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dodo-begone · 3 years

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Could you Not?

Pairing: Techno x Reader

Request: yooo remember a while ago when we were talking abt Techno hiding you from the yandere boys?? that would be hella neat to see ngl —

Word count: 1.9k

Warning: yandere, stockholm syndrome, kidnapping, panic attack at end

A/n: yan!minors are mentioned, that’s why there’s a yandere warning.

The day was predestined to be great; a day full of sunshine and peace. So many potatoes would be tilled, the dog army would grow exponentially and other calming hobbies.

Now let’s be honest, that isn’t the reality of things at all. Nothing is ever nice and simple. Life always needs to throw a curveball at people; keeping them on their feet, on edge for their entire existence. Techno was no exception from this rule. His life had been plagued by tragedy and hardships. It made him calloused and desensitized towards the world and whatever challenges it had to throw at him. Though nothing could have really prepared him for what came next. Well he actually did, in a way. Similar in reasoning yet very different in the reaction and how the problem was presented to him.

Puffy stood at his door, struggling to hold someone the size of her. They were thrashing around, screeching to be released from their confines. She looked exhausted and beyond worried. There were few words to describe her state. Sadness painted her face like clouds painted the sky; it was evident with every feature of her face, every movement of her brow and reddening eyes. Pants escaped her lips and the struggling wasn’t helping her catch the escaping breaths.

The person Puffy was holding wasn’t any better. They looked malnourished, dirty, panicked, stressed. Those were just the obvious and quick observations. There were probably so many other hidden issues with this person. Honestly, Techno didn’t want to deal with them or Puffy. He was absolutely done dealing with people.

He’d have to get over it though, as Puffy asked him to care for this mystery person. She pleaded so much, saying that if they couldn’t stay with him, they’d be in terrible danger. Techno was her only option in protecting this person. There were some horrible people looking for the person in her arms and she couldn’t protect them on her own. Honestly he was only half listening. He really didn’t want to hear about another person’s sob story and how they so desperately needed his help. How they just couldn’t make it without his help. Occasionally Techno nodded or gave a “mhm” to indicate he was listening. Because that’s the polite thing to do, even if you aren’t listening. It shows you are listening and seems polite. Though he should’ve paid a bit more attention because the next thing he knew a fucking child was getting shoved into his arms.

They were so tiny that they could qualify as a child. So frail, too skinny, hair matted and looked too pale for their natural complexion. Horrified couldn’t even describe how he felt; he did not want to be holding this person, they looked so fragile and could be hurt so easily. Plus they were screaming and crying, still fighting to get out your captor’s grip, which was currently him. Distressed and crying people weren’t the most pleasant to be around especially when you’re a seven foot tall, socially awkward piglin hybrid.

Techno tried to return them to Puffy’s possession. She refused, pushing them further into his hold. She kept insisting that he let them stay with him, at least for a little bit. There was little time to prepare a place for them to stay and they needed the constant protection and some care. Techno kept arguing with Puffy, saying that he really didn’t want, need or have the time to care for them.

It wasn’t long when Puffy finally ended the argument with one phrase; “you still owe me an IOU.”

_______________________________________________

“So is this it,” Techno reluctantly asked, gently bouncing the slumbering stranger. It was and wasn’t surprising how worn out they ended up after the argument. Half-way through the arguing and accommodations, they finally calmed and soon fell asleep. Though they were violently shivering; this conversation couldn’t keep going like this. They both looked at them and looked back at each other.

“Yes. Please,” Puffy whispered, gently putting her hand onto their arm. “Please take care of them for now. You don’t have to care for them long. I just-i just need some time to set them up a place and some help. There were few options to go with and you were the best one.”

Silence settled over them once again. Techno sighed, building his resolve to care for another kid. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

Puffy awarded Techno with one of the most relieved smiles he had ever encountered. She was visibly relaxed, not holding herself up like a puppet who’s tense strings were being tugged. “Now get going Puffy,” Techno ushered. “I can take it from here.”

With that, Puffy started her trek back home, through the unforgiving tundra. As Techno watched her walk away, he wondered how she managed it. How she could carry someone the size of herself for god-knows how long.

He couldn’t ponder long. The person in his arms was still out in the harsh cold and definitely not dressed or prepared for weather like this. A very vulnerable position. With that, he opened the door with his foot and brought the two of you inside.

There weren’t many places to lay someone down. The floor was an option, but it was probably super cold. Techno wasn’t too sure, but he also didn’t want to risk it at the moment. Scanning around reveals a small issue; Techno’s reading chair is the only place to sit that isn’t the damn floor. Crackling fire brought his attention to the welcoming presence of the hearth. So either the floor with the fireplace or the chair which was a decent distance from the fireplace. Was it really a question at that point?

Walking over to the fireplace, Techno tried to disturb the person as little as possible. He started to slowly place them onto the ground. They wouldn’t really notice if they were as exhausted as they looked. When they touched the ground, they stirred and groaned at the change in temperature. Swiftly Techno place them on the floor and held his hands up; a way of saying “okay i’m not touching it so it shouldn’t break now- don’t break”. After a few moments of stillness, Techno deemed himself to be in the “all clear”. With that, he walked off to a different part of the house. He had to start setting up a room for his new guest. And get them food and proper clothing-

A ruckus from the living quarters disturbed him. Oh god what was going on now? Without much thought, he ran to the noise. When he arrived, he frantically looked around. He was looking for anything, but more specifically a danger. But it was much the opposite.

There, at his front door, trying to get out like their life depended on it, was that stranger. Well, it wasn’t a stranger. He couldn’t keep forgetting that. It was ______. Though it was hard to do that; they looked so different. Panic seemed to just possess them; their eyes were wide and bloodshot and their face was even paler than he remembered them in their pale state. Which was an odd statement but it was oddly true. He hadn’t thought that you could get any paler, yet here you are proving him wrong.

You two were in a stare off- trying to figure out what to do. It would be somewhat hilarious if the situation wasn’t so serious; a person trying desperately to get out of someone’s house in some of the most comical positions while a seven foot piglin just awkwardly stared from the other side of the room. The semi-trance was broken by you. Tears started to fall down your face, body started to violently shake, and then you started to try and destroy the door with your body.

Techno was holding you in a heartbeat. Once again, you were dangling and struggling to get out of his grasp. Last time it wasn’t his grasp you were trying to escape, but it was all the same in the end. Your crying soon reverted back to sobbing and screams. Flinching, Techno contemplated just dropping you. Yet he couldn’t; you were trying to escape and that wasn’t a good idea.

Carrying you around the house was a challenge; you were swinging what little weight you could and it was working. He barely got to the other end of the room before he got fed up with your little tantrum. Without a second thought, he just dropped you like a bag of potatoes. The moment you hit the ground, you scrambled to get as far away as possible. That leads you to a corner. You kept an eye of him yet curled up so much. He couldn’t tell if it was because you were cold or scared.

“Please let me go back.”

That catches Techno off guard. It was obviously you voice; he wasn’t talking and you were the only other thing that could talk here. Yet it didn’t sound like you. Your voice was now so gravely, scratchy and heavy. Like you hadn’t properly talked in a while. Though your crying definitely wasn’t helping. Even taking that into consideration, you sound way worse than someone who is just crying and occasionally screaming.

“Excuse me,” he mumbles, staring at you. Waiting for you to answer or proof that he was actually imagining stuff. It could’ve easily been a voice though-

“I said please let me go back,” you sniffled, turning to look at him more. Your eyes held such sadness, besides the tears. The yearning in them hurt. It was obvious you were missing something.

“Go back where,” Techno prodded. He tried his best to make it gentle so you wouldn’t close up again. So he slowly sat on the ground with you, scooting towards you as a pace you could easily stop.

“Back to my friends, obviously,” you stated, keeping a steady and guarded eye on Techno. “I want to go back home. Back to Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo an-and Purpled.” Suddenly you started to cry much harder. So hard it was practically impossible to speak. Only hiccups and gasps left your lips.

“Let me go, I won’t bother you again.” You kept repeating that phrase. Even rephrasing it, but it was muffled. Well not muffled, but extremely hard to hear through your crying. Techno let you keep saying that in hopes you tire of it, yet it seemed to have the opposite effect. You only started to say it more clearly, louder, and more assertively. It was obvious you were bound and determined to go back to wherever the hell you were before.

“Hey kid,” Techno does his best to stop your babbling. The pleads had just digressed to nonsense, so it was more accurate to call that mess babbling. “I can’t do that.”

His answer wasn’t well received. It only made you sadder and madder; you even deployed the puppy dog eyes. You really wanted this.

“It’s not safe with them,” he reiterated. “You look sickly too. Did you not care for yourself with them?”

Silence consumed you; maybe now you were finally thinking more clearly.

A meek “no” left your lips. Realization seemed to hit you, at least somewhat. It was a step forward, and Techno was taking it wholeheartedly. Anything was progress and he just wanted this over. Some of the voices whispered that they wanted you to get better, but he ignored them.

“Then it’s settled. You’re staying here.”

#tw: yandere #tw: stockholm syndrome #c: techno #techno x reader #technoblade x reader #dsmp!techno #mcyt x reader #mcyt shipping #dsmp shipping #dodo writing #tw: kidnapping #c: puffy #tw: panic attack #dsmp x reader

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader)

I can explain.

Please don't come at me for starting a new project before finishing Cult Girl Doctorate. I hit a wall and needed to take a break. I am trying not to let this one take up too much time.

Y/n is a sorceress-in-training who’s known for being hard to teach. Sensing her potential, Doctor Strange takes her on as an apprentice.

You firmly believed that shattering the urn of Fei-Amie was the best thing that ever happened to you.

It happened a year ago, but it still replayed in your head over and over again. You made a conscious effort to remember it vividly.

Sure, it was terrifying, Stephen Strange's initial look of anger when he heard the ceramic shatter. It softened when he saw that the culprit was just a clumsy sorceress-in-training who looked on the verge of tears with remorse. Still, it was a face you never wanted to see again: his teeth bared, his already sharp features accentuated under the constraints of anger.

It diluted into silent, simmering frustration that revealed itself to you in short sarcastic jabs and body language.

"Just, stop." He cut you off after a string of profuse sorries. With no disarming smile in sight, you could tell he was tense. "Artifacts get broken all the time. Don't cry. It was an accident."

His tone indicated that he was trying to convince himself more than he was you. You were a closed-off person and could hardly stand the idea that anyone out there didn't like you. The idea of the Sorcerer Supreme being mad at you, personally, made you briefly consider ritual suicide. You lowered your head. "Yes, Master Strange."

"Hey, butterfingers." He called out after you as you tried to make a painless exit. You looked back at him and he gestured to the pile of broken ceramic pieces. "You gonna fix what you broke?"

It hadn't dawned on you that an ancient relic could be fixed. Especially one that once contained the ashes of the ancient necromancer Fei-Amie. You were embarrassed to say that your knowledge of manipulating time was surface-level at best, and couldn't think of any other solution.

You wordlessly gathered the pieces up in your skirt and carried them off, striking out any plans to go into town that evening. Instead, you poured through book after book for any instruction whatsoever on repairing broken artifacts. You ran out of desk space, so books were just floating in the air, suspended on pages that briefly mentioned relic breakage.

You started to believe you were given an impossible task. Or perhaps all the resources you needed, he was withholding. Even so, you didn't want to go back to him empty-handed. You changed into your street clothes and opened a portal to the local craft store.

You returned with two types of extra-strong superglue and got to work. First, you made all the pieces come together and had them hover over the desk. Unconsciously, you began to sing as you pieced the urn back together.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things

"Haven't heard that song in years."

You dropped the tube of glue and the few remaining pieces fell back to the desk. "Master Strange!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." He said, though his apology was undercut by his smug tone. "Carry on."

You picked up a piece and began to line the edges with glue.

"Aren't you going to finish the song?"

You looked up to see that he hadn't been just passing by. He was leaning against the threshold, watching you.

"I don't usually sing for an audience." You laughed, uncomfortably. "Just me."

"A man and his sentient cape should not count as an audience," he scoffed. "But, if you insist, I guess I'll have to just listen to Julie Andrews instead."

"What's wrong with her?" You raised your eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh, nothing. She's a treasure." He put his hands up. "But everyone gets to hear her sing. And I take it that only a very select few get to hear your rendition of my favorite things. I just have to be one of them."

You blushed, suddenly forgetting all the words to my favorite things.

"Girls in white dresses..." he offered, an impatient edge to it.

You swallowed. "Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes. Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes-"

"Hey, butterfingers." He interrupted again. Before you could object, he pointed to the way that the pieces floated gracefully overhead at the sound of your voice.

"I'd like to see Julie Andrews do that." He said with a wink.

"Looks alright," Master Strange said, running his finger along the tight seams that showed where cracks once were.

"Will it still work?" You asked. That was really all you were worried about.

"Beats the hell out of me." He shrugged. "I didn't know how to use it to begin with."

"What?!" You spat back. "Are you kidding?"

"I'm afraid not." He said, taking the urn and placing it back on its pedestal. "Don't worry, you did a good job. I'm not mad at you anymore."

That was really all you needed to hear. "Thank you, sir."

"You're an apprentice, right?" He asked.

"I'm..." Your voice trailed off in embarrassment. "Between masters right now."

He raised an eyebrow. "If I were to ask around, would I receive glowing reviews from your last masters?"

You admitted it point-blank. "No."

"Let me guess," he folded his arms. "Something didn't make sense to you and instead of giving you the space to question it, they insisted you follow blindly."

You wanted to throw your head back and shout in relief; finally, someone understood!

"Bingo, bullseye." You put your hands up in surrender after being read so easily. "Right on the money."

"I see." He said, tucking that thought away for later. "Could I trouble you for one more odd job before you go?"

"That depends." You folded your arms. "What is it?"

He looked over his shoulder at his cape. "How are you with sewing?"

‘Sewing' was not the verb you would use to describe repairing the tears in the Cloak of Levitation. It was taller and stronger than you and it did not want to be repaired. It was closer to performing surgery on a fully grown mountain lion that could rip your head off at any minute.

"Like putting eyeshadow on a cat," Master Strange said. It flicked its edge contemptuously, while still clinging to his shoulders for dear life. "I'm a licensed surgeon and it won't let me within 20 feet of it with a needle."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." You said, thoroughly discouraged. All he'd given you to work with was a spool of thread and a pack of needles.

He tried with sincere force to remove the cloak, but it wouldn't budge. "Of course, now it knows you're coming at it with the sewing kit and it won't leave my shoulders."

"Maybe I can work with that?" You shrugged. You threaded the needle and hid it in your hand.

You approached the cloak, only for it to shove Master Strange in your way like a human shield.

"Listen, you naughty little blanket." He scolded, turning around to face it as if it were a puppy that had just wrecked the living room. "If you don't let her fix you, you're going in the washing machine. Extra spin."

It shuddered, and, for a moment, you thought it was going to comply. You slowly took a step forward, only for it to dart as soon as your foot hit the ground. It made its escape with a large crash through the heavy wooden doors of the library.

"Hey!" You shouted, chasing after it. "Get back here!"

You caught a glimpse of it headed towards the relic room, so, without thinking, you opened a portal to make it there first. You reached it only seconds before the cloak breached the threshold, with only enough time to grab it by the edge.

"Come here!" You exclaimed, giving it a full force tug. It tugged back, overpowering you to the tenth degree. It dragged you across the room and into the foyer. You yanked on it, only for it to escape from your grip and send you flying back into the wall. You wondered for a second how such a sturdy piece of fabric could possibly be in need of maintenance.

"Bastard." You mumbled, rubbing the spot where your head collided with the wall. The pain didn't stop you, though. You were on your feet within seconds, pursuing the naughty blanket all over again.

You heard the words of one of your many, many masters ringing in your ears; "never outrun what you can outsmart". Or maybe that was from a Garfield comic. Either way, whether or not you could outsmart the cloak was still unknown, but you had to at least try.

You took a second to catch your breath and tried to remember where you saw it heading next. Downstairs, you thought. To the laundry room. The one place you would never look.

You slowly but deliberately descended the stairs to the basement where the laundry was. You turned the light on and saw overturned baskets of towels, clothes, and sheets everywhere. And then a washing machine door slammed shut. You turned your head and saw a twinge of dark red hiding in the washing machine.

You removed your shoes and socks to minimize noise, then picked up a fitted sheet that had been thrown on the ground. You mounted the washing machine and affixed the sheet to the front. The cloak would have to come shooting out the door, and you would ambush it.

You forced the door open with your heel, holding the sheet like a giant net. As predicted, the cloak shot out like a bullet from a gun, getting caught in the sheet. It thrashed around aimlessly, trying to escape, but you had a tight grip and it wasn't going anywhere.

"It's curtains for you!" You said, then laughed at your own joke. "Stop struggling!"

It flailed and fought, but eventually ran out of energy and sunk to the ground. Not trusting it quite yet, you pinned it down with your whole body weight before releasing it from the sheet. As expected, it tried to fly away, but couldn't get anywhere.

"The less you fight, the faster this will go." You said, examining the fabric for any visible tears. The rip presented itself right away. About as long as your hand, right in the center.

"What did Strange do to you?" You asked, pulling the threaded needle from your pocket. "Hold still, I'm going to fix it."

Once the needle hit fabric, the cloak stopped trying to fly away and instead writhed about on the floor like it was about to die. You fixed the tear with as many stitches as you could make, then pulled it shut. Once you knew the thread was secure, you rolled off the cloak and let it fly free.

It shot up, but froze, noticing something was different. It swished itself around, unaccustomed to the feeling of air not blowing right through its center.

"You're welcome." You said with a shrug. "It's not like I had to chase you all around the sanctum to make it happen."

Without any warning, the cloak scooped you up and squeezed you. Your initial reaction was that this was its revenge and you were taking your final breaths, but you could tell it was gratitude by the way it gently set you down on the ground.

"Happy to help." You gasped for air. "Just remember this feeling if I ever have to do this again."

"Not bad, butterfingers." Master Strange told you, though the tone of his voice conveyed he was impressed beyond a simple 'not bad'.

"Not bad?" You protested. "I absolutely crushed it."

He ran his finger down the uneven but sturdy stitching. When his face met yours again, he was smiling with genuine enthusiasm that managed to eek through his dry, sarcastic exterior. It came out as an admittedly very handsome sideways smirk as his eyes scanned you up and down.

“If you don’t need anything else, I’ll get out of your hair now.” You said, heading towards the open doors.

“Wait.” The doors slammed shut before you could reach them. You turned around to see Master Strange still examining the stitching. "You wouldn't leave without tea, would you?"

A pot of chai tea sat between you, filling the air with an aroma of spicy vanilla. You held the teacup in both hands, determined to never give him a reason to reinforce the "butterfingers" nickname he'd become so fond of.

"Chai is my favorite." You said, letting the scent waft into your nose. "Yerba mate used to be my favorite, but if I drink more than two pots of it I get sick."

"Yeah, definitely don't do that." He chuckled, bobbing his teabag up and down in the cup. "Out of curiosity, are you wondering at all why I invited you to tea?"

"Oh, definitely." You nodded. "I was just wondering about that."

"Would you believe it's just because I find you interesting?" He raised an eyebrow. "Good company, perhaps?"

"Interesting? Absolutely." You agreed. "Good company is debatable."

"I can't believe I never thought to trap the cloak in the washing machine." He rested his chin in his hand. "It seems so obvious now."

"If it makes you feel any better," you shrugged. "It was mostly dumb luck and reckless disregard for my own life, considering it almost threw me off the balcony.”

He glared at the cloak. “What did I tell you about trying to kill our guests?”

It lowered its collar shamefully in his direction.

“Don’t apologize to me!” He scolded. “Apologize to her.”

It turned to face you and repeated the somber motion.

“It’s okay.” You shrugged. “My family adopted a retired army German Shepherd growing up. I’m used to high-strung creatures that could end my life at any second.”

“Well, rest assured, butterfingers,” He said, leaning back in his chair. “This will never happen again.”

“I, uh-” You opened your mouth before you could even really pick up on the implication he was putting down. “Wasn’t aware that there would be a chance for it to happen again?”

“I suppose we should get down to brass tax, then.” He folded his hands in his lap. “How would you like to stay here?”

“Well-” You said, not wanting to come off as too enthusiastic, which you certainly were. “Not if it’s going to kill me-”

“If I could promise you that your life won’t be in constant danger, I would.” He cut you off. “But if you wanted safety, you wouldn’t have started studying the Mystic Arts.”

“Got me there.” You conceded, your made-up objection withering away. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch.” He shook his head. “I’ll help you train and in return, you help me preserve the integrity of the sanctum.”

“So an apprenticeship?” Your eyes widened. "Are you saying you want to take me on as an apprentice?"

“I know you’ve got bad associations with that title, but yes.” He answered. “If it brings back memories of your previous masters treating you like garbage, we can call it a ‘partnership’, if you’d like.”

Partners with the Sorcerer Supreme? You thought, butterflies materializing in your stomach.

"That sounds great, but-" You broke eye contact and fidgeted with your fingers. "I feel like I should disclose that it wasn't really all that one-sided. I am… notoriously hard to teach."

"And who told you that?" He tilted his head. "The ones who refused to teach you?"

You hadn't thought about it that way. "I guess."

"The way I see it, you've repaid your debt and are free to leave," he began. "But seeing how dutifully you reassembled that urn, wrangled my favorite piece of defiant outerwear, and how desperately this place is in need of some life, it might be a good idea to keep you around."

You put your hand over your chest to still your heart. "It would be an honor."

"Excellent." He nodded. "That saves me the trouble of having to convince you."

He brought you to a small but comfortable room with a bed and connected bathroom.

"There's plenty of closet space for all your clothes." He said, gesturing to an antique looking bureau set.

You dumped your duffel bag out on the bed, revealing the extent of your possessions. "Thanks, but this is all I've got."

"Travel light, huh?" He asked.

"Yeah, I moved around a lot growing up." You admitted. "Got no real roots and all that jazz."

"That changes now." He told you. "This is your home now so I want it to feel like it. Make the space your own."

“I don’t know how I can thank you for this.” You lowered your head, still feeling undeserving.

“Don’t thank me yet, butterfingers.” He chuckled. “I’ve been told I tend to be a little on the egotistical side. That I don’t work well with others.”

"It's actually [F/N], if you were curious." You said, sitting on the bed and folding your hands in your lap.

"Okay, [F/N]." he smiled. "You've been in and out of enough apprenticeships to know the drill. Early mornings, late nights. And I've got a laundry list of odd jobs for you that I'm too important to do."

"Naturally." You nodded. His dry self-awareness inspired a little confidence that he wouldn't be a complete tyrant.

"You did a good job today." He said, bluntly. "Thank you for your help. Keep it up and you'll make an invaluable addition to the sanctum."

You smiled downwards. "Thank you."

"Do you often sing when you're trying to focus?" He posited. "Just, as an aside."

You could tell the gears in his neurosurgeon's head were turning, undoubtedly trying to pin some kind of diagnosis on you as doctors were known to do.

