hair, wipe off body with a damp towel and a little bit of soap, air dry, dress for the day.’

Then my mother and I ran over to Crawfordsville and hit up Kroger. Have I mentioned how much I love their organics and gluten-free selections? Wow, I do. Then since Wednesdays are early release, I ran inside, make a salad, inhaled it, and went to the school for pick-up. I hadn’t really been home all day. I didn’t realize how much of an impact this would make on my children until we all walked through the front door and Reis, stopped dead in her tracks, “Mom, why is the house a mess?”

Job Security. That’s what I wanted to say. I clean, clean, clean, every day. A normal day those three kiddies walk in and everything is put away, the counters are clean, all articles of clothing clean and put away, the house is fragrant of essential oils from mopping or the diffuser, and even sometimes dinner is in the crockpot or ready to be prepped. This particular day, not so much… the cereal bowls were still on the counter from the morning, a hair brush on the table, detangler out, hair cream. Sink with several dishes, the counters weren’t wiped down a couple of pairs of shoes appeared sporadically on the floor, the couch was looking crazy. The zipper is broken, so sometimes the guts of the couch hang out, you know what I mean? The white stuffing. Toys on the living room floor. A hamper full of clothing next to the washer and dryer. Barstools disheveled.

As she said this I didn’t take offense, past the job security tidbit, I was like, “You are right. I have to clean it now.” I’m not OCD. Not even a little bit. My sink had blue clay residue for a couple of days around the bowl and like I mentioned my couch is undressed half of the time. If I were OCD that brown couch would be curbside. I just have a routine I go about day-by-day, thinking no one noticed, but now I know they do.

So, here I am straightening things up, Jude’s following me around at this point, discussing something with me. We usually have very adult conversations together. I opened up the utility closet door to place the vacuum back. While it was open I hung another bag up on its hook, the furnace filter caught my eye. It was still dust-covered.

To my son, I commented, “I want to text your dad and ask him to get a furnace filter, but I’m afraid to, since I’ve already asked him, nine times.”

Jude replied, “Maybe he’s getting it for your birthday.”

Backing it up, on Monday my girls (plural) had 4-H meetings. Remi is now old enough for Mini 4-H. Reis has done 4-H since 3rd grade, but not Mini. I, however, did Mini 4-H in second grade. In second grade when times were simpler. For example, you could bake cookies or build a birdhouse.

In 2017, you can pick from a slew of projects, similar to the bigger kiddos, and this year you can even get a mentor and show a smaller livestock animal. No cows.

Reis had her first meeting of the year, too. It was very successful and she’s stoked a friend of hers is taking a project this year.

Tuesday was Valentine’s Day. That day was crazier than the Wednesday, I’d described. But only because I choose for it to be crazy and I was crazy-proud of that.

I set my alarm a little bit earlier than normal. It wasn’t 7 a.m. prying myself out of bed like a zombie. I had a hop in my step, because I had big plans for the fam.

While they were sleeping, I made gluten-free blueberry muffins, homemade gluten-free fresh strawberry and chocolate chip pancakes, and fresh strawberries cut into hearts, with “pink milk” (aka Strawberry Milk – we don’t even do regular milk in our home, we usually opt for almond everything but this was a special day).

I gave my husband a box of one of his favorite kinds of a candy with a cheesy message on it and later in the day, I made him a loaf of gluten-free banana bread. He said it was good. But to me, the texture appeared very dry. I couldn’t try it, AIP still going strong. Speaking of AIP, I read the guide to reintroduction, a few days ago, and laughed out loud. It said as you reintroduce a food group, you should take a small nibble of the food, wait 15 minutes, consume it and then don’t reintroduce anything else new for five days to note your reactions. AIP Founders must not understand my life. If I’m trying a food I’ve been forced to avoid for 30 days and my meals consist of vegetables with the exception of nightshades, no grains, no seeds, no nuts, no dairy, no soy, no processed foods – do you think I can just take a little nibble of something? The answer is no. No, I inhale that food and then eat more of it. I did try an egg yolk a few days ago, so I’m going to venture to say it didn’t affect me in a bad way, and I should probably hard-boil more eggs. Oh, the sacrifice!

I ran, tossed around some weights, and got ready. I went by the flower shop to send an arrangement to someone and noticed I was the only female, aside from the staff, all men on Valentine’s Day. I was planning Miss Remi’s Valentine’s Party. Of course, I had been for the past couple of weeks. I delegated almost everything, but I still took in my insulated bag of backups, in case they were needed and a gluten-free party mix.

That morning, I decided to attend Jude’s party, too, since it was a half hour before Remi’s party. After his was over, I rushed to Remi’s, and feeling great about that one, because the moms did an exceptional job with their delegations. Did I mention Remi and I both wore our matching Mommy and Me LuLaRoe Valentine Leggings? We so did. She even wanted me to wear them to match her. I had so many compliments because of how “festive” my leggings were.