“I guess it’s just a force of habit.” You admitted. “I used to play piano, so when I’m working with my hands, it just kind of happens. My last master was not happy about that.”

"Oh, screw him." He waved his hand dismissively. "He pissed away an opportunity to nurture a sorceress with a special gift for the sake of tradition. That's a mistake I won't make."

Special gift? You thought. Nobody who practiced the Mystic Arts had ever referred to anything you'd ever done as a 'gift'. Annoyance? sure. A symptom of ADHD? All the time. But 'gift'? That made it sound useful.

#stephen strange x reader #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #doctor stephen strange #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme

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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

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Day6 Reaction to s/o learning their instrument while they're away

Type: Fluff, angst in Dowoon dont know what happened wasnt me

Word Count: 2.865

A/n: I took some creative freedom with why they were away but that is it. Keep in mind, I have no experience with instrument except for when I played the piano in 5th grade for like two weeks. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! - Moon

TW: small cuts, fight, second hand embarrassment

Sungjin

Sungjin was absolutely and devastatingly exhausted. His own guitar case felt like it was weighing him down tremendously, and he had a huge headache. Jae and Wonpil arguing in the back of the car was not helping in any way. It has been going on since they left the airport. He rubbed at his temples tiredly pressing his head against the cool window from his place in the passenger seat next to their manager.

Still, he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he thought about seeing you, probably curled up in the couch cheeks puffed from the snack you were inhaling. The pounding in his head lightened at the cute sight he would soon get to enjoy as he played with the loose threads of his old button up shirt.

True to Sungjin’s imagination, your form was sitting on the couch. Not true to his imagination, you were actually bent over something in your lap, lightly humming and bopping your head to the rhythm being produced by your still clumsy fingers. The guitar in your lap had gotten lighter as the days went by without your boyfriend, and in replacement of his touch, leaving your fingertips warm and tingling, it was small cuts you hadn’t bothered to bandage as it disrupted you when playing.

You missed Sungjin an abnormal amount. The cold spot in the bed or him making weird faces at you through the mirror in the mirror when brushing your teeth. You missed all of it. With a slight tremble in your chest you started playing the chorus to “You Were beautiful”.

You were so focused on trying to get it right you didn’t notice the door closing only to startle when you slightly looked up through your lidded eyes seeing the shadow looming over the coffee table. With a small yelp of surprise you jumped immediately looking up only to find your boyfriend staring at you with wide eyes.

His surprised expression made you shrink into yourself. You threw your head into your hands in pure embarrassment letting the guitar gently slide off your lap, hitting the floor with a soft thump. “Can you just pretend you didn’t see that I can’t believe I even tried learning all that by myself I” you cut yourself off with an un-pleased sigh shaking your head and looking at him with pleading eyes.

Your boyfriend continued in his frozen state for about five seconds before breaking out in the biggest smile rushing around the coffee table in which you panicked trying to get away from him with a squeal, but being too slow im the excitement that was usually in a much dormant state in Sungjin. The wrinkles near the corner of his eyes deepened adoringly, and his chest shook with soft laughter while he held you close.

There was a fond twinkle in his eye as Sungjin forgot any tiredness that clung to his bones and kissed the tips of your fingertips while maintaining eye contact. He kept your hands encased in his when scolding you for having such low faith in yourself and softly encouraging you. He would probably put little stitch band-aids on your fingertips and continue teaching you, sitting you on his lap and scolding you when you lose focus with a sharp poke at your ribs smiling when you giggled. This man just fell impossibly more in love with you.

“You shouldn’t say those things, look at you love, learning all alone and doing so well. I'm so proud. Would you rather have the elmo band-aids or the stitch band-aids… I don’t know about you but Elmo kinda creeps me out. Just five more minutes little love then you can go mug Young k with Dowoon. Don’t look at me like that! You finally have a teacher and you take him for granted. The audacity-”

Jae

Jae was a thin hair away from just ripping his hair out. He didn’t believe the kpop industry would take very kindly to him going bald, but he had come to a point where he didn’t really care about what people thought anymore. But thinking about you not being able to play with his hair anymore while he drifted off to sleep with his head on your chest severely upset him.

Jae had gotten stuck in another limbo, stuck in the studio and in his own head desperately trying to finish any of the unfinished songs left in his computer files. He missed you so much, he eventually called it quits, deciding to go home to you, who he hadn’t seen in days.

Just the thought about seeing you energized his previously exhausted self. He never could get sick of you. Every day, every week was a new adventure, a new chapter, all with his favorite person in the world. The night sky, although beautiful, seemed to mock him, reminding him of how late it was, meaning you were most probably asleep.

Opening the door to his apartment, he heard soft music. He briefly recognized “I Need Somebody”, and thought you were playing it from your phone. All his thoughts came to a halting stop when he saw you perched on the bed, in his shirt, playing the melody of the previously mentioned song.

You had hair falling into your eyes with your eyebrows slightly scrunched trying not to mess up and heavily focused. Jae had loudly yelled in surprise, causing you to flinch and look up shocked at the sudden surprise. When you saw it was just him, you had comically thrown your hands in the air yelling at him about how it was supposed to be a surprise.

The irritated look on your face vanished as you went up to give him a light hug with a kiss, softly smiling at him. Meanwhile Jae, was completely out of it, lovestruck eyes while he instinctively returned your affection.

“Come Jae, you look like you haven’t slept in ages, your eyes are so sunken babe”, you had softly whispered to him, rubbing the soft skin under his eyes, the way you were always soft with him when he came back from the studio. You slept in the same bed for the first time in what had been days, Jae tightly clutching on to you.

He may have not been completely there at the moment, but in the morning when he had time to process everything, he was a changed man. He wouldn’t stop laughing and giggling excitedly, eagerly wanting to hear everything you had learnt. He even poked fun at you when you made a mistake. But it was all lovingly as he also praised you non stop while looking at you with his messy hair and big smile next to you on the couch. He had so much inspiration now. To finish what had been left behind.

“Pop off queen who gave you this much talent, you couldn’t even tell me what bass was last time we talked, which was like a week ago. Might just make you play when I don’t feel like playing. Give you a wig and people won’t know the difference! Why are you booing me, I'm right?”

Young K

Young K’s foot tapping on the floor of the car was the only sound that filled the car aside from the soft sound of the car’s engine and tires. He was absolutely spent, having to have stayed in a different city for a show he was invited to that was filmed far away from his home.

Far away from you. Young K could tell his manager was starting to get irritated, but Young K was already massively annoyed and too far in his own world to really care. He missed the pine scent of his sheets, and he missed you.

It was not a good combination. When he got to his place he quietly thanked the manager, getting his bag before trying to ignore every urge telling him to run into the building and fall into his soft bed with you in his arms. When he opened the door, your keys were there, so he knew you were in the building. That thought filled him with more relief than it should have.

He did have to admit, hearing “I smile” this early in the day was odd as you usually saved the more mellow songs for later in the night. Young K told himself he had many euphoric moments in his life, but seeing you staring at a sheet of paper with so much determination and a bass guitar in your arms came pretty close to the top.

The absolute warmth that exploded in his chest was a feeling he would not forget in a long time. He could feel his lips slightly curl up in fondness as your hands shook while your eyes wavered unsurely between your hands on the strings and the video on your laptop sitting further on the edge of the bed. Your face scrunched up before you sighed and stared dejectedly at the instrument on your lap.

“Why so sad love?" His voice made you instantly sit up, pushing the instrument gently off your lap. You crawled to the edge of the bed where Young K had already gotten closer where he met you tenderly running his hand through your hair, and he curved his hand around the back of your head bringing your forehead to his abdomen.

He brushed his thumb over where your hairline met the sensitive skin of the back of your neck immensely enjoying being back at your side. Your hands were clutching the back of his shirt, and your simple touch brought a warm feeling to his chest. You both leaned back as Young K’s chest started to rumble with laughter “You should have waited for me, it would have been easier if I could teach you”, he softly said, pushing your hair back from your face causing you to lightly laugh.

“I wanted to surprise you, but I didn’t get that far anyways. Can’t become a prodigy in one day I guess”. Young K smiled again, promising to himself to help you as much as he could as he put his hand fondly on top of your head.

“You’re doing so good, just move your finger up a little, you’re plucking the c chord instead of the e chord during the chorus, don’t look at me like that i’m trying to help?! I wouldn’t put you on my level, but I think you’re doing really well. I’m hungry now, what do you want? No- What do you want? I am okay with anything just tell me-”

Wonpil

Wonpil was trying his hardest not to think about you. From the way you got excited when you got to see the moon in the cloudy sky to the way you smiled when you saw the neighbor’s cat while getting the mail.

He was happy to be on a trip with her sister, he hadn’t had much time to be with her in recent, well forever really. While you had been invited, you hadn’t been able to attend due to work. Wonpil did his best to keep his mind off you and enjoy the trip, he just hadn’t spent this long without you in a while.

Even so, he still had a fun time with his sister and her boyfriend creating many memories. He didn’t regret it, but he was extremely happy to come back to you. Opening the door to your apartment, he dropped his suitcase by the door, an excited smile tugging at his lips as he traveled through the apartment with his arms spread knowing you would embrace him as soon as you saw him. He felt so giddy, he didn’t even notice the broken keyboard sounds ringing throughout the living space.

His smile fell in a comical way, his face morphing into one of confusion instead. He recognized a broken rendition of “Mary had a little Lamb”, and tilted his head as he opened the door to your room seeing you with really big headphones on your head staring down at the keyboard with the most offended look on your face.

How dare this keyboard not give you its secrets! Wonpil couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his chest, not mocking you, but he just thought you were so cute. He lightly touched your shoulder causing you to jump, and the slight movement of your head caused the headphones to slide off your head. It didn’t matter much. You instantly dove into his arms, pressing the side of your face against his chest.

He felt warmth flood his chest as his hand encased the back of your head while he pressed his lips to the top, closing his eyes in bliss enjoying having you in his arms again. He leaned back from the brace as his eyes flashed with amusement and yours with slight embarrassment. He lightly laughed, eyes crinkling. He cradled your face in his hands, a teasing lilt to his voice, “What were you trying to do, hmm?” He could feel your face grow hot under his finger tips.

“I was just trying to surprise you. I felt bad for not being able to go with you”. He shook his head, hands playfully pinching your cheeks as you whined. “You shouldn’t act that way, I understood from the beginning. It must have been hard for you. Here, come, your lovely boyfriend will make this easier for you”.

“Y/n the keys will not bite prEsS dOWn, no, no keyboards do not have to be oiled, this is a musical instrument not a mechanical vehicle. You are so cute. What am I gonna do with you? No, you can not play the keyboard with your forehead, DO NOT put your foot on the keys. I don’t care if it’s for the vine.

Dowoon

Dowoon was beating himself up. Looking back at what happened a few hours ago made his chest tight. He couldn’t help but wince at the words both of you had thrown at each other. You had been with each other for so long, and when his lovely mother asked him when he would propose, although with good intentions, it put pressure on him.

He was still young. He had mentioned it to you in a joking manner, but there was a misunderstanding and you thought he was blowing it off as he didn’t see a future with you.

Somehow feelings were hurt, and the fight escalated. And Dowoon decided he was a coward because it was when you had started stuttering through your words and avoiding eye contact, he knew. He knew he had pushed you across a line that might not be able to be crossed again.

He panicked. He was really good at doing that wasn’t he? He left. He took a bus and went to the nearest hotel he could find. There he was sitting on the edge of the too perfectly made bed with his head in his hands.

Had he just ruined his precious relationship because he was scared of what the future could or could not hold? Why did he have to run away? Why couldn’t he just stay? Most importantly, how badly had he hurt you?

With a sigh he stood up, and he got on the bus back to your apartment. Staring at the door, the fact you were just on the other side and hurting is what pushed him to open it with the key you had given him. Opening the door, he was met with silence and darkness. Have you already gone? He walked through the apartment, hope dwindling with every step.

Then he heard a soft thump thump thump. His heart seemed to match with it, and as he walked to his studio which held his spare drum set, he thought of what he could say to make it better. Opening the door, he saw you softly hitting the drum with one stick, as if testing the waters and humming along to “When you Love Someone”. Dowoon couldn’t fight the sad smile that broke out on his face, and the absolute warmth that filled his chest.

Why did he ever even doubt your future with him? There was no person more perfect for him than you. He stood next to you, softly taking your hand in his and guiding your hand to the right beat, although a bit broken. When your sad eyes looked up into his, forgiving in nature but still frustrated beyond belief, he knew he could still fix things. You were you, and Dowoon was Dowoon. You always somehow found your way back to each other.

“No no, put your hands higher on the stick, no lower, now higher...a bit lower. No, Y/n drum sticks do not belong in my throat. What do you mean I have no room to talk, I thought we were over the fight. I would marry you in this life and the next! Why are you looking at me like that? I am not cute, I am handsome and overflowing with testosterone. Oooh are those gummies?

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ponds-puddle · 3 years

Text

Crushes ~{Bakugo}~

*NOT MY ART*

word count: 1952

Stop acting so childish. Do you realize how pathetic you look right now? Seriously. It’s pathetic. He was never going to be yours to begin with, so why are you so upset? You knew that he would never love you back. Why would he? And when did you become so pitiful? You used to be so strong, so independent. All you are now is worthless. No meaning. No purpose. Nothing. All you are is a mistake. All you do is mess up and let people down. Look at you. Look in the mirror. You’re hideous. Everyone thinks so. Look. Look at yourself. LOOK.

“Wake up, loser,” Bakugo huffed, nudging your face lightly with his knuckles. You made a small hmph sound, pressing your cheek onto his hand. The explosive boy blushed at the motion, staring down at your sleeping figure. His heart broke at the level of tension that was showing on your face. Your eyebrows were furrowed and your mouth was contorted into a pained frown.

“Y/N?” Bakugo said, this time a lot softer. He hoped that no one would wake up and find the two of you. He doubted it, the two of you woke up hours before anyone else. Knowing this, Bakugo squatted beside the couch, his hand turning to caress your face instead.

Your eyes opened slightly, the tears that had formed behind your lids were finally exposed. Bakugo felt his stomach turn at the sight of your tears. He was never good with comforting people, but in his head he knew that he’d do anything to make you smile again.

“Hey there,” he said sweetly, brushing his thumb against your cheek. You weren’t sure you were awake. He’s never acted this way with you before, “Why’re you crying?”

“I uh-” you couldn’t think. Not with the way his vermillion eyes kindly bore into yours, “I had a bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he removed his hand from your face, opting to sit on the floor with his back against the couch.

“It’s really nothing,” you said in an attempt to be nonchalant. Bakugo scoffed, dropping his head back onto the couch to look at you.

“You know you can’t lie to me,” he said with a chuckle. You wanted to photograph him at this moment. The way his neck extended backwards had you swooning.

“I know,” you sighed, tearing your eyes away from temptation, “I just don’t think this is something I can talk to you about. This is more Jirou, Mina, or Kaminari’s area.”

“Why is Dunce-face included but I’m not?”

“Denki gives better relationship advice,” you shrug, “Surprising since he’ll never be in one.”

Bakugo snorted at your comment, but then it was like something connected in his mind, “Relationship advice? You’re in a relationship?”

You laughed, “No I’m not in a relationship, Bakugo. I just like someone, that’s all.”

You almost hit yourself in that moment. Despite how badly you did not want to talk about this with Bakugo, you always end up telling him the truth. It’s like you’re physically incapable of keeping things from him. However, you had kept this one secret for four years.

“Who are they?”

“I can’t tell you that,” you said mysteriously, pressing a finger to your lips, “It’s a secret.”

“It’s Shitty Hair, isn’t it?” Bakugo scoffed as he crossed his arms, “I knew there was something going on between the two of you. After that night he helped you cook dinner. It’s so obvious.”

You stared at the boy for a moment before bursting out laughing, “No it’s not Kiri!”

“You even gave him a nickname!” Bakugo argued stubbornly.

“I’m telling you that you’re wrong!”

“Shut up, you know I’m never wrong.”

You rolled your eyes, “Guess there’s a first for everything because it’s not Kirishimia.”

“Then tell me who it is!”

“No!” you laughed loudly, enjoying how frustrated the blonde boy was getting.

“I won’t believe you that it’s not Shitty Hair until you tell me who it is!”

“That’s so petty of you,” you tsk, shaking your head in shame. Bakugo glared at you, annoyed with how much entertainment you were getting out of this situation.

“What will make you tell me?”

You tapped your finger on your chin a few times, indicating that you were “thinking about it”. But then you just shrugged and said, “I guess nothing. Because I won’t tell you.”

Bakugo huffed childishly as he stood up, “Fine, keep it to yourself then. Let’s just go make breakfast already.”

You watched as he walked away, his steps comically wide. As if he wants the whole world to know that he was upset. All you could do was shake your head at his childishness and follow him to the kitchen.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked gruffly, leaning against the counter. You walked over to the fridge, inspecting the ingredients. You were never good at cooking, it was mainly Bakugo. Usually he would hand you small things to cut or peel. Of course if it required a bigger knife, he was not gonna hand it over. You tried to get him to let you cut a potato when he first started teaching you to cook, but he just shut you down no matter how many times you asked.

“I don’t really know what can be made,” you finally admitted after looking around the fridge. Bakugo sighed before walking over to you. He stood behind you, looking over you into the fridge.

“What about an omelette?” he asked before resting his chin on your shoulder, “They’re really easy to learn. And you can cut things up for me.”

“Can I flip it?” you asked, turning your head slightly to the side so you could give him puppy dog eyes. Bakugo looked over at you with half-lidded eyes, an unphased expression covering his face.

“You’re cute,” he said quietly, lifting his chin to press his lips to your temple, “but absolutely not.”

Then he took you by your shoulders and moved you so he could get the ingredients. You stood there with a dazed look on your face, your fingers brushing against his kiss.

“What’s with you this morning, Bakugo?” you asked without thinking. The boy stayed crouched in front of the fridge, searching through the drawers.

“What do you mean?” he asked in a huff. He knew exactly what you meant, but he wasn’t sure how to explain it to you without sounding like a freak. Hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. So much that he’s been searching in the drawer for like a solid two minutes and can’t for the life of him remember what it was that he needed out of it.

“You’ve been… different this morning?”

Bakugo paused for a moment before sighing to himself. He closed the drawer and stood up straight, turning his body towards you. The way he held himself in that moment, the level of uncertainty that poured off of him was almost overwhelming, “Does it…” he took a breath, calming himself before continuing with a much warmer tone, “Does it bother you?”

Vulnerability. That was a new shade of Bakugo.

“Not knowing why you’re doing it does,” you said to the ground as you twirled your thumbs nervously, “But the actions themself don’t bother me…”

“Do you want to know the reason?”

You looked up at him through your eyelashes before nodding.

“I’m jealous of whoever it is you like,” he said sadly, stepping closer to you, “I’m jealous of any guy that takes your attention away from me. I’m selfish in that way. You make me selfish in that way.”

“Baku-”

Bakugo stepped forward once more, standing within inches of you now. His hands reached out once more, his calloused hands holding your face as if it was the most precious thing he had ever possessed, “I treat you this way because it feels natural to me. Being with you feels natural to me. Does that reason scare you?”

“Katsuki…” you tried out, your voice impossibly small. He had your face held up to look him in eyes, but that came with a disadvantage that he didn’t calculate. When his name left your mouth that way, that sweet little whisper… his face burned into a blush. And despite removing his hands from your face to cover his own, you still were able to see the bright red burning on his cheeks, “You’re the crush.”

“Me?” he looked back towards you, his eyes widened in surprise. The blush was still evident on his face. He looked so vulnerable in that moment. That was one word that you wouldn’t ever pin to Katsuki, but right now you were witnessing a whole new side of him. He made it impossible to not love him.

“Yeah,” you said sweetly. This time it was you who caressed the other’s face. You watched as Katsuki’s eyes gleamed at the feeling of being held. You wonder how long he’s felt this lonely.

“I don’t get why,” he said softly, turning his face slightly away from your hand. You frowned before cupping his face in both of your hands this time.

“Because you’re insanely strong,” you said as you placed a kiss on his right cheek, “And incredibly smart,” this time you kissed his left cheek, “Let’s not mention how handsome you are,” his forehead.

Bakugo’s eyes dropped down to your lips as you spoke your next words, “And you make me feel safe.”

At first you were intending on pulling his face to yours and being super cute about it, but Katsuki had a different plan. Something about hearing you say you made him feel safe brought out this whole different side of him. Different from his vulnerable side. His posture straightened almost instinctively and, when you caught on to what he was doing, you dropped your hands from his face just in time. Just in time for Katsuki to tangle his fingers into your hair, tugging your head backwards and pressing his lips hungrily against yours. You tried to suppress the small whimper from leaving your mouth, but it was no use. Katsuki swallowed the sound, stepping into you and forcing your back against the wall. Your hands desperately held onto the front of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to you. Katsuki kept the hand wrapped in your hair, and dropped his spare hand onto your waist, gripping it tightly.

After a moment the two of you were desperate for air and pulled apart. Katsuki kept his forehead against yours, a loving gesture. For a while the two of you just stared at each other, completely taken with one another. Katsuki smiled gently before removing your hair and holding your chin between his thumb and index finger, pressing a sweeter kiss on your lips this time.

“Well this is new…”

Bakugo turned around to face the voice, keeping your body sheltered from whoever it might be, “Go away.”

You slid to the side, catching the eyes of Kirishima who stood at the kitchen doors. When he saw that it was you, he smiled.

“Hey! You told him! Good for you!”

You winced. This wasn’t gonna be good.

“SHITTY HAIR KNEW?”

“Technically everyone knew,” Kirishima said, nonchalantly giving you up, “Heck I think even Mi-”

“GET OUT!” you shouted at the boy. He just laughed and turned around, headed back to his room. Katsuki looked down at you with a small grin, but it was borderline sadistic.

“Even who, Y/N?”

“How about we try that kissing thing again?”

“How about we make omelettes?”

“Now can I flip them?”

Katsuki chuckled, placing a sweet kiss on your lips, “We can do it together.”

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janshu · 3 years

Text

In The Shallows...Part One.

Summary: @hanji-is-life more merman!Bakugo and so I shall provide! I was hoping to get this out much earlier, back in may because MerMay but better late than never I suppose! You, a marine biologist, take a scuba dive to see the local fauna off coast and you find more than you ever could've bargained for...

Word Count: 1.5.

Warnings: None but minor curses, mentions of the ocean, an illusion of drowning. Viewer discretion is advised at least.

How did you manage this?

You hadn't walked on the beach, much less roll around in the coarse substance. So how did it manage to get into your pockets? This was a new jacket so how?

A short walk from the parking garage to the pier was all it was, no beach travel involved yet it had wormed its way into your pockets, in between your toes and nearly everywhere else.

Your team chuckles at your discomfort finding your squirming the funniest thing on the planet as they loaded up the sizable vessel for the day on the water. For the past several weeks you had been cooped up in a lab studying the samples others brought to you but now you were given the green light to head out into the field yourself. Your goal for the day was to gather samples, check on the status of the coral nursery, and a checklist of other menial tasks. A full plate all things considered, much better than getting a migraine staring through a microscope at sea water until you either give up or get sent home.

Waves battered against the hull of the boat while you and your fellow colleagues suit up in scuba gear. The goal wasn't to go to the bottom of the ocean, far from it, fifteen meters was the maximum for today so simple snorkeling hear wouldn't cut it. You didn't get your diving certifications to be stuck in a lab. The salt spray refreshing against your skin for the few seconds it was vulnerable while you changed from your outfit into the designated wetsuit. Not the full suit that covered your body from head-to-toe, just a body one to keep your core warm when your swimsuit didn't offer much protection.

The boat came to a stop right around where the GPS locator dinged where the nursery site was and the captain gave everyone a thumbs up as you and your fellows attached their fins, tanks, SPG's and all the other necessary equipment. One-by-one each of them held their regulators to their mouths and fell back into the blue ocean below until it was your own, to which you received a wink instead while everything turned upside down.

Ten, twenty, thirty, a hundred. Regardless of how many dives you've had you'll never get over the beauty of the reefs. Each time serving something new, change was ever present in your line of work. Never seeing the same specimens twice to witnessing a rare species and everything in between. The sunshine overhead casting glittering ripples on the sandy floor, catching your eye on the schools of fish that swam by as their scales gleamed in different patterns. This was the closest feeling you had ever come to your childhood dream of becoming a mermaid. When you wished on your birthday candles and shooting stars to holding your breath underneath tub water in hopes gills would magically appear. That's what started this career. Maybe it was a long forgotten portion of your evolved brain from life's time in the ocean but you felt at home, a familiar sense of belonging that you didn't have on dry land. This was where you were meant to be but sadly your wishes had never come true and you were cursed to remain a land-dwelling mammal.

The beeping in your ears ripped you from your fantastical daydreams to remind you of the harsh reality. This is as close as you were going to get but that wasn't so bad, it was better having a little than nothing at all. Looking at the gauge meter it showed that you have roughly an hour left of oxygen which meant you had been in the water for an hour already. How time flies when you're having fun, absorbed in your daydreams, and checking on coral and taking samples.

"Hey, could we switch our tanks out without getting oxygen narcosis or are we screwed in that department?" Your voice came over the radio built in the full face masks everyone in the diving team used no doubt scaring those who were lost in thought as you just were.

"Y/N...do you really want to stay out here longer? Shitting Christ, you should be glad you're out here in the first place!" The captain's voice responded from the safety of the boat. "Now get your asses back up here n' we'll head on ba-...what was that?"

"What was what?"

A chorus of responses chimed in immediately after, some crackling from the distance they were from the source and others sounding as if they were a foot away.

"Nothing, never mind, must've been a Manta Ray. Forget about it. Just get your shit and come back, I'm gettin' hungry and its close to lunchtime so hurry up." The static cut off as he put down the radio and looked out into the churning ocean. The massive shadow he had just seen passing by the boat putting him on alert, he didn't want to witness any reef shark's feeding frenzy.

"We can come back tomorrow, Y/N. Nothing's stopping us from that, right?" Another voice, one of your favorite colleagues suggested. That was right, you were there and your boss hadn't explicitly said that this was a one time thing. Another visit would do some good to see if the biometrics have changed in a span of twenty-four hours.

"Alright, okay, we'll come back later for a differential test."

The group had a collective sigh of relief. You were notorious for loving the ocean to such a degree you'd do anything to stay in a while longer, they were all content with leaving now and coming back later if it meant they wouldn't see your sad pouting all the way back to the van. Picking up their equipment and vials everyone began swimming back to the boat now most of them making small talk and discussing their plans for the weekend while you were once again lost in your thoughts.

Something impossibly dark darted through your vision. Blocking out the beautiful view of the turquoise water and colorful life like an angry, ominous storm cloud. A blanket of blindness shrouding all light for a moment but it felt like an eternity as dread sunk in the pit of your stomach, anchoring you to the spot. The warm water now felt cold, goosebumps running up your bare arms and thighs like pinpricks. The heart that had been so calm in the home of your ribcage now pushing adrenaline through your bloodstream, adjusting to a state you weren't acting on. Fear. That wasn't a Manta Ray or a comically large Stingray that was something else entirely. A predator that crashed against the fragile cage of safety, security and believing you were untouchable in shallow depths.

You were reminded of the psychologically scarring and irrational fear of one's ankles being grabbed particularly in the ocean by a shark, the part of your lizard brain firing signals all across your synapses to detach the leg. If only. A fair trade, being left alone at the price of a limb but unfortunately humans couldn't detach or regrow whatever they lost.

That fear was horrifically evoked when something far more firm than a limp leaf of seaweed wrapped around your ankle. Slimey, cold as death and tipped with five sharp points. Reminiscent of a hand, a very large hand. Expanding across your bare skin like a calloused cuff that threatened to break the skin, sink into the meat and tear your foot off entirely. However, that didn't seem to be happening. No cloud of your own blood instead the safety of the boat got further and further away, turning into a speck barely seen in the shallow water.

"Wait, wait no! What the fuck?! Let go! What the hell?" When your brain managed to get over its fear and shock of the situation your fight-or-flight instincts kicked into high gear and your body began to thrash around against the hold. If it was a shark hitting it in the snout and eyes was imperative to get it to release but what if it wasn't? What else could possibly have your leg in its grip with a goal of pulling you away from the boat?

A flurry of indistinguishable voices and noises came over the radio. From yelps, screams and to curses but the thudding in your ears and the furious splashes drowned them all out, everything became topsy turvy, what was the bottom of the ocean and what was the surface became an abstract concept. The primal urge to escape was ripped away when the respirator giving you oxygen was unceremoniously and harshly ripped from your mouth, the hand that had done it orange and black. The water was salty, like you had dumped an entire container of table salt into your mouth and you washed it down with a sip of water. It was invasive, slipping down your throat into your lungs as they tried to gulp air instead. The more you inhaled the harder it was to move. Your limbs becoming as heavy as cement bricks. Unconsciousness began to consume everything, your body down to your mind. The eerie sensation of falling was the last thing before everything faded to black...

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mer!au #merman!au #merman!bakugo #tw:discretion is advised #tw:fear #tw:ocean #tw:water #tw:scary situation

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andvys · 3 years

Text

New friend

Warnings: mentions of death and injuries, clickers, some fluff?

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Reader

You were exhausted. You don’t even remember the last time you had something to eat and you just drank the last bit of your water that you had left. You were walking forever it seemed and you still haven’t found anything, no food, nowhere to camp, no people, nothing. You were tired. You got separated from your group a couple of months ago when your camp got overrun by a horde and you’ve been alone ever since.

You missed them, you tried finding the few people who survived that day, you’ve seen most people die, torn to shreds by clickers. Your group tried fighting them at first but there were too many of them, you had no choice but to flee.

A few days after your camp got overrun you went back and tried to find any trace of the people who survived that day, you searched for them for weeks but you just couldn’t find them. So you just started walking in hopes to come across someone from your group. But that has been months ago and you haven’t seen any of them. Maybe they just went the other way, at least you hoped they did. Not wanting to think that your friends may have died while you were still here.

You were getting tired and it was starting to get dark, you’d have to find somewhere to set up camp fast, walking around the woods in the dark was never a good idea.

Suddenly feeling like you were getting lightheaded, the lack of food and water was starting to get to you. You tried pulling yourself together but that was impossible. Your vision getting blurry, tripping over branch that was lying on the floor, you tried catching yourself but didn’t see you were stepping in mud close to where it was going downhill, you started slipping, trying to hold on to a tree, but it was too late you started falling down the hill. Landing on your back you hit your head in the process, grunting you were annoyed at yourself, looking down at your clothes you realized you were covered in mud now. You looked ridiculous.

Sitting up, you were exhausted, you desperately needed sleep, a shower and some food. Deep in thought you didn’t acknowledge the sound of clicking until you heard a branch snap somewhere behind you. Quickly you turned around seeing three clickers coming your way from afar. Jumping into action, you got up, wanting to grab your gun from your holster only to find it empty “shit, you gotta be kidding me.” This day couldn’t get any worse. Your gun must’ve fallen out when you were falling down the hill.

You grabbed your machete out of your backpack and started running, no way you could’ve fight all three of them at once without being bitten by one of them. You’d have to do it strategically. You ran as fast as you could, the clickers getting closer to you. “Damn it.” Your whole body ached, from days of walking, falling down the stupid hill and now running from those ugly things.

Suddenly you saw a gated cabin a little further away, “finally.” You sighed, running faster. That would have to do. You could jump over the gate and kill the clickers through the bars of the gate.

You got to the gate, quickly trying to climb over it, just when you were halfway over it, a clicker latched onto your foot, you tried pushing it away but it wouldn’t let go, “fucking let go, you ugly piece of shit.” You yelled while trying to kick it away, you were getting angry now. Suddenly two shots went off and your foot was free, you lost balance and fell down backwards over the gate just when the other two clickers got to the gate. Landing on your back once again, you grunted, being so over this day. “Fuck me, I hate this.” You sighed laying on your back, trying to catch your breath, totally forgetting that someone just shot the clicker that tried to eat you for dinner. You heard two more shots and the other two clickers fell. Realizing you were just laying there defenseless, you quickly got up and turned around holding your machete in front of you. Just because they shot the clickers, saving you from a gruesome death, didn’t mean that they wouldn’t harm you later on.

There stood a girl with a gun in her hand, she was around your age. Half of her auburn hair was up in a bun, while some strands fell in front of her face. She was beautiful and she was clean unlike you. You must’ve looked like a mad women right now, covered in mud from top to bottom, your hair in a ponytail with half of it already out of the hair tie from falling and running.

Not to mention the machete and you yelling at the clickers as if they could understand what you were saying.

“You good?” The girl asked you. Looking you up and down trying to analyze if you were a threat. Great with the way you looked right now she probably regretted saving your life.

You stared at her, she was the first person you have seen in months. Your people skills probably didn’t even exist anymore at this point, not to mention how beautiful she looked, as if you weren’t nervous enough already. Snapping out of your thoughts.

“Umm yeah.. I.. thanks for that.” You put your machete back into your backpack. Showing her that you weren’t a threat. You brushed your hair out of your face not realizing you just got blood on your forehead until you felt it drop on your cheek. Looking down on your hand you saw a deep cut wound, you didn’t even realize you hurt yourself when you were climbing the gate because of all the adrenaline.

“You look like shit, and the cut looks pretty deep, I can help you with that.” She said.

You look like shit? Man, that’s not nice to hear from a pretty girl but looking down on yourself you really did look like shit.

“Thanks for saving my life but I can take care of myself.” Could you really trust a stranger? You wanted to but there’s just too many bad people in this world, you never know who you can trust.

She smiled at you “you’re scared, I get that but let’s be honest by the way you look right now, I should be the one scared. You look like one of the crazy people that live in the woods and attack people just for fun.”

“That’s...rude? But yeah I guess you’re right, I’m not crazy though, I slipped and fell in mud.” You were embarrassed but gave her a shy smile.

She laughed, “how about you come inside and you get cleaned up and I’ll look at your wound, it’s just me right now, you don’t have to be scared.” She assured you.

You sighed, contemplating if you should trust her. She looked nice enough and she didn’t look like a threat. She looked badass but she didn’t seem like she would hurt you.

“Alright.”

She motioned for you to follow her into the cabin. Holding the door open for you she gave you a small smile, you looked at her one more time before going inside, immediately hit by the warmth, you sighed, you don’t remember the last time you have had that. A warm place. Safety.

“You can clean up a little, there’s a bathroom at the end of the hallway. The water is cold but it’s better than nothing, you can take a hot shower back in Jackson, I mean if you want to.” She shyly added.

“Jackson?” You questioned.

“Yeah, it’s a gated community where I live. It’s basically a small town, you can become a part of if you want to, we always take people in.” She explained, playing with her hands, she seemed a little nervous.

A gated community? You’d love to become a part of something like that but could you? After what happened to your previous group? Could you go through something like that again? You weren’t sure but keep on being alone and just wandering around the woods wasn’t a life you wanted to live.

“Sounds good.” You looked at her, she smiled at you. “I’m gonna go clean up now.” You told her. “Of course, I think I’ve seen some clothes laying around here somewhere, I’ll get them for you.”

After you cleaned yourself up and got dressed with the clothes the girl gave you, you remembered she didn’t even introduce herself to you and you didn’t either.

Walking out of the bathroom, finally clean. You saw her sitting on the sofa reading a comic. The only thing you could here was the crackle of the fire from the fireplace. She looked up and started smiling “look at you, all cleaned up. I knew there was a beautiful face under all that mud.” Looking you up and down you noticed, she started blushing.

Cute. You smiled at her “thanks, you’re not too bad yourself” trying to play it cool you introduced yourself to her.

“Oh right, I’m Ellie, umm should we stitch up your wound now?” You noticed she had a small kit laying on the table in front of her, having prepared it already for when you were done in the bathroom.

“Oh yeah, sure. I can do it myself though, you don’t have to.”

“Nonsense come here.” She motioned you to sit down on the couch next to her.

You went over sitting down, noticing how soft the cushion beneath you was, you could just fall asleep right then and there.

Ellie took your hand in hers and started disinfecting first. You focused on her face while she was stitching you up. Noticing how pretty she actually was, her face covered in freckles, the slit in her eyebrow, a strand of her hair kept falling in front of her face but it didn’t even seem to bother her. You catched yourself staring. Luckily she was too focused on stitching you up she didn’t notice it.

Her hand was soft on yours it almost felt too nice on your skin. This moment was almost too intimate, she was a stranger you just met and now you were sitting so close to each other, sure it was only because she was helping you but it felt nice you haven’t had that in so long not to mention how beautiful this girl was.

“Alright, all done. You hungry?” She asked. Looking at you.

“Umm I don’t want to be more of a bother than I already am by eating all of your food.” You suddenly felt shy under her gaze, avoiding her eyes.

“Come on, there’s a bunch of food in Jackson and I have some snacks with me. You can have them, you can get some actual food back at home.”

“Okay.”

She gave you some jerky and some nuts to snack on while she was telling you about Jackson, trying to convince you to come back with her. She explained to you how everyone had a job there and how the kids go to school there. It almost sounded to good to be true but Ellie already convinced you to come back with her.

“So it’s almost dark, do you want to come back with me? If not you can stay here but Jackson is safe and you’d actually have your own place?” She looked at you with hopeful eyes. She wanted you to come back with her. Something about you pulled her in right away and she wanted to get to know you.

“Alright, I’ll go with you.” You smiled at her noticing how she started smiling back at you.

“That’s nice, then we should head back before it gets too dark, let’s go shimmer is outside.” She got up putting her jacket and backpack back on.

“Shimmer?” You asked.

“My horse.” She answered noticing how your eyes widened at the mention of a horse.

“No way a horse!? I love horses, I always wanted one, ever since I was kid!” You were excited about a horse. Ellie almost started laughing. It was almost too funny, the way you were covered in mud earlier with a scowl on your face, machete in hand looking like you were ready to kill anything that would come your way and now you looked like a kid excited about riding a horse for the first time.

“We got a lot more horses back in Jackson, come on, you’re even allowed to get on it.” Ellie smiled at you opening the door.

She guided you towards the back of the house where Shimmer was. You immediately went over to it.

“Wow, hello you beautiful creature.” You stared at the horse, touching her.

Ellie watched the interaction, thinking how cute this moment was. “Alright we should get going”.

She got on the horse and helped you up. You sat behind her suddenly feeling shy about being this close, not knowing what to do with your hands.

“You should hold on to me, don’t want you falling off now.” She looked back at you and gave you small smile. You put your arms around her waist holding on to her.

“Alright shimmer, let’s bring our new friend home.”

Part 2?

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #tlou imagines #tlou #tlou ellie

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soobadnoonecanstopher · 3 years

Text

Touch it for Real, Part 4

Genre: Humor / Fluff / Eventual Smut

Warnings: OMG they were roommates / slice of life / slow burn / mutual pining / crude humor / cursing / virgin!baek / idiots to lovers

A/N: The song featured in the kitchen scene is Fantasy by Mariah Carey.

Characters: Baekhyun X You/Female Reader

Description: You teach Baekhyun how to date. (Basically the Get You Alone M/V)

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

You were puzzling. Alone in your bedroom, laying within the comfort of your own bed, you were positively puzzling.

After sorting out just who Ben was and fixing the damage Baekhyun had done to your reputation by explaining that your idiot roommate had just gotten a hold of your phone, you reintroduced yourself and apologized for the confusion.

This ‘Ben’ actually seemed to laugh off the odd behavior he’d gotten as a first impression of you, mentioning that your roommate seemed funny, if not weirdly protective of you.

You could see what he meant when you read through the rapid fire questions Baekhyun had asked him from his age, to his preferred operating system, whether or not Ben had Facebook so “you” and him could be friends, his profession, and his parents line of work, his current place of work, how long he’s worked there and whether or not he moves around a lot, his hometown, his hobbies and even whether or not Ben has now or has ever had any pets; it seemed that Baekhyun had actually done a whole lot of legwork to give you a pretty good idea of what Ben might be like.

But the moment Baekhyun’s conversation topic changed to innocently ask Ben for his astrological sign, something struck you as off to see Baekhyun proclaim you to also be the same sign and after the two compared birthdays you began to find the whole exchange quite odd.

You realized that Baekhyun had simply lied about your birthday. Baekhyun knew your birthday. Why had he given a fake date to Ben? Unless there was something else happening that you didn’t understand. Then again, Baekhyun had always been rather stingy about giving out personal information; both yours and his. He was probably just being cautious about revealing too much to a stranger.

And actually, Ben seemed rather …. nice. You always hesitated to give them this adjective right off the bat as most of the guys you met who seemed nice right away turned out to be very good at faking nice and stringing along at least three or four girls at once for the shot at fucking at least one of them, and the hopes of fucking all of them.

You’d been called the wrong name late at night, whispered through a sleepy voice over the phone. You’d been sweet-talked and then abruptly called a bitch for refusing to send nudes to a guy you’d been talking to for only a week. Apparently a week was his limit and all his other girls gave him what he wanted within a couple of days. You’d been ghosted by nice guys who felt victimized and led on when you said goodnight politely with a smile and a wave instead of inviting them inside for ramen.

You did want a nice guy. But you wanted a real one.

What you wouldn’t give for one of them, for just one of them to be honest with you and really show you their true self.

Perhaps you had been going about it all wrong.

Your conversation with Ben quietly fizzled and you put your phone away to charge and now, now you were simply puzzling.

It panged at your heart to think of it, but the upset with Baekhyun hours earlier kept replaying in your mind. You propped your feet up on your wall and let your head hang off the edge of your bed, enjoying the way the gravity pulled at the blood in your brain and you tapped your fingers on the bed absentmindedly to the soft beat of music you heard playing from his room.

And you puzzled.

Don’t use your beauty as a weapon against me.

You hadn’t been this bothered by something since you’d watched that Mission Impossible movie the first time and spent an hour and a half trying to wrap your head around the complicated plot.

A Weapon.

Your beauty … a weapon … against me.

Why did it bother you so much? Why had he been so upset that you were playing with him, that you were messing with him. He messed with you all the time. You messed with him just as much. He never got this upset. No, he never got upset in this way. In such a way as to call you out on using something you had, against him. Something that you hadn’t even known had any power at all to attack the man. Your beauty. Did you have such a thing?

You thought about the other times you fought with him.

Not really fought, the two of you never did that, but that fake sort of fighting like when he’d woken you up at 2am for the third night in a row with his loud working music and you found him out in the kitchen disassembling your favorite toaster, the one with the wide slots for bagels that also toasts four slices of bread at once and even has special buttons for frozen items. The stainless steel one that you won in a work raffle and proudly marched through the office carrying with a huge smile on your face. It was a deluxe model. Supreme even. The master of it’s craft. Said so right on the box. Your toaster in a million pieces on your kitchen counter; all because he needed some components or resistors or whatever the fuck it was and he decided the best move was to take your toaster apart rather than to just order what he needed online and wait two business days for them to arrive.

Sure, he put it back together a few days later but not without enduring the laser eyes you shot him over breakfast when you had to toast a piece of bread in a frying pan on the stove like a loser who did not own a four slice Deluxe Toastmaster Supreme.

You’d planned your revenge then. It was something tiny and it involved his TV remote. His precious TV was enormous, took up almost the whole wall, OLED or SUPER-NANO or ULTRA-NANO some similar nonsense words and had 8-Ks of pixels or so he claimed and had so many smart functions you could hardly get comfortable using it for anything that didn’t involve the Netflix button. And no, no, you didn’t do anything to the actual TV. Relax, this was just the remote. This was harmless. Absolutely harmless. Easy to solve really if he had half a brain in his head.

You just carefully cut out the smallest tiniest piece of IR blocking tape that fit exactly over the infrared sensor on the remote control and fit so well it was undetectable to the human eye. Unless you knew it was there and knew exactly where to stick your fingernail in under the plastic bezel to peel it back. You simply applied the tape and left the remote right on the coffee table before you left for work.

You’d come home that night to a pile of assorted battery packs all strewn about the coffee table, and the remote completely taken apart down to the tiny circuit board and Baekhyun was quietly touching the tip of some tiny tool to the different spots on the scary looking green part from inside of the remote with all the metal bits stuck to it and when you slowly walked by he looked up at you through the magnifying eye glasses he wore. His eyes looked comically enormous and you swallowed away your laughter and considered how long you’d let him suffer.

“Something wrong with your remote, Peanut Butter?”

“It was working fine yesterday. I just don’t understand it.”

“Maybe it’s the batteries,” you offered innocently and he just ignored your helpful suggestion as he began screwing tiny screws into place with a precision screwdriver.

He was reassembling it all now and you sat down beside him on the sofa about as amused as you had ever been to sit and watch him suffer.

He grabbed two new batteries from an unopened pack on the table and aimed the remote, pressing the buttons again and again. Nothing happened.

He was surprisingly calm about the whole thing and judging by the various shopping bags and different brands of batteries you saw, he seemed to have been working on this all afternoon. Probably for hours now.

“I’m going to have to take the TV apart.”

He was already standing up and walking across the room toward the wall mounted monstrosity when you leaned forward for the remote. He glanced back at you as you did it and he looked at you just in time to see you shake the remote back and forth and then hit it twice lightly against your left hand. Just a little knock-knock should do it. You were careful to keep the expression on your face calm and well controlled.

When you pressed the power button, the big TV came to life and you pressed the button for Netflix and scrolled through your recommended titles. You had a new episode to watch. You’d have to make time tonight for that. After he was done with his little project here.

Baekhyun instantly pulled his hands away from the TV and hopped back and away from the screen, peering up at it with his mouth hanging wide open. His eyes shot back to where you sat on the sofa holding the remote control. You did not allow your smile to form. Nothing in your whole life had ever been so difficult. You felt as if you could pop right here. You casually flipped through the menu on the screen and the man looked back up at the TV and back down at you again.