I began to walk down the hallway, headed out of the building after her party, but noticed my oldest daughter in gym class. I tried discreetly tapping on the window but it was probably super loud in there, so I just let myself in and yelled her name. I’m sure she wasn’t embarrassed at all.

She and her friend came quickly to me, probably hoping I didn’t yell her name, again. I asked if she’d had her party and they told me it was in the next ten minutes. I told them, I would probably come then.

Classroom parties must be my weakness, because I know I described previously how proud I was at the beginning of the school year when I only signed up for one party per child so I wasn’t so stressed going to three parties and making three contributions or more for each holiday.

I ran outside and moved my vehicle away from the bus lane, and went in for round three. I unloaded a few things that wouldn’t be needed and reloaded my Mary Poppins insulated bag. I was able to contribute a gluten-free party mix to this one, for my little Celiac Lady.

After school, I rolled out gluten-free (do you wish you had a quarter for every time I said gluten-free?) pizza dough, I made from scratch. I was crossing my fingers it would taste good to my children. This variety, how about I say GF now? GF anything carby – like breads, buns, donuts – are rarely yummy. They usually have a funky texture and grainy taste. I always speculate it’s because it’s crushed up almonds or some other kind of nut. It lacks fluff.

I made a huge heart shaped pizza for the children. My husband isn’t a pizza fan. (Which I’ve heard means Telestial Kingdom for him.) So I made one of his favorite meals (that my children don’t like); Chicken Tetrazzini.

Chorus for Reis, Kettlebell Tabata for me, and Ballet for Remi – by the end of the day, I was about to die from exhaustion. The pep in my step had long gone away. And I felt like that zombie I described I usually feel like when waking up of a morning.

On Friday night of this week (not to be confused with last week, since I did talk about that, too), we went on a double date to Fujiyama – the new hibachi restaurant in Danville. What a neat experience! We were seated at a grill and the chef entertained us while cooking our table’s food. Lots of fire and laughter, the food everyone got looked out of this world. My husband was particularly fond of the rice, which was surprising. My GF food had to be prepped in the kitchen. Boring, I know.

My friends and husband even made fun of me because I got a seaweed salad and sashimi. Even more funny, when I tried to tell the waitress I couldn’t have gluten, she asked me what I was saying 4x in a row. Then finally she was like, “Oh, gluten-free?” I guess the “free” on the end clues people in.

When I was asking about the details of the seaweed salad, she told me none of the people she’s ever waited on had ever gotten it. Danville doesn’t eat seaweed, I guess.

I am really excited to take our children there to have this food experience! After we finished up, we choose to bowl. We also agreed Covington was a good idea. Called, they said there was open bowling so we arrived. The parking lot seemed swamped. When we went in we were told it would be hours because the school was there. Sure enough, high-schoolers, high-schoolers everywhere.

Bummed because we were just in Danville, mind you ¾ of us are Mormon, we decided to go into the bar, where no one was, and play pool. We drank gigantic ice waters and played pool. The most stressed out I’d been all week, trying to figure out which pocket to aim for. ;-)

Reis had a couple of friends spend the night, so they were quite busy being social butterflies. On Saturday, Remi had another basketball game, where she made three baskets and had a few assists, too. Jude was able to attend baseball camp, where he hit the ball multiple times and loved that. Then Allen took him out for a Daddy-Son Date, Lazer Tag and lunch.

Saturday was a busy, busy day, too, but it was gorgeous out. Today, piggybacked the busy-ness. We had a Youth Fireside after church. I think I’ve said before, we have a three hour block for church. I have a meeting beforehand, unless my husband is out of the building, then I go on time. Throughout the year, our youth ages 12-17, have Firesides or meetings they select the topic and speaker and we eat lunch together and listen before going home.

Today, was the Standards Fireside. Our Young Women had submitted questions and scenarios they’ve encountered and the panel (they choose) of ‘cool and trendy’ adults, answered them with life experience and the “why”. The meal was my task. So, I had to prep everything for ‘Walking Tacos’ or ‘Tacos in a Bag’. I made a few up and they smelled awesome. I’d heard from several people, too, they were awesome. I pretended my lettuce with mushrooms and cucumber in oil and vinegar and apple was actually a Walking Taco. You’re killin’ me, AIP. Sundays are usually a binge eating day for me, since I’m gone for so many hours, I like my body reacts as if it’s important I refuel and tank up, just in case I’m gone away from the fridge for that period of time, again.

Here I sit, it’s now dark outside, and I need to go to my happy place. My bed.

#LDS #mormon #mommyblog

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