You could see him coming in then. He was moving fast with several large steps toward you and with the quickest movement you could manage you used the tip of your finger to slide the IR tape back over the remote sensor. You could not be as precise as you had been before with him coming right at you so quickly, but hopefully it wouldn’t be visible.

He reached for the remote. “What did you do, how did you fix it?” He held it up and pointed it toward the TV. Again, the remote did not work. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek.

He was pressing buttons again and nothing happened with each new button he smashed down. You could see the madness growing in his eyes the more he tried.

He made the smallest whining sound from the back of his throat and it took every ounce of self control to keep from laughing as he lightly tapped the remote twice against his hand just as he had seen you do. Nothing.

You tried to hold it. You tried so hard. A tiny sound escaped, the smallest sniffle with a laugh broke free from your throat and you coughed lightly to hide it.

His face turned on you and those crazed eyes were back only instead of directing them at the remote, he was looking at you now.

“How did you fix it? Do it again.” He looked insane and desperate and a tiny smile betrayed you as you grabbed the remote from his hand. You played the smile off as part of the help you were willing to offer him but you also had to inhale a deep breath and carefully and slowly exhale it through your mouth to keep from breaking completely.

You held it up in your right hand and gave it a little shake. As quickly as you had done it before you turned the remote on its side as you gave those two little knocks and his head flipped toward the TV when you aimed. With his eyes averted you were able to slip the tape off just before pressing the button.

The Netflix logo greeted you and Baekhyun threw his head back and let out a loud frustrated yell into the ceiling above him.

You’d been holding your laugh for too long. It was becoming too difficult now and he was back, reaching for the remote when the first suffocating giggles took your composure and you laughed out loud.

Your laughter brought all of his attention right to you and only you. The entirety of his focus shifted and that brought those crazed eyes of his bearing down on you, wide and demanding.

It was, by far, the most successful and meanest prank you had ever played on him to date and you were gasping for air and laughing as he reached for you. He grasped both of your shoulders and he shook you as you laughed and laughed at the absolute madness in his eyes. Oh he was crazy. It was just so damn funny.

The remote was still in your hands and you flipped through the different inputs on the TV as you cackled and tears formed at the corners of your eyes.

“How did you do it? You devil! Tell me how you did it?”

He balanced with his knees on the couch and his hands were on you, roaming over the fabric of the sweater you wore, lifting your arms to look under them, maybe for spare remotes or for hidden batteries or secret formulas, who knows what he thought he might find.

You’d stashed the tiny circle of tape by sticking it to the skin inside your elbow and he was currently examining the fingers on all of your hands up close as if they concealed all of the secrets he was looking for.

It wasn’t until he searched higher, pulling your hand forward toward his chest and his thumb grazed against the shiny plastic of the tape circle you had on your inner arm when he did a double take, pulled your arm harder and lifted an accusing finger to point at the tape.

“What is that?!” He clearly thought himself to be the world’s greatest detective.

You allowed yourself to be manhandled by him a little bit more as you got every bit of humor about your recent victory out of your chest and you lifted your other hand, the one he did not have held hostage right now to wipe at the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

“Stop laughing and answer me, woman! What is it?”

“It’s my birth control patch,” you said through a laugh and his eyes widened as he pulled his hand back. It was a tiny movement but you were so close to his accusing eyes that it felt monumental and the dramatic reaction to your teasing lie made a fresh wave of laughter bubble up in your chest. You knew he would react this way. Any mention of your contraceptives always made him clam up.

“It’s IR tape, Baekhyun. Infrared blocking tape. I put it on the sensor this morning after breakfast. After I made toast in a pan instead of in my toaster.”

The truth pulled his whole head back and he fell down on his butt on the sofa briefly before he slipped and fell right off the couch onto the floor and he sat there with a blank lifeless look on his face; staring ahead without any focus in his eyes.

“Do you know how sad pan toast is, Baekhyun? Tell me, how am I supposed to be satisfied with pan toast when I should have been having Deluxe Toastmaster Supreme toast?”

He was shaking his head back and forth as you spoke and when he did move it was to lay down flat on his back on the floor of the living room. His hands were up and he rubbed roughly over his face.

“Oh my god. Oh my god—it’s so good. I would have never checked for tape over the sensor. Fucking tape. A piece of goddamn tape. I was so focused on the batteries.I went to three different stores today. The circuits to the sensor were all intact, I checked it, it was good — I never even considered this. Are you an evil genius? My sweet innocent Bug ... is actually an evil supervillain.”

You left him on the floor and made your way into the kitchen to make dinner. It was your night to cook and thanks to the man stewing on the floor of the living room you had to do it around the scattered carcass of your third favorite kitchen appliance.

You remembered the way he reacted then. He pouted and moaned on the floor for a few moments until he smelled the stew you were cooking on the stove. It was comfort food. Something with meat and potatoes and warmth and spices. It would lift anyone’s mood and his had been lifted almost immediately. There were no apologies or any tears. Just a promise to put the toaster back together tomorrow after he went to the store for the parts he needed and that was the end of it.

He didn't storm away. He didn't raise his voice or say you were mean or unfair or too beautiful for him to withstand. He didn't get angry about closeness being used the wrong way, in a way that was unfair to him. In a way that could hurt him, like a weapon.

If he said you had the kind of beauty that could be used against him, didn't that mean he found you beautiful? Wouldn't that mean that Baekhyun found you attractive?

The words protested inside your mind. You shook your head.

That was impossible. Definitely. You’ve been so close to him for so long without even a hint of that sort of a feeling from him. Sure you were close to each other. Sure you cared for each other. It was a familiar sort of affection you shared. But attraction? Because he found you beautiful in a way that was unfair?

The puzzling was giving you a headache. There were some things that just did not exist in the same space in your mind and that was the existence of your roommate, Byun Baekhyun, and the possibility that he was attracted to you in any way.

You’d been inside your bedroom for hours now and you were no closer to answers than when you first came in here.

Baekhyun would be done with his episode. He would have watched it with Mia and discussed themes or scenes or dramatic moments with her. Did he talk to her on the phone or maybe though a headset as they streamed the episode together.

Did he like her voice and did she like his jokes?

Did he make her laugh? Of course he did. He made everyone laugh. Baekhyun was charming and hilarious. But could she make him laugh? Could she make him giggle and shake like he laughed with you?

It was late. That didn't really mean all that much to Baekhyun, as the man didn't really have any set bedtime and usually just fell asleep when the sun began to come up. It was a weekend night and you didn't have work in the morning and frankly your curiosity had grown too much for you to just stay in here and fall asleep without at least checking on how the streaming date went.

You knocked lightly on his door. You could hear music playing inside. Nothing too loud or crazy. The man seemed to be having a somewhat low key evening.

“Yeah,” his voice called lowly and you opened the door and peeked your head inside.

“How is our girlfriend doing?” Baekhyun was sitting on his butt on the floor in front of his bed with his head laid over his arms and his phone abandoned in the middle of the floor out of arm’s reach.

He let out a long low groan but did not lift his head up when you stepped inside.

“I don't even know. I don't know.” He sounded defeated already and this had only just started.

“Peanut, what happened?” You picked up the phone and unlocked the screen, searching through his apps to find the dating app so you could see if they had said anything to each other that might give you some clues about what went wrong.

“Nothing happened. I was too quiet. I couldn’t talk at all. I didn't say anything during the entire episode. Why is this so scary. Uggghhh...I feel unsafe. It’s gross.”

You stepped over him and climbed onto his bed, sitting up against the head of the bed as you scrolled through the chat logs.

It looked normal. Not unfriendly. A little terse and abrupt on his part. The man didn't know how to loosen up when he talked to girls and you wondered if maybe you needed more one on one lessons with him before he was really ready for this stuff.

When you leaned back against the headboard you felt the bed dip and he climbed onto the bed beside you and angled his body toward where you sat up against the pillows.

When you got to the end of the chat you could see that she was the last one to speak and she remarked that he felt a bit different from when they spoke at the beginning of the day. He didn't say anything in response to that.

Baekhyun moaned with his eyes closed and he turned his head into your waist. He was obviously reliving some perceived embarrassment he must have felt during the interaction with Mia and when he moved his arm around your waist you looked down to find yourself trapped under his arm that constricted as he pulled tightly, hiding the entirety of his face somewhere in the shirt you wore. He was warm. The weight of his arm around you felt nice.

“I felt so unsafe,” he repeated his complaint from earlier and his voice was obscured and muffled as he hid himself. He switched the tense though and you wondered if he no longer felt unsafe now that you had come in.

You typed out a quick response to Mia. You didn't think it was right to just leave her hanging without an explanation for his strange silence during and after the show.

“I’m going to tell her that you were so quiet because you were nervous. I’ll also thank her for watching the episode tonight.”

You heard and felt a hum and the tightness of his arm around your waist relaxed a little as his arm went slack. He did not move though. He still hugged you. He was still warm and it took only a moment for your nose to pick up the pleasant smell of his clean bed sheets fresh from the dryer. You both had a schedule for washing things like towels and bed sheets. Yours had been cleaned today as well, but something about the smell of his bed felt better than yours had. Perhaps it had been all that difficult puzzling that had tainted yours.

Mia responded right away to your message. She was flattered by his nervousness. You could tell with the way she reassured that he really didn't have to be nervous around her. That she was an easy going kinda girl. Low maintenance she said. You scoffed at the thought of a computer geek being low maintenance. As if you didn't know how difficult to obtain fancy GPUs were and how expensive high powered CPUs, high capacity SATA drives, and their required cooling systems were. You looked around Baekhyun’s set up and figured it had to run somewhere in the multiples of tens of thousands of dollars; just in this room alone.

Low maintenance. Please, she was just as high maintenance as any other regular girl just with a different catalogue of parts.

You switched to the emoji keyboard and keyed off some random happy faces and closed her chat window with more force than was necessary; suddenly and unexpectedly irked when she responded with similar emojis and the notification popped up on the screen. You swiped it away quickly to be rid of it.

“She sounded nice though, even if I couldn’t talk. She sounded nice. Do you think she will even want to talk to me again? I think she likes you more than me.”

“She will like you. If she doesn’t she’s an idiot. A girl would have to be an imbecile, Peanut, to not fall for you.”

He lifted his face then, just enough for the corners of his eye to peek out and you looked down at the side of his face as he looked at you for a moment, absorbing the encouraging words you spoke to him. His leg began to shake somewhere on the end of the bed. You could feel the rhythmic motions. He often did this when he was tired.

You had been scrolling through matches on his phone, building on an idea that popped into your head.

The man needed some practice to build up his confidence. Maybe, just maybe you could find another girl. Someone who he could talk to, chat with, be friendly with, that maybe wasn’t just so wonderfully perfect for him. Someone just to break the ice with.

You stopped on a girl. Her dress was short and the neckline was low. She really left very little up to the imagination with this outfit. Outside of the revealing clothes, it was clear that she was a beautiful woman. She was sexy and very confident in herself despite the glaringly obvious grammatical typo in her bio.

You spun the phone around to show him.

“She looks nice,” you said. Baekhyun blinked at the phone and pulled his face back a little to see the image clearly.

“—-follow you’re dreams — you are — Never too old to follow you are dreams.” Baekhyun read out the sentence with the typo out loud and you laughed.

“Come on, she’s pretty,” you said softly, “right?” You probed gently and he chuckled once to himself and closed his eyes up with a sigh.

“Yeah, she’s pretty,” he said after a while and you felt yourself stiffen just a little bit with his admission. Of course she was. Anyone could see it. He’d be lying if he didn't admit it.

“Okay but like, just pretty or do you also think she’s beautiful?”

He hummed some non response and you focused your attention back on the phone in your hands. After scrolling through a few more profiles you found another woman whose beauty shone brightly right through the screen at you.

“And her? Is she pretty or is she beautiful?”

Baekhyun’s eyes opened again but just barely. He looked half asleep and you wondered if the reason his arm was still around you was because he was so sleepy he didn't realize he was still hugging you like this on his bed.

“Pretty,” he mumbled and pushed his face into your waist again. This time the shaking in his leg began to settle and you could hear a slow steadiness in his breathing.

“Should I message her? Maybe we can practice talking to her so you’re not so nervous talking to girls?”

“Sure Bug,” he said quietly, “you can do anything you want.”

He was falling asleep now. You could feel the change. It didn't matter. You’d let him rest a bit while you opened up a chat window and began talking to Candy.

She responded quickly and had a completely different feeling from Mia. Maybe this was good. Candy was easy to talk to but she had nearly nothing in common with Baekhyun. She casually asked what a computer programmer did and when you went into specifics you had trouble finding synonyms for words that didn’t just make it all more complicated. You finally settled on a simple explanation of what kinds of computer software Baekhyun had developed and left it at that.

After a while Baekhyun shifted in his sleep and uncovered his face. His lips were parted and from the upside down angle you could see the dark splash of his pretty eyelashes that landed over his soft cheeks. He looked lovely and peaceful. All the worries and fears of the day were gone and he was sleeping so calmly. You watched his sleeping face for a while, growing warm inside with the strange contentedness you felt.

You could see some light movement behind his eyes and you wondered if he was dreaming about anything.

Candy had asked for a picture. She was asking something superficial like what sort of car Baekhyun drove and you slipped into his picture gallery for the folder with the shots you took for him when he first bought his car. You found a nice one with him smiling behind the driver’s seat, bright red seatbelt across his chest and the logo of his fancy ride on the steering wheel.

‘Wooo, baby boy an Audi? you must be loaded. When are you gonna come pick me up in that?’

You laughed at her obvious reaction. Candy was exactly as you expected her to be. Baekhyun would be able to laugh and chat with her easily without too much pressure of impressing a complicated woman like Mia was. Candy was an open book. The stakes were lower with Candy.

Your giggle made him stir and you looked down to see his eyes open a tiny bit before he closed them again.

“It’s going well with Candy,” you whispered and he inhaled a breath and nodded his head as he closed his eyes again.

“Mmm, the pretty one?” he asked in a sleepy voice and you hummed your confirmation. Something buzzed inside of you; just a bit of nerve. Call it gumption.

“Baek,” you called quietly and his lips parted with his breathing but his eyes stayed closed this time. He did not respond. He didn't give any indication at all that he heard you call him.

“Baek, what about me?” Your voice was tiny when you asked it. You felt more warmth in this bed suddenly. You felt it in your chest and it seeped up to warm up your face too.

He hadn’t responded at all to your question. It had been pretty unclear though. He might not have heard it, or might not have understood it. Or his sleep may have just been too deep to register your words.

“Am I pretty or am I beautiful?” You said it so quietly there was little chance of him actually hearing it. He was asleep and you were just here, trapped in his embrace on his bed as he slept and you puzzled over the words he had told you during an upset. The words that you had pried from him when he was vulnerable and emotional. The words that you shouldn’t be over analyzing like this. Those words felt too risky to be giving this much thought to.

Here you were again, using your sneaking methods to try and trick him into something when you knew it wouldn't work, when you knew there was nothing really there and you were reading too far into things.

His steady breathing continued. His eyes remained closed and his arm still gripped around your tightly, holding you still, holding you close to him as he slept.

So you gave up. You’d moved back to the phone to respond to Candy; something silly and lighthearted, something easy just like she was, when you heard him speak.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he said so far under his breath the statement sounded more like air than actual vocalization of any kind and your fingers stopped their rapid typing in the middle of your sentence.

Your eyes looked down. Your entire body was frozen. Half of you expected to find his eyes open and a wide teasing smile on his lips, begging for you to take the bait and believe his words just for the chance of laughing at your shocked face and making fun of you for being stupid enough to believe them.

He was asleep. His eyelids did not pull open when you looked down at him and his breathing remained as steady as ever.

Baekhyun was asleep.

That damn puzzling — your jaw was sore from clenching your teeth down and your lips were dry and chapped from biting them.

You had dropped the phone and it disappeared somewhere amid the bedcovers.

Baekhyun’s sleep was deeper now. He must have been very tired to be falling asleep so recklessly like this. You shifted downward and made some attempt to find the phone without waking him up and your small movement made him inhale a deep breath through his nose and he was moving now. You felt him shifting, moving his sleepy body up higher in search for some comfort; for something to lay on that was a bit more comfortable than flat on the middle of the bed like that.

You used the movement to reach for the blanket and pull it over his body so he could be warm at least and when he finally settled he shared the same pillow as you. His forehead rested against your shoulder and he was once again, fast asleep.

His arm though— you found yourself still very much trapped in nearly the same embrace as before, just shifted. A forearm landed over your chest and you felt a new heaviness of his bent leg land over your thigh.

You could wake him.

You could push him off and let him roll the other way so you could make an escape back to the peace of your own bedroom.

You would. You would do that soon.

Your current state of thoughts was simply too overloaded to follow through on any game plan. If you could only have a few more minutes of his warm steady breathing, you would move away from this. You would do it.

It wasn’t that you had never considered it. It was that you had gone through many lengths to come to this place. You were safe and secure here.

It was that you had nowhere else to go when it was over.

This place was your home.

Peanut was part of that home.

Things were nice right now; the way they were at home.

But…

As they sometimes do, and against your own will, your thoughts wandered.

You wondered as they wandered — wondered about him.

From the deepest parts of your mind; down where you’d shoved them roughly many times before, those wondering thoughts danced and swayed lightly to the soft music playing in this room.

Those secret thoughts about the sweetness in his eyes. Secrets about the fondness you felt for the little tips of him; the tip of his nose, the tips of his fingers, the pink tips of his ears. Thoughts you refused to encourage.

Baekhyun was asleep and you were thinking.

With the thinking came the shame and your skin was hot to the touch. The last thing you wanted was to ruin your home. With the thinking came the denial. You could not encourage anything. You could not afford to become complacent. You did not need these thoughts to become so brazen. You did not need them taking root. The last thing you needed was them making an appearance again.

The sounds he made while dreaming pulled your closed eyelids back open. You turned your face toward the sound. It was soft, the small groan from the back of his throat. But his face changed then; eyebrows screwed together and his lungs constricted as he let out a softer sound, like a whine. It was a complaint. His face showed signs of pain. The dream must have been unpleasant.

You lifted a hand then, shifted within his embrace you raised your palm and laid it carefully over the side of his face.

The shift happened with the warm contact and his features evened out and that pained look was gone.

You smiled then. So sleepy but satisfied that you could help when he needed it.

You would move after he got a little more sleep. After he’d had a little more comfort from you, you would move.

You weren’t the first to move. And it seemed by the change in light that shone through the windows that your visit had lasted much longer than you had intended.

It was the untangle that woke you up. A conscious and deliberate lifting of limbs; the careful grip of a hand lifting your arm by the wrist and setting it gently down on a flat mattress.

You opened your eyes when he pulled his own leg out from between your thighs. The temperature change was most jarring. You had felt so warm before.

Baekhyun was sitting up in his bed. His hair was standing up in places all over his head and he was moving slowly and carefully, in an attempt to disengage himself from the tangle of this woman he had just woken up with.

The sleep was still very thick in your head. It hadn’t been a full night’s sleep had it? You felt like you had just closed your eyes a minute ago and yet the sunshine was so bright outside already.

“Sorry,” Baekhyun whispered when he realized you were now awake and looking at him, “guess I got too comfortable...must have fallen asleep.”

His voice was thick with sleep and with embarrassment too, you could hear it everywhere, with the quick words he spoke to you and the pink that covered the back of his neck and flooded his cheeks too.

This situation...this was an embarrassment. Of course it was.

This was something that should not have happened. Not with two adults of similar age who shared so many liberties with each other; spending time in each other’s arms at night, well…

You felt awkward all over. What if—what if you’d done something in your sleep? What if you said something?

And he already wasn’t meeting your eyes as he climbed out of the bed and awkwardly made his way into his bathroom.

You could hear the sound of the running water faucet and the door closed with the smallest click like he went out of his way to close it as softly and quietly as possible to avoid disturbing you any further.

You could feel the heat burning on the skin of your cheeks and you used his absence to get up and get out of his bedroom before he came out and found you still, still tangled in his bed sheets like you’d been tangled in his legs and in his arms all night.

You had to ignore this. You had to forget it ever happened, and anyway, you were best friends with the guy...right? Wasn't this thing bound to happen in the course of a friendship? What if you went on a holiday with him and the hotel only had one bed? These things really did happen, you read about it on twitter once. Would you be that asshole best friend who let him sleep on the floor just because he was a man? No! You could build a little pillow wall between your bodies and sleep as still and motionless as possible, like a corpse.

This feeling would go away. The red hot embarrassment would wash down the drain of your shower. The sticky warmth left behind by his skin would go with it.

You’d made it as far as to undress and turn on the hot water when an awful memory dawned on you.

Baekhyun still had your shampoo.

You didn't have any other shampoo in this bathroom that you could use. You pulled open cupboards and drawers, searching for anything; tiny hotel sized travel bottles, a nearly empty bottle under the sink for a rainy day, even maybe something in the trash can that still had a few drops. Nothing.

You eyed the hand soap on your sink and pictured stepping out of the shower a frizzy, tangled mess.

A soft knock vibrated against your bathroom door.

“Bug, your shampoo.” Baekhyun’s voice called out, muffled by the sounds of the running water and the door itself, “it’s almost empty, but there’s a little left. Sorry, I’ll run to the store and get more.”

Your ear was pressed against the door so you could make out everything he said; so you could listen carefully to the tone and delivery of his words to see if he was still embarrassed about last night or if he’d brush it off easily like he did most things that seemed to bother him.

There were another two soft knocks, “B-Bug?”

“Yeah, Peanut, thank you. Can you just...put it by the door. I’m already undressed. I’ll grab it in a bit.”

He did not respond right away and you stayed with your ear against the door waiting for some sound. Some indication that he had left. The click of your door, anything.

“I left it by the door,” you heard his far away voice shout and then the click of your door.

When your shower was done and you were dressed in your favorite weekend outfit, the high waisted comfy shorts with pockets and a cute top that made you feel somewhat pretty even on a casual day and you emerged from your bedroom feeling ready to face whatever weird moods or wacky situations accosted you today.

You found him singing a song to himself in the kitchen as he made something that smelled delicious for breakfast. The radio was on a pop station that played hits from all the past decades and the upbeat rhythm of the song that played was a definite favorite that had him dancing at the stove.

It was a groovy little love song, quite old now that you thought about it and you felt the beat hit hard in your chest with each pop of his shoulders and hips. The joy you could feel in this song hit you just like that beat hit; heavy and prominent, and you smiled wide to welcome this morning mood it brought with it.

When you stepped into the kitchen to grab a mug to make yourself some coffee you couldn’t help but sing along to the song, you loved the song as much as he did and when he noticed you enter the room you could hear him singing the main parts; expertly, even though the singer was a woman, his voice could always reach the high notes as well as the low ones. She was the kind of epic singer with one of a kind of talent that was world dominating. Baekhyun was singing along, doing the same kinds of ad-libs and vocal runs that she did and he did it while holding the spatula up to his face like a microphone.

As you walked by he dipped his head and looked into your face and his eyes caught ahold of yours. You knew what was coming. You could hear it coming in the song, the chorus. The part you had to sing. These were the rules. He leaned hard and brought the spatula up to your lips just in time for your part to come on. You did not disappoint. You gave it your all closing your eyes up tight and throwing your head back, singing from the very center of you, this part you always sang during this song. The part that was made for you; he knew it and you knew it.

His smile was genuine and breathtaking and he grabbed your hand with his spatula-less hand and pulled you into him, the beat taking over whatever bit of nervousness he might have had before. This was different. This was dancing. This was singing to simply the best song for a Saturday morning and it was moving and laughing with your best friend and you let him spin you in a small circle, careful to keep your coffee mug lifted so it didn’t hit anything during the spin.

His sense of rhythm was perfect. His hips moved as if they were made for this. You had no choice but to follow. An occasional hand on your hip told you where to go. The song was reaching its peak and you knew it was a short one. The best ones always were. It was going to begin winding down now. It was always such a sweet and short lived moment of happiness that you always appreciated immensely.

As a final move, he gave you a little spin and released you to go on your way toward the coffee maker you so desperately wanted to get to when you first entered this kitchen.

He finished the eggs with the last notes of the song.

As you both sat down to eat, his eyes met yours and yours met his and you dug into the eggs and bacon he’d prepared. You offered him a perfectly buttered toast slice and he took it, nodding his head as he bit into the crisp corner.

“So Bug,” he spoke up between bites of eggs, chewing and swallowing thoughtfully, “about this...Candy.”

You swallowed the hot coffee in your mouth and clasped your hands together, suddenly remembering how asleep he had been when you had hit it off with Candy, his practice girl.

He listened to your explanation. Your theory that the stakes were simply too high with Mia and he needed someone to talk to that was a bit more of a relaxed task for him. You called it easy mode so he might get the game reference. He ate and listened to you talk and occasionally his eyebrows would lift or screw together with whatever sorts of thoughts he was thinking inside his head. You could tell by his body language that he didn't exactly want to start something with Candy and you had to emphasize that it was really just for practice, talking to her. It was to help build his confidence.

“She’s already in, Peanut. She thinks you’re super cool, she thinks you’re rich and thinks you have a very good job and plus, you make lots of money and she seems super into that.”

He was not speaking yet, despite how much you had talked and you were beginning to get worried that he didn’t see the benefit of practicing his conversation skills a little bit.

“It’s not even real, Baek, you just have to make some things up with her. Just to get over that anxiety about talking to women. Just until you are more comfortable.”

When he finally did speak, it was as you feared.

“It just feels kinda gross, Bug. She’s a real person too, even if she is obviously a gold digger. It just seems wrong. I’ve been...thinking lately. What if this is...wrong of us?”

“What if I just have to tough it out with Mia and get the fuck over it and just,” he thrust his hands forward over the food on the table for emphasis, “just — blehhhh — talk, just fucking talk to her.”

You lifted a fork with eggs toward your lips but your stomach protested. You suddenly didn't want any more food. The coffee you were drinking had suddenly gone too cold for your liking and you pushed the plate and mug away from you with your fingertips.

You were bothered.

Why did he choose right now to suddenly grow a conscience about this? Did he forget that Mia was chatting with both of you and not just him?

“I...I just — I want to try with Mia. I know I can get over it and talk to her. And I don't want to talk to Candy. The person Candy thinks I am, well...that’s just false. I can’t be the person she’s expecting me to be.”

He had obviously read through the entire conversation with Candy last night and found the tales you told simply too stretched out for him to try and live up to.

“But that’s what people do when they start dating. They stretch the truth, make themselves sound just a little bit better, make themselves taller, or make themselves look richer. They all do this.” You simply could not understand why he didn’t get this. Why he didn’t just play by the rules that everyone followed to get through the door so he could stand a chance here.

“Well I don't. I don't want someone to fall for a fake version of me. I want someone to like me now. This me. Byun Baekhyun. The Peanut with anxiety who lives with Bug who almost killed him over a cheese stick, but who makes really great toast.”

He was smiling now, joking about the funny memories. You pulled your lips into a forced smile and lifted the coffee for another drink so you didn't have to smile any more.

He was watching your face. You were sure he sensed it. Something had bothered you to the point of giving up on your breakfast and every pass your eyes made over his face led to the same thing. He was watching you.

“Why are you upset?”

You shook your head lightly. Willing the obvious signs to leave your face. You didn't even know why. You didn't have a name for this. So you just shrugged in response to him.

“Because I don't want to practice on Candy? Did you actually like her for me?”

You really made your best attempt. You inhaled deep and closed your eyes and you shook your head.

Candy did not matter and you knew it. There was something ugly inside of you maybe. Something that did not want Baekhyun to get along with perfect Mia. Something that was fighting against the idea of him being happy and healthy and free of this unhealthy attachment you had to him. Free and happy away from you.

“Then why?”

Enough. You were being unfair to him. You had promised him that you would help him. You had gotten him this far and you’d be the worst kind of asshole if you didn't see him through to the end; if you didn't follow through with your promise to find him someone who would love him like he deserved to be loved, exactly as he was now. The amazingly wonderful Byun Baekhyun.

“It’s nothing like that,” you smiled softly. It felt like a sad smile, but at least it was genuine. “I just worry when you get so anxious. You know you fell right asleep last night. As soon as I came in, you passed right out.”

Your words skillfully slipped out of your lips and you successfully changed the subject. You felt like a coward, but you simply did not have words for what was happening to you.

“I didn’t...say anything did I? Before I fell asleep?”

This question was quiet. His fingertips grazed over his lips as he asked it, nearly muffling the words he shyly asked you at the breakfast table, the morning after.

You are so fucking beautiful.

You lifted your coffee cup to drink the tepid liquid inside and dropped your eyes from his shaking ones. The answer to his question sat on the back of your tongue even after you swallowed away the liquid.

You swallowed again and it refused to budge and yet you sat in silence, unable to utter a single word in reply to his quiet question.

Your silence went on for too long and he looked up into your face. An instant smile lifted at the corner of your lips and you forced it up into your eyes.

“You just slept, Peanut. We—” you had to exhale the breath that you had been holding for too long in your lungs, “we just slept.”

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , Part 5

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iceeckos12 · 3 years

Text

time travel snippet

little time travel au oneshot. season 5 jon travels back in time to season 1. from the perspectives of tim, martin, and sasha. 3.5k.

i dont think i need to tag anything, but please let me know otherwise.

Tim wakes up that morning, and it’s just like any other day.

Well—no, okay, that’s a bit misleading. Today is his first day working as an archival assistant, so he’s one part nervous, one part that breathless, exhilarated feeling you only get when you’re about to do something unfamiliar that may or may not redefine your life for the foreseeable future. When he says “it’s just like any other day”, he means that he wakes up, and he’s a normal person doing normal people things like eating a healthy breakfast and going to work.

(So, no. In short, he doesn’t realize that today is the day when It happens, that big, life-changing event that you think will Never Happen To You.)

He gets out of bed, stumbles into the bathroom. Washes his face of whatever residue that’d built up during the night, tries to scrape away the evidence of his nightmares, smiles big and bright at the mirror to see how successful his efforts were. He’s betrayed by the traitorous bags beneath his eyes, but that’s okay. Sasha taught him how to wield concealer as a shield whenever his past wore down his armor.

He shoots twin finger guns into his reflection, making soft pew, pew! noises that are almost too-loud in the hush of the bathroom. Then he turns on his heel and walks away, sauntering and humming along with the chorus of Dolly Parton’s 9 to 5.

He gets to the Institute twenty minutes before he’s supposed to—not because he’s trying to impress his boss or whatever (he and Jon have known each other long enough that there’s no point). It’s just, Jon will probably want to make some sort of game-plan before the actual workday starts.

The poor man had been relieved to an almost comical degree when Tim had said yes, I’ll come with you to the Archives. It’s painfully obvious how out-of-his-depth Jon is with the whole “Head Archivist” thing. Tim’s honestly baffled as to why Elias had singled him out for the position in the first place, considering his lack of qualifications.

But, whatever. It’s fine! Tim and Sasha will be there to help him—although the third assistant is a bit of a problem, considering that they know absolutely nothing about him. There’s no guarantee that this Martin Blackwood won’t report inadequacies or mistakes back to Elias. If that’s the case, Tim and Sasha will have to be Jon’s safety net, which is partially why Tim is hoping to talk to Jon before anyone else gets there.

He also wants to talk to Jon because he just knows the man is probably working himself up over all of this. Maybe reassurances won’t do away with the source of anxiety entirely, but at least it’ll remind Jon that he’s not alone, and that he can count on Tim and Sasha.

As expected, when Tim gets there he can see a sliver of light pouring out from the cracked door of the Head Archivist’s office. He selects a desk and sets his bag on top of it, noting a set of strange gouges in the fake wood with a raised eyebrow, and then an internal shrug. The Institute issued laptop is near the far edge of his desk, and his collection of pictures are strategically placed so that he can see them all clearly.

His eyes linger over the image of him, his mother, and his brother. Their smiles are almost perfect replicas of each other, like someone took a mold of one of their faces and recreated it twice over.

Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he shakes himself, releases a slow, steadying breath, and goes to check on Jon.

Tim’s not sure what he’s expecting to see when he goes into Jon’s office.

(That’s misleading too, though. He’s not sure if Jon will be visibly calm or upset, if he’ll be on his laptop, if he’ll be picking at the skin around his fingernails, as he so often does when he’s stressed. He is expecting Jon as he is and always has been—a twenty-some year old going on sixty, who wraps his gruff, grumpy demeanor about himself to protect the soft, vulnerable core he likes to pretend doesn’t exist.)

He comes up to the door, and the soft rectangle of light that emanates from beneath the door paints the tips of his shoes gold. “Jon?” he calls softly, rapping his knuckles against the frame. There’s a soft rustling noise—papers maybe? but no audible response, so he shrugs and pushes the door open. “I’m coming in.”

Tim steps inside, a quip instinctively readying itself on his tongue—but then his gaze lands on Jon, and he freezes dead in his tracks.

Even years later, he still vividly, viscerally remembers the moment he saw Danny standing on the stage underneath the Royal Opera House, the way he’d looked...not quite right. The wrongness had been subtle, so much so that it had been unnoticeable upon first glance, upon second glance. The longer Tim had looked though, the more obvious it had become, exposing all the little faults in that almost-perfect recreation of his brother.

Looking at Jon now, it’s the first and only thing he can think of. Because—yes, there’s the long, silver-streaked black hair, there’s the rich brown eyes, there’s the pair of spectacles that make him look far older than he actually is. But that’s where the similarities between the Jon he knows and this Jon end.

Jon’s always been a small man, but his feigned haughtiness makes him seem much bigger than he actually is. Except—except this Jon looks smaller somehow, his shoulders curved protectively inward, like he’s trying to present less of a target. And there’s something about his face, too—his expression is too sharp, too much—

But the worst of it is his eyes. There’s something very wrong with his eyes.

Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with Jon? He doesn’t say it out loud though, just keeps staring at Jon, a heady mix of terror and horror making any sort of reaction impossible.

After a moment Jon’s lips thin, contorted by some distant cousin of displeasure, and he rises to his feet. Tim stumbles instinctively backward, his breath escaping him in a sharp gasp that’s immediately swallowed up by the apathetic stacks of books and papers surrounding them. He’s struck by the fact that if he dies here, it’s unlikely anyone will notice; he’ll become just another set of marks gouged into the desk, willed away with an uneasy shrug.

Jon freezes, lips parting subtly, as though he were about to speak. Tim feels his breath catch in his chest, unable to shake himself out of the clouded stupor his mind has fallen into.

In the end, Jon says nothing. Just releases a long, slow breath of air and sits back down, pushing his chair close to his desk. The motion looks heavy, tired, as though it takes far more energy than it should.

“You—you should go,” Jon rasps, and there’s something off about his voice too, though Tim can’t put his finger on why. He can’t cobble together enough of a train of thought to make sense of any of this, all he can think of is that clown ripping Danny apart—

He stumbles out of Jon’s office, sits down at his desk. Stares down at the cheap, fake wood, at the gouges that have marred the otherwise pristine surface. Puts his head in his hands, and tries to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest.

-0-

Martin’s heard things about Jonathan Sims.

He’s not usually the type to pay attention or encourage gossip, as the vivid memories of his classmates tittering cruelly whenever he walked by still leaves a sour taste in his mouth.The problem with the Institute is that the employees get bored pretty easily. Though most would consider academic research into the esoteric and the paranormal to be fairly interesting, it’s still academic research. And the subject content can get to be a bit...repetitive. There’s only so many gruesome statements you can read without thinking, oh great, more meat.

So the employees gossip a lot, and while Martin usually tries to keep his head down and avoid it, it’s difficult not to overhear some things. And from what little he’s heard, he’s...a bit concerned. Rude and unsociable has frequently been mentioned, as have arrogant and unnecessarily finicky, and worst of all, a bit of a stuck-up know-it-all.

Normally he tries not to put too much stock in office gossip—he’s well aware that the grapevine tends to exaggerate one’s most undesirable traits—but if any of it is true, then he might just be in trouble. It was hard enough being a library employee when his boss wasn’t even paying attention most of the time. If Jon is as exacting as they say, it might be enough to expose the fact that Martin has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. And if that happens, then he might get fired, and he can’t get fired, he needs this job, he can barely keep up with his mum’s medical bills as it is—

Calm down, Martin tells himself firmly, pressing his hand against his sternum, as though that will be enough to quell the rising panic. It’s only your first day. Maybe he’s nice, and we’ll actually be good friends.

(With his luck? Yeah, right.)

The Institute looms in the distance, growing closer with every terrified, grudging footstep. A shiver runs up his spine at the sight of its imposing presence, a dark, ugly blot of a building against the backdrop of the iron grey clouds.

If there’s one thing he’s good at though, it’s keeping his head down and muddling through until he’s able to figure out what is actually expected of him. He can twist and fold himself into whatever role they need him to fill, as he has done so many times in the past. Not easily perhaps, but he has always managed. The alternative is untenable, after all.

So he takes a deep breath, and shoves his panic down as deep as possible. Lifts his head and forces a smile onto his face, like a good attitude will be enough to protect him from his boss’s wrath.

He could really do with a cup of tea.

Martin trudges down the stairs, giving the blank walls, the old-fashioned carpet, a dubious look as he does. The Archives themselves are as he remembers it—he’s been down here a couple of times when Gertrude made a request for something specific, but—

He pauses when he notices a man sitting at one of the desks, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders aren’t shaking and his breathing is even, so Martin doesn’t think that he’s crying? He’s just….sitting there, his stillness so perfect it’s almost inhuman.

“Hello?” Martin calls softly, cautiously, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet.

The man looks up, revealing a very handsome face and brown eyes so dark they may as well be black. His cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright and a little wild, and his mouth is pressed into a small, tight line. He doesn’t speak, just keeps watching, blinking dazedly in Martin’s direction. Martin gets the feeling that this person isn’t entirely there at the moment, like a house in which every room is lit, but there are no people inside.

He swallows and shifts nervously back and forth, trying to decide whether or not to call for some backup. Eventually he sets his bag on the floor and shuffles a bit closer. “Um—are you—is everything okay?”

The man blinks rapidly, some semblance of awareness creeping back into his gaze. He shakes his head slowly, pushes his short, gelled hair back from his head. His hands are trembling. “I’m...yeah, I’m fine. It’s—everything’s, it’s…”

But then his gaze lands on something over Martin’s shoulder, and all the color drains out of his face, his mouth shutting with a painful sounding click. Martin quickly spins around, searching for whatever could’ve scared him so much—

There’s someone standing in the doorway of Gertrude’s office.

There are so many things that one normally takes in upon first meeting another person: their hair, their skin color, all the little wrinkles and marks that give you the briefest insight into their life. Martin looks at posture first, tends to check if a person is intentionally looming, or if they’re making themself smaller.

But all Martin can see are the eyes.

There’s—two of them he thinks, but two is such an arbitrary number when the thing you’re applying it to doesn’t ascribe to human values (he’s not sure how he knows that—how does he know that—?). That horrible, terrible gaze is an unerring arrow, all-encompassing, all-consuming, piercing the deepest corners of his mind. It hurts in some distant, nebulous way he’s not even sure he comprehends—

Then he blinks, and the sheer terror, that feeling of the horrible, violating exposure of everything that he is, abruptly snuffs out. What’s left is just a person, wispy and small, his slight frame fairly drowning in a chunky, cable-knit jumper. He’s leaning against his doorframe, his eyes—two big brown ones, rich and unfathomably sad and more than that, human—drinking Martin in, his lips parted in a soundless gasp.

“Um—” Martin glances over his shoulder, and almost leaps out of his skin when a land falls heavily on his shoulder. The man who’d been sitting in the chair is standing just behind him, a strained but polite smile on his face.

“Hi Jon,” the man says, an undercurrent of a warning in his voice.

Martin glances between the two, his confusion growing with every passing moment. This is not what he was expecting when he first came into work today, and the uncertainty makes him feel strange and off-kilter.

The person in the door swallows once, twice, then straightens, one hand still gripping the doorframe like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he speaks, his voice is soft, tentative, a little ragged around the edges. “Tim. It’s, um...it’s good to see you.”

“Martin Blackwood, was it?” Tim continues, injecting a bit of cheer into his voice. It takes Martin a moment to realize that he’s being addressed, and he shoots Jon—this is Jonathan Sims?—an uncertain look before nodding slowly. “We’re happy to have you on the team.”

“O-Oh?” Martin squeaks, then grits his teeth and bodily forces his voice back into its normal range. “I’m—um, I’m happy to be here?”

“Good,” Tim says through a grin that looks more like a grimace, giving Martin’s shoulder a friendly pat. The look he shoots Jon is a dark, mistrustful thing. The look Jon gives him back is fragile, vulnerable, that winds the tension in Tim’s shoulders so tight it has to be painful.

Jon’s gaze flickers to Martin, just for a second—and then he disappears into his office, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Tim and Martin stand there for a second, staring at the door. Tim’s still tense as a bowstring, and his grip on Martin’s shoulder is almost uncomfortable. The air in the Archives feels stuffy and too warm, and there’s a strange prickling sensation on the back of Martin’s neck, like he’s being subjected to close scrutiny.

Then Tim sighs and lets go of Martin’s shoulder, a little of the tension bleeding out of him, and without it he looks small, deflated. He goes back to his desk and sits down, booting up his laptop without a word of explanation to Martin.

Martin stares at the back of Tim’s head for a moment, a number of questions clamoring around in his brain—what the fuck was that? What’s wrong with Jon? Why are you so obviously suspicious of him?—but the words won’t come. Breaking the silence feels...sacrilegious, somehow. Every breath of air sticks against the back of his throat.

In the end, he doesn’t say anything either, just sits at his desk and takes out his Institute-issued laptop. Stares blankly at the screen as the machine slowly, laboriously, comes to life.

-0-

Sasha’s not entirely sure how to interpret the tense atmosphere that has descended over the Archives.

The first day she’d arrived a couple of minutes before she was supposed to, prepared to follow Jon’s direction and help him adjust as best she could. (Her feelings about Jon’s promotion...didn’t matter. She didn’t like it, but it wasn’t his fault that Elias was an old-fashioned misogynist.)

But when she’d come down the stairs, Tim and the assistant she didn’t know, Martin, had been seated quietly at their desks. They’d both had the same distant, shell-shocked look on their faces, like they’d received some shattering, horrible news. Sasha had sent Tim a confused look, but he either hadn’t noticed it, or hadn’t wanted to explain.

She hadn’t even seen Jon that first day, just received a polite email asking her to start organizing the statements according to the system which he’d devised.

It’s been almost three days, and nothing has changed. Oh sure, they’ve all started organizing the statements as directed. Tim cracks jokes, Martin tiptoes around them and makes copious amounts of tea. That strange tension that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up, like the world is holding its breath in anticipation, hasn’t faded though. And while she doesn’t know Martin all that well, she knows that something’s still up with Tim. He seems more subdued than usual, keeps sending uncomfortable looks in the direction of Jon’s office—

—which hasn’t been open since that first day. She hasn’t seen Jon at all either, no matter how early she arrives or how late she stays. The only proof she has that he’s still alive is the polite email she periodically receives, detailing some specific task that he wants for them to do.

Even then, his emails are...odd. She’s not sure how she can tell, but they feel...awkward? Stilted? Like he’s only half-aware of what he’s typing, or like he’s only asking them to do things because he feels like he should, not because he has any actual goal in mind.

Normally she’d be frustrated by this, would complain bitterly to Tim about Elias passing over her for someone who obviously doesn’t properly appreciate the position they’ve been given—except that she knows Jon. He’d made a point to explain the situation to her himself, an apologetic twist tucked into the corner of his mouth. More than that, he’d asked her to follow him to the archives, saying that he wanted the two people he trusted most, her and Tim, to come with him.

He respects her too much not to take this job seriously.

The strangeness of the archives is only emphasized by Jon’s complete and utter lack of presence within it, but she doesn’t—she doesn’t buy that. She doesn’t believe that he’d just suddenly decide not to do the job he’d been so anxious to excel at.

More damning than anything is Tim’s complete, utter silence regarding Jon’s strange behavior, but whatever he knows about it, he isn’t saying anything. Martin is willing to talk, but he seems to be as lost as she is.

“I—that first day, Jon…” Martin shrugs, shooting a nervous glance toward the door leading to the archives. He’s been spending a lot of time hovering in the break room making tea, not that she can blame him. “He—I mean obviously I don’t know him very well, but he seemed...upset?”

“Upset,” Sasha repeats dubiously.

Martin lets out an exhausted sigh and turns away, waving a dismissive hand. “Look, I’m not entirely sure how to explain it. He just—okay, so, bear with me for a second, but he reminded me of this guy who used to live in my neighborhood.”

Sasha backs off, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. “Okay?”

“There was this little old couple that used to live in my neighborhood. They were—they were really sweet! The husband used to give candy to us younger kids. But um—sometimes you’d see him sitting in the rocking chair on his porch, and it was like...he wasn’t entirely there? Like, he’d just sit there for hours, rocking and staring at nothing. That’s—that’s what Jon’s expression reminded me of.”

Martin gets more animated the more he talks, Sasha notes; his hands move in broad, sweeping gestures, his expression twisting into an expression of extreme concentration. The moment he finishes he deflates again, tucking his hands into his armpits self-consciously, a hedgehog curling protectively in on itself.

“So, yeah,” he finishes eloquently.

“Huh,” Sasha says thoughtfully.

She gets back to her desk. Looks over at Tim, who’s studiously working through a box of statements, his mouth set in a neutral, concentrated frown. Takes a deep breath, letting the taste of dust and old papers sit heavy on her tongue.

Then she opens her laptop and starts looking through the catalog of cursed items that are currently being held in Artifact Storage.

(She doesn’t think that she’ll find anything, but—but just in case.)

-0-

They all get the call the next Monday morning: Elias Bouchard was found dead in his office.

#tma #iceeckos12 writes #my writing #just a little time travel au #probably wont continue this but i thought it was kinda fun

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professional-benaddict · 3 years

Text

Prince!Peter x Mafia!Tony - oneshot ll

original moodboard & oneshot written by @snowstark

Prince Peter, Mafia boss Tony, forbidden relationships, mentioned gun violence, injury and recovery, whump, Stephen being the good doctor, Peter feeling lonely and misunderstood

Peter had screwed up perfectly. There is no way he could have screwed up more than he did. That is the thing with rock bottom. It can only go upwards from there.

When Peter closes his eyes, he can hear the frantic clicking of the paparazzi’s cameras. Their invasive assumptions and prying questions make his throat close up in panicked embarrassment.

It was not like that. It was not like that at all.

Peter had for a long time despised his royal title and the privileges and burdens it entailed. If you asked him, there were hardly any privileges at all. Only burdens and troubles. Due to his dislike of his role, he had used every opportunity he got to make as much trouble as possible. As a child, he would often sneak into the kitchens and dining rooms to switch the sugars with salt, and vice versa. For a while he also cut many of the strings holding back the heavy curtains in front of the grande windows in the palace. They would then randomly come undone, and one time the undone curtain even made a diplomat’s mother fall over while she was gazing out the window.

Those small catastrophes added up, and rumours started circulating of ghosts haunting the palace. But, most of the staff and the royal family members knew that there was a certain young prince at fault for the seemingly haunting incidents. Now that Peter is older, his tricks have become more psychological and manipulative in nature. Some would call him cunning, others plain stupid, because his tricks involved putting himself in real danger.

At the adventurous and rebellious age of 19, Peter went to a BDSM club for the first time. He had manipulated the new substituting bodyguards to take him there without telling his family. To Peter’s knowledge, no one besides those two guards know of the visit to the BDSM club. That first visit was life changing to Peter, and ever since that day, he hungered for more.

Peter’s full time bodyguards, Steve and Bucky, are not as easy to fool as the substitutes. So, instead of fooling them, Peter gives them full disclosure, letting them know just who he is going to see and where. Naturally, the two men were not pleased, so Peter brought the big guns.

He knew it was a nasty trick, but it was years ago that he decides to ditch playing nice. Just like the rest of his royal family, he is only looking out for himself and he is not afraid to harm others to advance his own interests. And going out to this club to meet a certain someone is his sacred priority now, and Peter went as far as openly threatening to reveal Steve and Bucky’s forbidden romantic relationship to protect his own blossoming relationship at the club.

Perhaps a certain someone’s bad habits and ways of acting is rubbing off on him, Peter thinks. This is quite the step up from sabotaging meals and curtains as a child. However, his threats had earned him a useful deal.

Steve and Bucky will take Peter to the BDSM clubs without saying a word to the other staff nor the family, nor will they speak to anyone who Peter is meeting at the club. To put it mildly, the royal family and the public would be quite horrified to learn that the prince is seeing the most famous mafia boss at a BDSM club.

And so they were. They were horrified to learn that, but Peter is choosing to focus on the comfort of the morphine in his veins rather than all the gossip going on outside the four walls of his room. Steve and Bucky are sometimes on watch duty outside his door, and Peter can practically feel their guilt radiate through the wall. His family have been to see him, of course, but only briefly. Peter pretends to be asleep whenever they come. He can only imagine what they are going to say to him. Or perhaps they will never speak to him. Perhaps that would not be so bad.

Being outside the palace gates is dangerous enough, but being in the same room as a mafia boss only increases that danger. And Peter had sat on Tony’s lap when a rival boss’ minions had shown up with violent intentions. The prince had been hurt in the crossfire, and the incident made it impossible to hide the fact that Peter was in a BDSM club with a mafia boss. Even if he wore a mask to hide his identity, it had to be ripped away when Peter’s life was at risk. Cat’s out of the bag, and there is no forcing it back in.

Peter must have lost consciousness at some point, because suddenly he woke up at the palace and was met with the slightly disappointed but relieved face of Stephen Strange. The surgeon is the chief physician at the palace, and Peter has always seen him as an ally in the prison he calls his palace home. The doctor says it like it is, and the prince wishes he had more people like that around him.

“You scared the shit out of all of us, Your Highness.” Strange had said. Peter quickly lost consciousness after that.

Strange told Peter he had been shot in the abdomen, but luckily the shooter had missed any vital organs and large blood vessels. It still hurt like hell, but that did not stop Peter from trying to get up.

“Your Highness, I really cannot believe you sometimes.”

Both the pain shooting up from his wound and the voice from the doorway make Peter stop in his tracks. He did not get far, just a bit higher up on his bed in fact, but Strange still looks displeased.

“Shud’- shut up.” Peter spits back, hissing in pain as he tries to sit up further.

“Come on, I’ll help you lay down again.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’ll get you more morphine.”

A few minutes later Peter is a bit higher than he was before. A quiet gasp escapes Peter’s open lips, and for a few short seconds the few colours in the bland medical room blend together. The doctor hums approvingly and goes to dispose of the syringe he used to inject the pain medication into Peter’s IV. Then, he returns to his patient’s bedside, watching him carefully. The boy blinks multiple times, and then nods at the doctor that he is ready to lay back down and get comfortable.

“So, who is this guy you met at the BDSM club?”

Peter’s eyes go comically wide at the question. The intrusive question is sobering and Peter fixes his eyes on the doctor.

“You know? How do you know?” Peter asks dumbly.

“Everyone knows now, You Highness. Can you lift your head up a bit for me?”

Peter does as he is told, and thanks the doctor mentally for placing the pillow so perfectly under his head. The prince sinks a bit into the mattress. However, he cannot relax fully. He can feel Strange’s eyes on him, expecting an answer.

“Fuck. Fine, I met Tony.”

“And who’s Tony?”

“Doesn’t everyone know that as well?”

“Well, not what he is to you.”

“And that’s what you’re asking?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Peter’s gaze is still sceptical as he eyes the doctor. Strange has been at the palace even before Peter was born into the buzzing world and his cruel role. Luckily, Peter has not seen Strange frequently. Sometimes he would do Peter’s annual check up, sometimes another palace doctor would do it. On even rarer occasions, Strange or one of his employees would show up at Peter’s room, having heard rumours about the prince coughing or complaining about stomach pains. One time, Strange ordered Peter to stay home from a planned trip abroad due to a strep infection. He had been quite furious with the doctor for that, only to learn that he loved staying home while his family was away. The palace had never been so peaceful. It gave him another glimpse of what life could be like for him.

“... And you’ll just go running to tell everyone else then? Fill in the gaps for them? Hell no.” Peter snaps.

“I won’t tell. I’m just curious.”

“Why? This doesn’t have to do with your work. You just patch me up, is all.”

“No, I’d say it is part of my responsibility.”

“How?”

“He might break your heart. And I don’t want that to happen to you, Your Highness.” Strange says, his voice gentle and caring. The genuineness in his tone catches Peter off guard and makes him realise just how hungry he is for that sort of interest. “So, what’s Tony to you?”

Peter’s eyes burn with tears at all the emotions that the question triggers in him.

“I-I think… I think I’d give up my title.” Peter says quietly. He has to swallow the lump in his throat before continuing. “For him. To be with him.”

#cutie jae #my fics #my prompts #starker #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker/tony stark #peter parker #tony stark #stephen strange

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restapesta · 3 years

Note

Hi Emina🥰

Mandy finds out about Ian and Mickey earlier than in canon, she’s upset but she doesn’t confront either of them at first. She observes them together when all three of them hang out, and she realises it’s not just some casual thing - it’s serious.

For the prompt ask❤️

Hello Drish! Thank you for the ask -- I loved writing this :)

tw for very mild and short mentions of sexual abuse; other than that, everything is mostly just some light angst. enjoy!

word count: 4.6k

The Choices We Made And The Ones We Could Have Instead by gallavich-x

Looking back at it, Mandy was surprised she had missed it. She also thought that she had to have, most certainly, been the dumbest person alive — dumber than Iggy, even — to miss something that had been so blatantly staring straight at her.

She was surprised she had missed Ian's soft and clearly loving looks — the ones that had never been truly directed at her, although she somewhat hoped they were, still harboring some weird form of a crush on the redheaded boy she had grown to call her best friend; but also aware they simply couldn't have been for anybody else — and yet were always casually thrown somewhere over her shoulder, where, she only now was certain, Mickey probably stood, perhaps gazing softly back.

She was surprised she had confused Mickey's relaxed stance whenever he was in Ian's vicinity to the siblings perhaps getting closer, Mickey finally switching his ice-cold demeanor in place of a slightly more open one. Mandy never would have guessed it wasn't her that made him shed his hard shield, but rather Ian, the one boy who had made her shed her own.

She was so surprised she had missed how Mickey hung around more when Ian was around; how Ian planted himself next to Mickey each time the three of them sat down on the too-small, dirty Milkovich couch to watch a movie together — where each time Mandy wondered why Mickey was there in the first place; why he wasn't making fun of them for watching a kid's movie like Finding Nemo but rather sat down, tightly pressed against Ian, obnoxiously watching it with them. How she so easily wrote off them working together so suddenly, the whole ordeal having to do with Ian liking Mickey enough to put in a good word for him with Linda — liking him enough to not mind working with him. It had been so obvious this entire time, and yet Mandy never seemed to catch on.

Mandy considered it stupid how it didn't take Ian and Mickey's weird proximity to each other for her to finally figure it out but rather a simple accident in which it was so blatantly obvious that her brain couldn't ignore the signs anymore — her best friend and her brother. Together.

Maybe she could blame the ignorance on her unhealthy obsession with Lip and Lip's unhealthy obsession with Karen; perhaps she could blame it on the Milkovich genes for not connecting the dots sooner — it didn't really matter. What mattered was that her brain took its sweet time figuring it out and only managed to finally fucking understand once the whole thing was simply impossible to ignore.

She didn't plan on seeing them in the kitchen that day — it had been an accident; an impulse in which Mandy had picked herself up from the couch to ask Ian something about Lip — just another stupid thing she couldn't help but want to find out about the boy she was falling in love with — and ended up finding out something about the boy she thought she knew everything about. Ian had been gone for only a few moments, declaring how he was going to make them popcorn — the popcorn he stole for them from the store, pretending as if it wasn't that big of a deal; like it wasn't a gesture that had Mandy's heart swell uncontrollably as she gazed at her soft ginger.

Ian was a man like no other — sweet, kind, respectful, good-looking. He was basically perfect when it came to Southside boys, the ones who were born and raised here; he was perfect for Mandy. Years ago, she had tried to lure him in with her short skirts and booby shirts, but that was the first time she found out Ian was nothing like the other boys she knew and had done the same thing with. Ian was something else altogether, a piece of the world Mandy had not yet uncovered — a piece of the world that treated her, for the first time, in a way that felt right.

Mandy was jealous of the guy that had Ian's heart — the one Ian whined and bitched about every other week; the one he talked about with the sweetest of looks on his face every single goddamn day as if the other boy hung the moon and the stars for him. She was jealous another person that wasn't Mandy got Ian Gallagher. She was also certain that in another world — a world where Ian liked girls instead of boys and was able to see Mandy as something more — she would be his perfect match. A Gallagher and a Milkovich; so unexpected, yet so fitting.

Maybe that's why she fell in love with Lip; maybe it was some sort of mind fuck that had her settle for the closest thing there was to Ian, that being his fucking smart-as-a-whip but dumb-as-a-pole brother — or maybe she was just right about Gallaghers and Milkoviches mixing. They went well somehow, like night and day; so different, yet incomplete without each other.

She should have guessed it. If Mandy and Ian were a match in some other alternate universe — a Milkovich and Gallagher pairing done fucking right, unlike she and Lip, and she and Ian — perhaps there was another weird, unbelievable pairing in this one, just that nobody had looked deep enough to find it.

She had neared the kitchen, the question about Lip still in her mind. The kitchen door stood slightly ajar and Mandy halted her steps at the sound of the voices inside — quiet, soft, almost unrecognizable voices. One belonged to Ian, the other to Mickey.

And yet, Mickey's was so unbelievably different from the one she was so used to hearing —instead of being rough and scary, making Mickey seem as crude and as unapproachable as he truly was — it was steady, calm, and... Flirty?

Mandy listened through the small gap, not quite able to see them through the slim opening. What she did see was scarce, simply Ian and Mickey standing close to each other — way too intimate for just two people working together at the same store, and simply way too close for friends; not that Ian and Mickey were that. Friends.

If she didn't have ears to listen in to the conversation, she would have written the positions of their bodies as threatening and challenging rather than comfortable and knowing.

Mickey's voice, at the moment, was too quiet for Mandy's liking. She could barely catch on to a thing he was saying, the sentences coming out of his mouth sounding more like mumbles than actual words — but as his hand reached up to fix the collar of Ian's cardigan, moving in even closer towards Ian's bare skin, fingertips tracing his collarbone lightly, and as Ian's breath visibly hitched so that even Mandy could notice his shortage of breath — she knew.

Their eyes never left each other's faces. Their lips didn't connect into a kiss — something Mandy was grateful for, shocked enough and definitely not ready to add that to the list of things she thought she'd never see, placing it right up next to the unicorn she dreamed about having as a kid — but they seemed unnervingly close to it. Too close even, nearing each other like magnets. They only jumped apart when the microwave beeped, signaling enough popcorn kettles being popped to stop exposing them to the heat. Mandy watched as Mickey pulled away even further from Ian as if snapping somewhat out of a daze.

"See you tonight, Firecrotch." He smirked as he headed towards the door. Mandy jumped back from the door, comically throwing herself towards the couch, hoping — no, begging — Mickey didn't figure out she'd seen the entire exchange. When he only passed her with an "assface" in greeting, she knew he had no clue.

And when Ian came back a moment later, a bowl of popcorn nestled in his arms, a blush warming his cheeks, breath ragged, Mandy realized she had seen him this flustered one time too many — and although she usually wrote it off as Ian simply being Ian, awkward and clumsy, cute and all over the place — now she knew.

It had never been the heat of the summer making him warm, sweaty, and dizzy all over.

It had always been Mickey.

When her brother joined them a little while later, plopping himself down next to Ian, even though the seat next to Mandy was closer and much spacier, she finally managed to grasp onto the clues her brother had been unwillingly leaving — everything, from the lack of girlfriends to Ian. It didn't make her feel any less stupid, but it sure as hell made a lot more sense.

Her brother was gay.

She was surprised and slightly disbelieving. How could her brother Mickey, one of the scariest members of the Milkovich family, Terry's favorite son, be gay?

They all had secrets, she guessed, some larger and more terrifying than others.

The light bulb had finally lit up above her head. Mandy knew she was pale as a ghost as she thought it all through, making connections, filling in the blanks, finally making sense of the past three years.

Mickey was Ian's mystery man — the guy he was desperately in love with.

She glanced towards Ian who was subtly — she wouldn't have caught it if she wasn't looking for it — smiling at Mickey, their forearms lightly touching, thighs firmly pressed together on the worn-out couch. She then stole a glance towards Mickey who seemed to be trying to hide a small smile in his beer bottle.

Mandy suddenly felt scared, the realization hitting her with full-blown force. She finally realized what it all meant.

Firstly, Ian was in love with Mickey.

Mickey would break his heart. He, like all of the other Milkoviches, Mandy included, simply wasn't made to love or be loved. Not healthily at least. Not the way you were supposed to.

Secondly, Mickey was gay.

If Terry ever found out, it would be Mandy's, not just Ian's, heart breaking.

The day Terry found out about Mickey would be the day she lost her brother.

You could never say Mandy Milkovich was a particularly observant person, but lately, she was nothing but, practically spending every single moment she spent with Ian and Mickey, whether it be together or apart, studying and analyzing them, trying to uncover more about the secret they shared. She reminded herself of those bird or cloud watchers — the ones that spent hours on end trying to spot different species or shapes, studying them silently and calmly, always being patient, simply waiting for the perfect moment to capture them.

Mandy hated feeling like one of those boring-ass people — it was contradicting towards her personality. She was more likely to be the person who would shoot the endangered bird rather than simply gaze at it. She didn't know if it made her a monster or simply a proud Milkovich.

Mandy was somewhat scared of the answer.

The gazing wasn't directed towards birds or clouds, though — it was Ian and Mickey who were the center of her interest.

They were simply hooking up, she knew — Ian had told her that enough himself.

She was now connecting Mickey to all of the events Ian had told her about his 'secret boyfriend'; Ian never called him that, but she had come up with the nickname after a particularly excruciatingly long story about how the guy had been jealous of the old pedophile— another one of Mandy's nicknames — Ian had been seeing, and how sweet Ian found it.

It was Mickey who had told Ian, only a few months ago, that he was nothing but a warm mouth to him; an event Ian talked about with moisture in his eyes, claiming how, from then on, he'd stay away. It was Mickey who Ian thought hated him and had asked advice about. It was Mickey who Ian spent most of the day daydreaming about, probably doodling his name in his diary or whatever shit Mandy had relentlessly teased him about.

Now, she tried to picture the other stuff Ian told her — she tried to picture the two of them hanging out and having fun, simply enjoying each other's company — Mandy stopped short. She couldn't imagine it. Sure, she'd seen them hang out when they were with her, but the thought of them alone made her squirm in her seat — there was no way they even had anything to talk about. Mickey didn't just chit-chat and he'd probably tell Ian to shut the fuck up the moment Ian opened his mouth to tell another one of those weird Gallagher stories. She just couldn't imagine Mickey simply being friends with someone — hell, she couldn't even imagine him liking Ian enough to even talk to him. It was a fucked up thing to say but everything she knew about Mickey told her so.

Ian didn't seem gay — you probably wouldn't figure it out until he out-right told you or made out with a guy in front of your eyes; but if you knew him, you'd know he was also sensitive and soft in a weird human way, not just in the stereotypical homosexual way. He was different in a good way, understanding things Lip, for example, or any other guy, simply wouldn't be able to.

Ian was just genuinely different. He was a different type of man from the other Southside douchebags — he was different from his own brother who he always compared himself to.

But she couldn't see that sort of personality working well with Mickey, who was mostly just the exact opposite.

Ian was simply just Ian, and Mickey was akin to an antonym.

And she could definitely see Ian falling in love with Mickey, trying hard to figure him out, crack open his hard, rough, and calloused shell and look deep into his soul, searching for his hidden, golden heart.

But Mandy knew Mickey (at least she thought she did but the gay thing made her genuinely wonder how much she knew after all), and she knew her brother wasn't the 'baddest', meanest asshole on this side of the Chicago river, but he most certainly wasn't far from it. He was crude, brash, rude, and violent, all of the greatest qualities a Milkovich could possess — he was Terry's pride and joy, his prodigy son who'd definitely go places. In Terry's mind going places meant either running drug ops or serving time in federal prison for murder — in Mandy's mind, Mickey's too probably, that was nothing but a wasted life. But Mickey had never trailed off of the path Terry had drawn for him. He never stopped following in his footsteps.

Mandy knew he couldn't, not really. Just like she couldn't stop Terry when he walked into her room drunk some nights, doing something to her she tried to pretend wasn't a big deal, that it didn't matter — but she could hope that her brother, the one closest to her age, the one she liked the most, the one she looked up to more than she wished to, would be the one who made it out of this hell hole. Would make it out and go somewhere new, somewhere where he could learn to love a man beyond just fucking, learn to treat him better than he was treating Ian — better than Mandy knew he was treating him.

She knew Ian's heart was fragile, torn apart by so many awful, creepy men who wanted him for nothing more but his body. He didn't need that from Mickey too — Mickey who had already said it once; Mickey who would not hesitate to beat the redheaded boy up for even mentioning the word gay in his presence, in context to Mickey or not.

Ian deserved better.

Mickey did too.

Mandy glanced through the Kash 'n Grab window, making sure to stay inconspicuous and subtle as she observed what was happening inside the store. She had come here for a reason — she needed to see it again, confirm it with her own eyes; confirm that her eyes hadn't deceived her that day in the kitchen; that Ian and Mickey have truly been 'together' all this time.

She also needed to find the strength to confront them, simply stop pussying out each time she thought about opening her mouth to tell Ian she knew, to tell Mickey his secret was safe with her — whenever she tried to confront Ian and warn him about Mickey, the man she knew he was, and whenever she tried to confront Mickey and warn him about Ian, and what type of man she knew his heart couldn't handle, that type being Mickey — she just couldn't.

Through the dirty windowpane, Mandy saw Mickey sitting on a stool, flipping through the pages of a magazine — she guessed it had something to do with guns or naked chicks, considering how most of Mickey's reading material usually did. His gaze was turned downwards, his security vest wrinkled against his oddly clean shirt — he had been taking showers lately. Mandy wondered if it was because of Ian who was behind the cash register. Mandy wondered how they still hadn't noticed her — it wasn't as if the posters hung on the window next to the store's entrance were much use for a good hiding spot. Nevertheless, she was thankful for the coverage — at least it wasn't obvious she was stalking.

Still, Ian's eyes weren't focused on a magazine or a textbook or even her spying through the glass — those beautiful green orbs were focused solely on Mickey, inspecting his face and body, not even in a sexual way; it was simply just Ian memorizing every single line of Mickey's bruised-up, scowl-etched face. He was gazing softly at him, a look she had seen one too many times on Ian, whether it was when he was describing an amazing night he had spent with his mystery man to Mandy, or simply describing how much progress the two of them were making — how real it was becoming. How sweet his lover was.

Mandy knew Mickey was anything but sweet.

She guessed love made people think and do crazy things. Things a sane person with a clear mind wouldn't even think of doing. She blamed it all on the weird hormones the body produced when you were supposedly in love — they made the brain fuzzy, filling it to the brim with just thoughts about him and him and him.

That's what she felt like with Lip. That's what she didn't want to feel with Lip because it was what he felt with Karen.

Love was an interesting thing.

It was obviously very much incompetently blind.

Mandy was snapped out of her daze when Mickey's eyes caught Ian's from across the store.

Mandy held her breath, expecting Mickey to snap, to yell at Ian like she imagined he had so many times before this one. She was waiting to see, up close in person, how Mickey would manage to shatter another piece of Ian's heart, all until there was nothing more to break. When she saw his lips move inaudibly, she focused her gaze on Ian's face, instead, not wanting to see the angry expression, sometimes so akin to Terry's. But Ian's face didn't fall; it didn't turn his soft gaze and even softer smile into an expression so hurt it was painful to look at it — instead, he lit up.

But it was when Mickey smiled back that she realized how stupid she really was. Iggy had nothing on her, really — she was as dumb as they could get.

Mickey's smile was not just a smile -- it was a full-blown grin, wider than she'd ever seen on his young, yet unbelievably grumpy face, stretching impossibly on his face, white, slightly crooked teeth glinting in the summer glow. It was absolutely beautiful. Mandy had never, in her entire life — perhaps not since they were little kids, still not aware of the big bad world — seen him smile so brightly, his face lighting up more than Ian's. That was when Mandy remembered the small smiles Mickey had been sporting this entire time, when he was deep in thought at the kitchen table, thinking nobody was looking; or when he was texting somebody with his newest burner phone, covering genuine laughs by pouring beer down his throat, then smiling some more.

Mickey didn't stop smiling; not as he nodded towards the door, eyes still locked on Ian's, making Mandy's eyes widen; not when Ian was jumping out of his seat to, Mandy presumed, lock the door so they wouldn't be interrupted; not when Mandy, while fleeing away from the window so she wouldn't be caught, saw out of the corner of her eye, Ian pushing Mickey deeper into the store, their lips pressed carelessly against each other.

The smile ingrained itself into Mandy's brain, and she knew it would become a memory she wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.

Her entire perception of what Ian and Mickey supposedly were suddenly shifted. She could see it now — she could finally imagine the stories Ian had told her, she could imagine the two of them just kind of working together, opposing personalities and all — she finally thought she actually managed to figure it out.

Maybe it wasn't just Ian being in love with Mickey.

Maybe it was Mickey being in love with Ian too.

When Mandy tried to ask Lip about Ian and his mystery boyfriend, trying to determine if he knew who it was, she wasn't surprised when he didn't tell her, when he didn't even try to make decent, languid conversation with her, his fucking girlfriend.

"It's kind of, um, brother stuff, you know? I can't just tell you." He said absentmindedly as he ran his fingers through the pages a book he had stolen from a nearby bookstore — something random and unimportant that he read instead of college applications — and she hoped, for a few moments, that he would tell her something more. That Lip would trust her enough to let her in on some small part of the secret — would tell her whether he knew who the guy even was.

He didn't.

Mandy wondered if Ian told Mickey more; if he let Mickey in on all of his family's biggest secrets. She wondered if they talked about Lip and Mandy and what a shitshow they were; if they laughed at them — at Mandy — for trying so hard when Lip didn't even care.

Mandy didn't know the answer, but she knew that the answer didn't even matter — Lip had never smiled at her the way Mickey smiled at Ian.

That was all she really needed to know.

The rest of the summer was a blur of messy pregnancies, even messier breakups, and crazy weddings — Mandy didn't even know how shit had hit the fan so soon.

When Ian came to say goodbye, Mandy tried to stop him; she tried to tell him about the smile she saw, about the Gallagher-Milkovich theory she had — how she believed that, although he and Mandy would have been soulmates in some faraway universe, he was Mickey's soulmate in this one, wedding and unborn baby be damned.

She said nothing, though.

She pretended not to have known all along.

Mandy had thought, before she knew some part of the truth, that Mickey was the type of man who would never cry. That he was like Terry that way — hard as a rock, emotionless.

She had seen his smile. The smile that helped her understand — helped her realize the sad truth.

The sad truth that Mickey was in love, no matter how hard he tried to deny it. That she had never seen him smile as bright as he did that day. That he had never seemed more relaxed than he did that one afternoon in the kitchen, running his fingers over Ian's body so gently, staking his claim with softly whispered words. That she had seen Ian gaze softly back at him. Laugh with him. That she had witnessed, unaware, Ian cracking open Mickey's hard exterior, pushing his walls down so hard that they probably wouldn't come back up no matter how hard Mickey pushed.

She had been so consumed with Lip and Karen, with her own love — unrequited as it was — that she missed the one that mattered; the one that she could have helped flourish if she had tried, instead of putting all her efforts into Lip who didn't even care. Perhaps she could have stopped Mickey from sleeping with that whore and knocking her up; perhaps she could have told him what she wanted to tell Ian weeks later; perhaps she could have stopped the wedding.

But she didn't.

As Ian stepped outside and hugged Mandy goodbye, apologizing for not telling her sooner and having her find out the way she did, promising her that if he could he would have told her from the start, she understood that they had all made choices they now wished they hadn't.

What was life if not a series of choices, whether they be as simple as choosing breakfast, or as complicated as telling someone the truth? And you could choose every single one of the choices presented to you — if you thought you couldn't, you'd just taken the easy way out. She wondered what would have happened if they had the balls to choose the things that mattered to them, and stopped caring about what the world forced them to believe was right and wrong. All she did was wonder.

They could have all done different things. What they couldn't do is change it now.

She told Mickey he was a pussy. It was like looking in a mirror.

She pretended not to hear him cry that night, as she held back her own tears, afraid, so afraid, that she had lost somebody so close to her, somebody who understood, somebody who cared — Ian wasn't coming back, was he? Ian was long gone, on a bus to base camp, ready to get shipped off to some unknown place where he'd probably die within a second of stepping on the battlefield.

He could've chosen to stay and fight on this one.

He didn't.

Milkoviches and Gallaghers mixed, somehow attracted to each other like magnets — but perhaps they simply mixed with Ian Gallagher the best. Maybe Milkoviches and Gallaghers were just all doomed to fail. Mandy didn't cry over Lip, although she knew she would eventually.

But she cried over her best friend.

Mandy knew Mickey was doing the same.

All this time, Mandy was sure Mickey would break Ian Gallagher's heart.

She just didn't know Ian would end up breaking Mickey's too.

#gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey #mandy milkovich #Lip Gallagher #mandy and lip #outsider pov #fan fic #gallavich fan fic #based on a prompt #based on an ask #answered #Shameless US #shameless fic #gallavich questions

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marygaby25 · 3 years

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I know I'll most likely be hated for what I'm about to say, but I've been holding this in for a while. It's my opinion, my judgement sure Marvel and most don't care what I think.

The time has come when I'm going to get this out that I've been holding back for years, although I probably already have an idea of what I think about Sharon, Steve and the UCM, not that I've been holding back.

The mistreatment of Sharon by the writers, directors and screenwriters is horrible. Aside from that, the things she does somehow try not to be recognized; because they are incapable of having multiple women shine at the same time. Not to mention, Steve in the MCU is a selfish jerk. I'll talk about Sharon first because my blog revolves around her; not because Steve's behavior towards the other characters is any less objectionable

Sharon grew up listening to Captain America stories. Steve and Peggy inspired her to become part of SHIELD was driven by ideals of Justice, Loyalty, kindness and solidarity that Steve supposedly represents. Her values match his. So how painful it must be that for a character who from his first appearance helped, protected and supported Steve, to receive betrayal,indifference and abandonment from Steve.

Let's start breaking down Steve's behavior towards Sharon. In the beginning he treats her great because he thinks she is Kate,the cute nurse. Steve gets sarcastic when he finds out she is a SHIELD agent, never mind that her mission was to protect him, I can understand that he hates deception to some extent. Now I'll leave this question is this the worst thing that's ever been done to Steve, was it so bad that Sharon protected him?

Now let's go a quick recap of "Civil War" Sharon gives him words of encouragement, supports, helps and betrays the CIA for helping Steve, Sam and Bucky. Sharon teamed up with Tony and Natasha to control Bucky and outwitted the CIA to steal the equipment, but is not able according to Steve (writers) to help them in the airport battle. Of course! I forget there were already two women on each side, impossible for Sharon to have a space or help the strategy. It makes more sense for Steve to leave her alone and just warn her of the obvious, that they will come for her.

Oh, I forget.

He gave her a "thank you" kiss or so some Steve and steggy fans say (I'm not generalizing). I wonder does that make it any less cruel? to me it's no, even worse, he just gave her illusions that he loved her when he didn't. The least you can do if you feel indebted is not to give the person illusions by kissing them.

In Infinity war he abandons her for 2 years while he was with a team where very well his skills may be useful, he also forgets her in endgame for 5 years. If that's not bad it gets even worse, when he knew she was back he didn't seek forgiveness from her, nor did he say goodbye before he left. He simply left her behind.

What many will think now is that I am hurt because my shipp was not canon, but I am not as childish and toxic, as some who wished death to an actress or threatened her.I always talk about what they did to Sharon, but let's talk about that most of Steve's friendships and how he behaved with them. from those relationships I can only conclude is that Steve was selfish or was a good liar pretending that he cared about the people in his present.

I will bring other characters as an example or proof of what I am telling you

Sam: accompanies him to battles because he believes in him, helps him look for his friend who tries to kill him every time he ran into him, advises him and gives him support in his difficult moments. What is Steve's attitude? He leaves him the weight of his legacy without being his guide or showing his support for him in a public way, he didn't help his family during the snap years knowing they were alone; he didn't even care to find out through Sam or other means that they existed. Don't you think it made more sense to help Sam's family, than to be in a support group to supposedly honor him.

Bucky: If I feel that with Sam he behaved badly, imagine with Bucky. Steve left his soul brother (who he goes against the law for) alone in the present knowing that waking up out of time is a trauma, add to that what hydra did to him (not counting the five years of endgame). For those who say that Barnes had T'challa, the wakandan person or cap's team in civil war let's remember that supposedly Steve, was devastated because there was no one left from his past and also that it's not like he was friends with all of them. Bucky who always took care of him, helped him, protected him and was his brother was not worth as much as Peggy.

Natasha: His friend, ally and partner. Another person who also betrayed the government for him. She supported him with Bucky and cared about him. What did Steve do? He left her alone to lead the Avengers with the guilt that was overtaking her for losing to Thanos.

Wanda: The "little girl" (ha, let me laugh at the civil war scene). Wanda in two years is already a grown woman who overcame the traumas she had of being trapped with a bomb as a child, losing her parents, being used by HYDRA and who lost her brother. Steve left her alone with the trauma of killing the only person she loved and saw come back to life only to watch him get killed. Steve didn't help her through that pain. great Steve!

Tony: Steve judged Tony without knowing him (the scene in Avengers when he tells him he's not a hero and is just looking for attention). Tony's every attempt to help or protect the world only criticized him without taking into account the intention (that's not to say that Tony is a saint). He becomes your friend and hides the death of his parents to protect your stability and let's say Bucky. In endgame the first thing he asks is about his confrontation with Thanos, he doesn't ask him how he is. When Tony has his family seeks him out and lets him go on the mission, he promises him that nothing will be at risk (I admit it was impossible to know what was going to happen, but someone consciously tells him not to go). Add to this that he doesn't even look for Morgan and Pepper.

Clint and Thor: his friends and comrades-in-arms who lost everything (supposedly Steve knows how it feels), but never gives him words of encouragement or comfort

Yes, the MCU not only mistreated Sharon, it also destroyed Steve. That's why the MCU Steve is not even close to the one in the comics and sometimes I feel sorry for the MCU Steve because they didn't make him like that.

That's right Sharon was not the only one affected by this selfish version of Steve, also his companions and friendships.

#sharoncarter #agent 13 #sharon carter #marvel #ucm #mcu #steve rogers #captain america

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday Thursday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (side pairings Morcia, WillxJJ, others in flirtation)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: Now posted on tumblr and Ao3, Click Here

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: This is pretty tame, Emily is just a little intense and eager because Spencer is... well, Spencer, and when she realizes all he can do? Oh she is chomping at the bit. Some trance-like things and witchy stuff and Hotch being territorial without being able to admit it.)

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: this takes place in chapter 02, what you will all see on Saturday evening, and this version is insanely unpolished (I’m about to go through and fix it up and give it a good make-over) but basically this is the first time Spencer is meeting Emily Prentiss and it makes... an impression. Also, Emily has been at the BAU for about 0.2 seconds and Hotch is already done with her. The sibling energy I love to see. It’s also hella long, as an apology for missing last week and being a day late. All you’ve missed is Spencer about ran into Emily turning a corner and she saved him from spilling his case files and coffee all over the floor. Now they are talking)

–

“I apologize, I thought you were an intern or still in the academy.”

“It’s alright, everyone does,” Spencer says without taking offense. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was or lasted very long if he did; however, if he had a nickel for every time someone had been surprised by his age, he’d be as rich as Father Rossi. His full hands actually aids him as he mentions, “I don’t usually shake hands with people, so don’t think me rude. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” He offers her a smile in exchange, and it is mirrored on her face just as her surprise kicks up another notch.

“Doctor, my my I am in for a trip on this team, aren’t I?” she laughs, and it’s a melodic thing that stretches over an expanse of time and history. Ballrooms in Russia and palors of France, Elizabethan and the roaring 20’s and everything in between all rolled into one. He’s not sure how he sees it, an impossible thing, but he can read it like a book and that must have something to do with what she is. “Emily Prentiss, it is a remarkable pleasure to meet you Dr. Reid. Now, I have to ask--” her tone is so charming and playful and probing he barely notices the nuance, “And I’m sure it’s taboo around here, but I have to know -- your regeneration process. Tell me what it is or what you do. You look so young.”

“I am young,” he states simply, finally stunned by a question he’s not usually asked.

“Yes, yes, we all can’t be a thousand years old like your fearless Vampire leader,” she waves off and Spencer’s eyes widen because… he hadn’t known Hotch was that old. Sure he’d said he’d been alive for the better part of a millennia, but he always said it like a hyperbole. A turn of phrase that’s off by a couple centuries. But --

A thousand years old.

That would put him…

God, that would put him alive, as a human, just before the start of The Crusades.

“Oh, did he keep that to himself? Oops, my bad. Pretend you don’t know. Anyway -- so are you a Shifter? Or use a particular spell? Oh, or is it a curse? I’m fascinated by curses, I don’t use them often myself but the rigidity of terms using a power so chaotic is just such a fun juxtaposition that I--”

“No, no, I’m… normal, human,” Spencer interrupts her, still the smallest bit shell-shocked, but now connects a few dots himself as she speaks. Realizes very suddenly that Ms. Prentiss appears ageless because she is ageless. She’s also a Witch. One of the broadest terms for subspecies categories, which really doesn’t do it justice. A Witch could be a number of things. Someone who uses magic and science and the very Earth itself paired with the spiritual planes to do impossible things. Witches are beings so powerful they should be uncategorizable. Something Spencer is fascinated by as well. He’s never met anyone like Emily. “I look young because I am young. I’m 27, I’ve only been with the BAU for the past three years. I’m a little excited to not be the newbie on the team any more,” he tries to joke, but Emily’s gaze has gone distant and sharp all at once.

“You’re only 27? And you’re a doctor?” She asks in clarification, Spencer nodding along each time. “You’ve been a doctor, since becoming an FBI agent?”

“Um, well -- I’m not a medical doctor. I do have three doctorates, though; in mathematics, chemistry, and engineering,” he finds himself shrinking a bit under her intensely interested gaze. “What?”

“Chemistry?” she asks, vaguely more distant.

“That was my first doctorate,” he murmurs back, not sure what has her looking so contemplative.

“You’ve achieved all of this: three doctorates, FBI agent, BAU -- in 27 years?” she questions, a grave yet wondrous sound.

“Technically I did all of that in 15 years. I graduated high school when I was 12,” he manages to do more than mumble, and Emily’s wide-eyed stare has him spewing forth information like it requires an explanation. “I have an eidetic memory, and I can read 20,000 words a minute, and my IQ is 187 so by human standards yes -- I’m a genius, and borderline on the advanced brain developments scale. But I’m still human. Nothing paranormal or extraordinary.”

The pause that follows is palpable.

“Oh,” she says in an exhale, “Oh, you young soul. You have no idea, do you? What you are capable of...” She tilts her head as she steps closer and Spencer is very suddenly aware that he’s not sure she’s blinked since they started speaking about his qualifications. What he can do, how he got to where he is. No one usually shows this much interest, he makes them uncomfortable for reasons he doesn’t always understand.

Emily doesn’t look uncomfortable, she looks… hungry.

“You are so very, very extraordinary. Exceptional, really. Look at all of what you’ve accomplished with just 15 years of life.” That astonished sound again, like she can’t believe her luck--

And then she’s in his space, gaze boring into his, and Spencer can see galaxies in the depth of her eyes. His breath stolen from him and feet rooted to the floor. So he doesn’t step away as she leans just the smallest bit closer, words resonating with echoes across ages.

“Imagine what you could do with a thousand.”

“Prentiss,” the deep voice of Hotch’s monotone (edged in something vaguely aggressive, and more than a little aggravated) breaks through their moment. The trance fading like a fog from Spencer’s eyes. “No recruiting. It’s in your contract.”

“You have such a gift, it’s a shame to waste it,” Emily whispers in a rush as Hotch approaches them from down the hall. More earnest than intimidating, now.

“Prentiss!”

“Think about it,” she winks, and then turns to give Hotch a smile that’s all teeth so sharp she resembles a shark. “Oh, what a sour face. What’s wrong? Were you planning on asking him first? You snooze, you lose.”

“Conference room,” he instructs, pointing the way Spencer had just come. “Team meeting in 20 minutes. Try not to summon anything between here and there.” She sticks her tongue out at him childishly as she leaves, and sends a quirk of a smile Spencer’s direction that shifts her whole expression into something comically entertained. He’s never seen Hotch interact with someone like this, like they were… familiar, even exasperatingly so. The closest in comparison is probably Father Rossi. But this is less like old friends and more like sibling rivalry.

The space Emily had just vacated is suddenly filled with Hotch, an overwhelmingly welcomed presence and it eases the tension out of Spencer’s spine and shoulders that he hadn’t even realized was there.

“Are you okay?” he asks, low and quiet. They’re the only ones in the hallway, but secrecy is a hard habit to break.

Spencer nods, still gaining his bearings once more. “I think so. That didn’t feel like hypnotism. I don’t know what that was.”

“Prentiss doesn’t manipulate minds or the wills of other people,” Hotch tells him, which is soothing if not for the foreboding question of what just occurred. “She doesn’t need to. She can do a lot of things: change her face, her voice, make illusions and talk circles around anyone -- even you.” Spencer looks up to him at that, aware that his level of intelligence is the only thing that keeps him safe from JJ or Hotch’s influence. His mind can’t be bent, or tricked.

“Then what was she doing? I felt compelled but… not against my will. What was that?” he asks, also quiet but much more high in pitch as his confusion turns his voice to a winded sound.

Hotch’s thin, stern frown does nothing to alleviate the apprehension caught up in his chest like a bad cold.

“Possibility,” he states, grim and not liking that Spencer had fallen prey to such a short moment with Emily Prentiss and her promise of what her craft could do for him. Hotch is well aware that Spencer’s gift of soaking up every speck on information he’s given like a sponge isn’t something to let wither and die like so many before him. There’s so much he could do with an infinite life, such as his and Emily’s, but the curse of living forever alone is not something to be taken lightly. And not to be decided by someone who still has so much more life to live unaided by other forces.

However, Emily was right about one thing. Hotch can’t deny that he’s thought about it. More than considered it as a definite possibility.

An offer, all his own.

–

Tagged list so far: @physics-magic, @thaddeusly, @ssa-noa, @ssa-sarahsunshine, @tobias-hankel, @reidology, @mintphoenix

#THIS IS JUST A SNIPPET #it's a very long one as an apology for missing last week and being a day late #and also because it's COOL and I have no self control #Emily and Spencer would be a terrifying duo honestly #Also Emily and Hotch have the best sibling relationship ever #if anyone wants in on that taglist hit me up via ask or comment or rb #the story is posted! Updates on Saturday evenings #Extraordinary #HotchReid #Katyswriting #Katyswip #wip wednesday

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berrynarrybanana · 4 years

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pink lemonade

A/n: I...had a cliche moment of I wrote this and it got deleted bc my computer had a hissy fit while I was trying to find a good pic to use. All I want to say is that I spent weeks agonizing over this piece because I wasn’t sure that it was good enough and that it touched on bi!reader as much as it should. I started it out in Harry’s POV and it kind of just took off from there. This is very heavily based off a song from one of my favorite bands. It’s called pink lemonade by the wombats and it really gave me inspiration to write this whole fic and for my reader and flatmate!h. I hope that I did this justice, because as a bi woman, I know how little representation we get in media and in fics. So thank you to the beautiful @bopbopstyles and @harrysclementines for hosting a challenge that made me feel included. I really appreciate and love you both so much!

warnings: smut, drug use mention, angst, harry’s pov

word count: 4.3k+

Please enjoy and feel free to tell me what you think!

Friday Night

Harry remembers the day he met his flatmate.

She was a little shorter than him, but her personality definitely made her seem much taller. She had her hair up in a messy bun, her Rolling Stones shirt tucked in, and her jeans cuffed at the bottom. She introduced herself to him with a dazzling smile and a witty joke about being a stereotypical bisexual being. It made him laugh, pulling her into a hug (after asking her permission) because they were going to be flatmates and she needed to know he was a hugger. He didn’t want to start off on an awkward note with a person he would be spending so much time with. He suggested they order some pizza and drink wine on the floor of their living room on their first night.

Their furniture hadn’t been delivered or moved in yet, so they had to settle for putting a few of y/n’s pillows under their bums while they watched comedy specials on Harry’s laptop. A majority of their evening was spent giggling and sharing stories about their previous experiences with old girlfriends. He found it oddly comforting that the beautiful girl was a little bit different, because he had always felt that way in life. With her, he didn’t feel so alone in being different. Perhaps that was one of the things that made him fall in love with her. She was a bright, radiant soul that brought him more joy than anyone else ever had. But she could be a bit thick, sometimes.

As he watched her prance around their apartment in her tight mini-dress, he tried his best not to let her see his obvious attraction to her.

The pillow on his lap would seem obvious to just about anyone else, but not to his precious flatmate. She practically floated through life, oblivious to how people looked at her when she moved. She was like a walking porn ad, her beautiful hair and gorgeous smile nearly impossible to ignore. He tried not to focus too hard on what she was wearing, but christ, it was hard not to. Her legs looked a little longer due to the black heeled booties she’d put on and she was most definitely wearing tights with little sparkles in the fabric.

He hated seeing her dressed up like this, knowing that he wouldn’t be the one sliding his hands up her dress in the backseat of the taxi on the way home. He wouldn’t be the one gripping at her thighs while she straddled him on their shared couch. He wouldn’t be the one making her scream, unable to contain herself as he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of her. He hated that she was wearing the perfect shade of red on her lips, a shade that painted the walls of the prison cell in his own personal hell inside. He wanted to smear it off her lips with his own, kissing her until she was breathless and begging.

Instead, he flipped through the channels on the telly, pretending to pay attention.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out, Harry?” She stood in front of him, pouting her lips out as she tilted her head to the side. He shook his head as she crossed her arms, the gesture pushing her breasts up just a little. Fuck me, Harry thought. “You love going out!”

“I know, love.” He grumbled, glancing behind her as if she was in the way. “But I’m not really in the mood to party tonight and I don’t want to bring the mood down.”

“Well, I don’t feel right going out without you.” She sighed, dropping her arms to the side, causing Harry to look up at her. “Maybe I should stay home? We can order takeout and-”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “You have a date. You can’t stand him up!”

“He’s just some rando from Tinder, I really don’t care about his feelings.,H.” She snorted out a laugh, rolling those perfect eyes as he tried to fight off a smile. “I’d rather be with you if you’re feeling down.”

“Don’t give up the chance for a good time because I’m a grumpy old man.” He shook his head. “I really want you to go out.”

“Okay, okay.” She let out a heavy exhale, stepping farther away. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.” He didn’t tear his eyes away from the telly, knowing he would overshare if he actually looked at her right now.

“You didn’t even look!” She laughed around a playful groan. “Boys.”

“I’m a man, love!” He called out as she walked into the kitchen for her keys. “If you’re too drunk, call me. Don’t go home with your random tinder date and-”

“Lock the door when I’m home.” She nodded. “I know the rules, dad.”

“Please do not ever call me that again.” Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “Go, get out of here and go have some fun. Tell everyone I said hi.”

“I will!” She smiled. “Bye, roomie!”

“Bye!” He waved, his heart sinking as the door shut behind her. “Guess I’ll be having a sad wank about that later.”

Harry grumbled, sinking further into the cushions of their shared couch.

******************************************

Saturday Morning

The guy from Friday seemed to be a keeper.

He was there the next morning when Harry was making a hangover breakfast in the kitchen for his flatmate. He strutted in without a shirt or a word, reaching for a coffee cup as if he owned the place. Last time Harry checked, only two people paid rent here. Harry watched from the stove, spatula in hand as he glared at the man’s back. What a sodding prick. With a quick roll of his eyes, Harry pushed around the potatoes he’d chopped up earlier. Of course she brought him home. It had been weeks since she’d had a proper shag and it was bound to happen sooner or later. And even if Harry hated to admit it, the man standing in his kitchen gave it to her proper. Harry closed his eyes, cringing at memory of her moans melded with the banging of her headboard against the wall last night.

He hadn’t heard her moan out like that in a long time. Halfway through orgasm number two out of god knows how many, Harry shoved his headphones in and tried not to cry. He hated that someone else was making her feel so good that she was screaming the bloody walls down. He wanted to sink into her, to have her screaming out his name instead. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not even in his dreams could he have her, always cutting off right around the time his hands landed on her hips.

“Oh, didn’t see you there, mate.” The guy turned around. “M’Alfie.”

“Harry.” He grumbled, reaching up to the heat down. “Y/N’s roommate.”

“She told me about you.” Alfie nodded. “Said you’re a right laugh when you’re drinking.”

“Did she now?” Harry hummed as if he was actually interested in the conversation.

“Shame you didn’t come out with us.” Alfie said. “Y/N was a fucking animal. Have you ever had sex with her? I mean she’s amazing when she’s high.”

Harry wanted to vomit.

This guy was a total prick.

“Yeah, what a shame.” Harry cleared his throat, glancing over at Alfie. “When Y/N wakes up, let her know that breakfast is here. She’s going to want two pieces of toast with butter.”

“I will tell her.” Alfie sipped out of the bright pink mug and Harry’s face grew hot. That was his mug, the one that Y/N got him for Christmas last year. The little lamb on the front with a comical smile was mocking him now. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m stellar.”

Harry stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall.

He nearly made it to his door when she stumbled out of her bedroom.

“Morning, Harry.” She yawned before smiling at her roommate.

He didn’t respond, ducking past her and into his bedroom.

Maybe he didn’t really know the girl he loved after all.

*******************************

Another Magical Friday Night

Alfie, as it turns out, wasn’t a keeper.

During their second escapade, Alfie shouting to the top of his lungs pulled Harry out of his half-asleep state. His heart sank and his blood ran cold as he sprinted out of his bedroom to Y/N’s. When he got there, Alfie was storming out of her bedroom, half dressed with a red face. Harry stood in Y/N’s doorway, avoiding her gaze as she struggled to put a t-shirt on. After a few moments, Harry couldn’t stand to hear her soft whimpers and loud sniffles. He tore his own shirt off, walking over to where she was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her.

“S’alright,” He cooed, sitting down in front of her as he slipped his shirt over her head. “It’s okay, love.”

“I’m sorry we woke you up.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the column of his throat as she cried. “I know you have an early yoga class tomorrow.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He said softly, rubbing his hand over her back. “Tell me what he did?”

“He didn’t do anything.” She shook her head, pulling back as she wiped at her cheeks. “I just...Alfie dabbles a bit in drugs and I tried some with him last week, but I didn’t like it. I told him I didn’t want to do it again and he called me a whore and a tease.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he watched his best friend hiccup, swiping under her eyes again.

“You are not a whore.” Harry reached up, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, demanding her attention. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you need to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Thank you.” She sniffled. “Sleep with me tonight?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s go to my room instead, okay?”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t sleep in her bed right now.

Not after Alfie had been in it.

“Okay.” She gave him a wavering smile. “Thank you, H.”

“Anytime.”

Harry held her that night, his heart pounding against his chest as she cuddled into him.

As he drifted off, he mumbled out loud, “This must be what heaven feels like.”

He hoped she didn’t hear him.

****************************

Harry decided that if Y/N was going out this Friday, he was too.

He couldn’t stand the thought of her going out without him by her side after last week’s incident with Alfie. There was no Tinder date for her to meet up with, just Harry and a few other friends who wanted to have a good time. They got ready in their shared bathroom together, pre-gaming with whatever they had left as they sang loudly to Harry’s pre-game playlist. When she spritzed her perfume over her neck, Harry’s mouth started to water.

The warm vanilla and citrus hybrid was damn near a love potion to him.

“Alright,” She nodded, giving herself a once over in the mirror. “I’m ready.”

“You look perfect.” He smiled, trailing his eyes up from her vegan, leather combat boots to her black skinny jeans, finally settling on the lacy bodysuit that she had recently purchased. “S’a bit like lingerie, innit it?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders, pursuing her lips as Harry looked at her eyes. “But it’s nice and light and extremely sexy.”

“One of those nights?” Harry’s brows quirked up and he forced a little smirk to settle on his lips as she nodded. “Good, you deserve a bit of fun.”

And he actually meant it, this time.

She did deserve to have a little fun after Alfie

He could suck it up for one night if the girl he loved would be happy at the end of it.

“I do.” She giggled, reaching down to grab the bottle of tequila set on the bathroom countertop, wiggling it around. “One more shot for good luck?”

“Pour it up.”

*****************************

Harry bucked his hips up as the girl above him rolled her hips over his denim clad cock.

This time, he brought someone home.

Granted, Y/N brought someone home as well, he now had a distraction to keep his mind busy and his cock wet while his flatmate got off. The girl he’d met at the club was so sweet, her hazel eyes enticing him the moment his gaze met hers. Her lips were so soft and they tasted like strawberries. He wondered what Y/N tasted like? They were normally covered in gloss when she went out, shiny and peachy. Did her lips taste like peach? Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the girl dug her nails into his stomach.

“Can I take your pants off?” She asked, timid and soft. Nothing like Y/N demanding the naughtiest of things on the other side of the wall. “I’m ready to...I want to ride you.”

“Okay, yeah.” Harry opened his eyes, sitting up as he wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a few soft kisses over her jaw before catching her mouth in his. “Just a second, love.”

“You’re sweet.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, swinging her leg over his thighs as he reached for his buttons.

“Fuck, yes!”

Harry rolled his eyes, fumbling with the zipper on his trousers as the girl next to him slapped her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“She’s loud.” She giggled, reaching down to start working on her heels.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “I’m really sorry about that. I...I didn’t know she would be bringing someone-”

“Right there, y/n! Yes baby yes!”

“Jesus.” He let out a huff, reaching his hand up to tap the wall with his fist. “Oi, other people are trying to have fun here.”

“Oh my god.” The girl tossed her head back, barking out a laugh. “You don’t have to do that, it’s fine.”

“Sorry, H.” Y/N called back. “We’ll keep it down.”

“I just don’t want to ruin the mood for us.” He shuffled out of his jeans and boxers, tossing them to the side before he looked back at her.

“I’m okay.” She climbed on top of him again, her shoes now tossed aside and her dress hiked up to her hips. “I really, really don’t care about anything else but fucking you right now.”

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks were surely tinged pink as she gripped his cock in her hand, stroking up with gentle movements. “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Good.” She leaned forward, pressing her free hand to his shoulder. He fell back onto the mattress, dropping his hands to her thighs. “I promise I’m gonna make you cum so hard, you won’t even know there’s anyone else in the world besides me.”

Harry dropped his head back, digging his nails into her thighs as she lined herself up with his cock. It had been so long since he’d fucked anyone, his emotions for Y/N a huge cock-block that he couldn’t seem to shake. Other girls just didn’t do it for him anymore. But tonight, the alcohol in his veins and the vision of Y/N nearly fingering some girl in the back of the club reminded him that he was free to fuck whoever he wanted, despite his love for Y/N.

“Y/N!”

Harry let out a heavy sigh through his nose, the sound of Y/N’s one night stand screaming making the fire in his belly dim just a little. He didn’t even care that his own girl was sinking onto his cock, soaking wet and tight like a vice. He barely even remembered that she was on top of him until she moaned his name out.

He opened his eyes, watching her face contort as she settled onto his thighs.

“You’re huge.” She whispered, tilting her head back. “I swear I’ve never had...never had someone so big, fuck.”

“Yeah?” He licked over his bottom lip, sliding a palm up to her belly. “Feel me there?”

“Mhm.” She whimpered, gripping onto his wrist. “M’so full.”

“Y/N, please let me cum.”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, reaching his hands up to rub over his face.

“Are they bothering you?” The girl asked softly, lifting off of his cock. “Because it seems like they are.”

“A little, yeah.” Harry nodded, wincing as his cock slapped against his stomach. “I’m really sorry, it’s not that you aren’t amazing-”

“I get it, it’s okay.” She fell next to him as his cock started to soften. “I would be kind of wigged out if my roommate was fucking while I was too.”

“She does this every Friday night.” Harry said. “And...not to continue ruining whatever we had going between us, but I’m kind of in love with her.”

“Oh.” The girl whispered. “That would really turn me off.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And I was trying to have fun for once, you know? Because she seems to go about life oblivious to my feelings and I’m stuck pining for her while she’s fucking whoever she wants to.”

“Do you think she knows that you like her?” His date asked.

“I don’t know, probably not.” He mumbled, turning his head to look at her. “You don’t have to listen to me moan on about it, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” She turned on her side, pressing her palm to his chest. “I have a feeling you haven’t talked to anyone about this and it’s not very healthy to keep things bottled up.”

“You’re right about that.” Harry smiled. “You know, I have a friend who would absolutely adore you.”

“Is it Y/N?” She giggled. “Because I don’t swing that way.”

“Oi, you think I’d let you shag the girl I just told you I’m in love with?” He laughed, his brows crinkling together as he reached over to pinch her hip. “It’s not her.”

“Good.” She laughed with Harry, sliding closer to him. “Would it be weird if I stay?”

“No,” He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do after wasting your time.”

“And...what about a cuddle?” She asked. “Because I do enjoy a good cuddle session.”

“I can deal with that, I think.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. “Thank you.”

*****************************

The next morning, Harry was livid.

He sent his date, Halle was her name, off with a sweet kiss and a coffee to-go. Maybe in another life, she would have been perfect for him. A soft, sweet girl with kind eyes and a willingness to listen to him. Unfortunately for him, he was too far up his obnoxious flatmate’s ass to see anyone else. And even if it made things awkward between them, he had to tell her how he felt. There was no way he could keep going on like this if there was a way to prevent it.

“Good morning,” She chirped, her hand linked with the girl she brought home last night. “Are we having breakfast?”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want.” Harry snapped, taking his coffee mug and his breakfast plate from the counter. “I don’t care.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped and the girl’s eyes grew wide.

Harry didn’t say another word, walking past the two girls.

He hated being a dick, but lashing out made him feel the tiniest bit better about what happened last night. He pushed his bedroom door open with his hip, settling back into bed as he flicked through his options on Netflix. He wasn’t even thinking of Y/N, his mind struggling to remember whether or not he’d seen the last episode of the Great British Bake-Off. When he realized that he hadn’t, clicking on the title to start the episode, his bedroom door flew open and his roommate stormed in.

“Fuck you!” She snapped, reaching for his remote, standing in front of his bed with a scowl on her perfect lips. “I don’t know who pissed in your cheerios this morning, but you don’t get to talk to me like that! Especially not in front of guests.”

“Okay.” Harry shrugged. “Can I have my remote-”

“No, you can’t!” She shouted, tossing her hands up as she let out a noise crossed between a groan and a growl. “What’s your deal?”

“I haven’t exactly finished my coffee, love.” Harry was trying not to relish in the sight of his roommate frustrated and adorable. The feeling she was experiencing now was a fraction of what he felt every time he heard her through the wall. “Maybe come back later?”

“Are you upset because I fucked someone last night and you didn’t?” Her brows shot up. “I know you didn’t cum last night and neither did the girl you brought home. Are you mad because you’re shit in bed?”

“Maybe we were quiet. You know, decent and considerate of other people,” The smile he gave her was sarcastic. “Or maybe- and this is a good one- maybe, I had a girl sitting on my cock, ready to fuck me so bloody good I would cry, but I couldn’t let her because all I could think about was how much I love you. ”

“What?” She asked, her mouth falling ajar.

“Maybe when I was kissing her at the club, I was thinking about kissing you.” He set his coffee mug down on his nightstand, continuing on. “And maybe when I had my fingers in her cunt, I was thinking about you. And maybe, just maybe, every time you fuck someone so loud that it keeps me up at night, I wish it was me instead.”

She didn’t say anything, watching as Harry moved forward. He snagged the remote from her hand, proud of his little confession. He turned the show back on, ignoring his roommate as she stood there with her eyes wide. He smirked, crossing his legs before he settled his hand on his stomach.

“You process that and I’m just gonna watch Noel and Paul bicker.” Harry said.

“You’re an asshole.” She whispered. “You...you can’t just be upset with me because I didn’t know that you liked me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” He said. “I’m a little upset that I was trying to have a good time for once and you ruined it with you and your girl’s pornstar moaning, but I’m not upset with you. That would be extremely unfair of me.”

“Why have you never said anything?” She cleared her throat, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized shirt. “We’ve been roommates for years, Harry.”

“Because I love you as a friend, too.” He started. “I didn’t want to risk it.”

“And now?” She squeaked out. “You’re willing to risk it now?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m tired of wishing that it was me on the other side of this wall, Y/N. So...take some time to think about what I said and let me know if you’d be willing to give it a try. No hard feelings if you don’t want the same thing, I completely understand and I’ll respect your choice either way. We’ll just have to work out some arrangement where you let me know when you have someone-”

“I want to try.” She said quickly, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Because I really like you, Harry. Like, the only reason I’ve brought so many people back home with me is because I couldn’t have you. I knew that there was no way in hell you would like a girl like me. I’m obnoxious and boisterous and just...I didn’t think I was your type.”

“You’re kidding?” His brows shot up. “You thought...oh my god, we’re both bloody idiots.”

“You’re telling me.” She laughed, falling on her ass in front of him. “This whole time I’ve been fucking people that loudly to make you jealous and the entire time you’ve been listening, imaging it was you?”

“I guess so.” He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I guess that leaves us with two options.”

“And what might those be?” She asked, a soft smile settling on her lips.

“I take you out for brunch, maybe a nice walk in the park, and then I bring you home and fuck you so hard you won’t even remember the orgasms you had last night.” He lifted one finger up, smiling as he watched her inhale sharply. “Or option two, I fuck you now and we go to brunch later?”

“Wouldn’t it just be lunch by then?” She tilted her head to the side, playfully narrowing her eyes at him. “I mean...that defeats the purpose, yeah?”

“Really, that’s-” Harry let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re missing the point.”

“I’m not.” She leaned forward, sliding her hands over his thighs. “I see it clear as day.”

“And what does your heart tell you to do?” He licked over his bottom lip as she moved closer, her nose nearly bumping against his.

“To take you up on option two.” She whispered. “Because it’s really not fair that I came five times last night and you didn’t come, not even once.”

“Fuck.” Harry sputtered out as she brushed her lips over his. “Kiss me?”

She pressed her lips into his, moving his body back onto his pillows. She moved over him, straddling his thighs as she deepened the kiss. When her tongue slipped over his bottom lip, his mouth fell open in response. His hands fell to her hips, digging into the soft flesh as his mind tried to catch up. The girl of his dreams was sitting on his lap, in his bed, and she wanted him. She wanted him just as bad as he wanted her. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, sure that he was just a fever dream or a nightmare that he would wake up from any second. But he was brought back to reality when her tongue slipped over his.

And at that moment, Harry knew he was right.

She did taste like peach.

#hsbificathon

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fantasia-monogram · 3 years

Text

As the clock strikes midnight, part 2

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / epilogue

♥️ Taeyang x reader (nonbinary, female anatomy) x Jaeyoon; mentions of other SF9 members

♥️ NSFW (~1.7k words); a lot of sex talk and kink negotiation. Mentions of BDSM and kink. No one is 100% straight. Mentions of queerphobia.

♥️ You’re a beast at work, having to be tough to climb up the corporate ladder, but what you never thought of is that your attitude might be intimidating to your long time crush. Luckily, your much more laid back friend is here to help... both of you. Please read part 1 before this!

♥️ Disclaimer: this is just for fun! I’m not claiming that’s how they are in real life, it’s just my imagination doing whatever it wants. Read at your own discretion.

Your impromptu get-together had been going for over two hours already, and you’d loved every minute of it so far. Your motivation had been mostly spending some time with Taeyang away from the workplace, but you had to admit: your other companion’s intentions towards you weren’t clear either. You enjoyed the mystery of it all, even though it was the youngest of your trio that you had your eyes on ever since the training period started.

Well, the mystery would end there, or so you thought.

“I can’t believe I put myself in a drama-like setting, but,” Jaeyoon started, clearly down out of sudden, “That guy reviewing our results… What was his name? Inseong… I might have a bit of a crush on him.”

You stopped in the middle of bringing a cup to your lips, letting your hand holding the latte hang awkwardly in the air. With the corner of your eye, you could see Taeyang doing the same.

“Come on, don’t tell me that you’re…” Jaeyoon whined, shaking his head.

“No, hear me out,” you interrupted. Before you spoke again, you cautiously looked left and right to make sure no one else was listening. Only then, you continued with a hushed voice. “You know, it drives me crazy whenever they call me a she in those international reports. I’m non-binary, I prefer neutral pronouns. I don’t really have to worry about it on a daily basis, until English rolls in and makes me cringe.”

Your friend leaned closer to you.

“Not like I didn’t notice,” he concluded. A wide grin was back on his face. “Do you like boys, though?”

You could tell he was just joking, given his usual flirty attitude, and you didn’t have to answer at all. However, since you started confessing already, you figured you could take it seriously.

“I do, actually!” You nodded, smiling lightly.

You couldn’t believe you could talk about it openly like that.

“Oh, I don’t discriminate, I fuck everybody,” Jaeyoon replied in a seemingly playful tone, although being serious as well, “But right now? My heart belongs to the Quality Department leader.” He finished with a hand on his chest.

You both laughed wholeheartedly, until you noticed Taeyang was silent this entire time. Jaeyoon turned his eyes towards him, with you following shortly.

“What about you?” Jaeyoon asked boldly.

A look of slight panic flashed through Taeyang’s face, and you’d think it’s adorable if not for the crushing possibility of him having objections towards who you were - now that he knew, it could have changed anything.

You really didn’t want to have your heart broken after mere four weeks since starting a new job.

“I… I like g…” Taeyang stuttered, his gaze briefly catching yours. He held tight onto his cup of coffee and looked away, blushing profusely. “People with vaginas.”

“No way!” Jaeyoon exclaimed. Fortunately, he remembered the topic of your conversation and immediately toned it back down. “I’m sorry, I’d have never clocked you as straight.”

“Hey, stop it!” You smacked his bicep, earning an exaggerated wince from him.

Taeyang rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

“It’s fine,” he stated, putting on a regretful expression. “I get that a lot. I tried everything, but that’s my final verdict for now.”

Jaeyoon kept making inappropriate jokes despite your earlier protest, but you would be lying if you said you were listening to him. Your eyes were glued on Taeyang, even though he was way too busy deflecting your other friend’s silly remarks to pay attention to you.

It wasn't the first time Jaeyoon and Taeyang have visited your place; they've been there numerous times before, together and separately.

It was the first time, however, when they entered the apartment with all three of you feeling equally horny and not even trying to hide it.

It couldn't have been caused by the alcohol, because you haven't had any, Taeyang only had a couple sugary drinks, and Jaeyoon got completely sober as soon as the words fun night were mentioned. Nothing had been explicitly stated, but all of you - always having been open not just about your sexual identity and orientation, but also your specific attitudes towards sex in general - have reached an unspoken agreement: everyone was getting off tonight, this way or another.

You quickly decided to take turns using the bathroom. When it was Jaeyoon's turn to shower, you were left alone with Taeyang. It was a bit awkward at first, considering his confession from earlier that you barely replied to. As soon as he sat on a sofa in the living room - smelling clean, fresh glow on his face - you took a place beside him, wearing your black satin pajamas already.

Taeyang leaned back and smiled at you blissfully. Only then, he took your hand in his; after holding it for a good minute, he intertwined your fingers.

"I'm so happy," he whispered.

You really wished to answer in a coherent way, yet you couldn't possibly focus enough to be your usual, collected self - not when you finally had your long-time crush next to you, shirtless, lightly toned muscles and sharp outline of ribs on display.

Maybe you didn't want to shock him by showing this side of yourself so easily, but it was impossible at this point; your prettiest, prettiest boy was here, looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the entire universe, making your heart swell with love and desire just by that.

Not used to being so overwhelmed with emotions, you just stared back at him wide-eyed.

"Sheesh, don't tell me you started without me!"

Jaeyoon appeared in the doorway, hair still wet and adorably curled without usual styling - a contrast to his impressive physique in nearly full glory since he, as opposed to the more reserved Taeyang, decided to step out of the bathroom wearing only boxer briefs.

It's not like you hadn't seen him like this before, as you'd go to the pool together many times over the past few years (Taeyang always refused the invitation, even though he claimed to be a pro at swimming and even bragged about gold and silver medals he won in national competitions during high school). Yet somehow, this time, the sight hit differently, since you knew what was about to happen.

"No way," you chuckled; Taeyang let go of your hand, which made your mood deflate a little. "Mind if we eat something first?"

Everyone was starving after the boring company party, so you all moved to the kitchen. You couldn't hide your amusement over how the apartment looked like a dollhouse when trying to contain not just you, but also two grown men. You gave up on relationships ages ago, so when looking for a place to rent, you had only your own comfort in mind.

"Okay, first of all," you started when everyone was finished with their meal, "Are we all safe? While I was still in the dating game, I was always monogamous and did regular checkups. I haven't had any partners for the past four years."

You cringed internally saying it out loud, but transparency was your number one priority.

"I never do anything without a condom," Jaeyoon stated.

As usual, Taeyang took a while before taking part in risky conversations.

"I do BDSM, but it hardly ever involved actual sex."

"I can confirm that." Jaeyoon smiled smugly, propping his chin on his hand.

Your eyes went comically wide at the implication.

"Wait, what did I miss?! I thought you liked, in your words, people with vaginas?" You gasped, blood rushing to your cheeks.

Taeyang's face turned equally red, except he decided to cover it with his hand.

"Y/n, dear, he said that three and a half years ago," your friend explained.

"Jaeyoon hyung had his part in my awakening as a submissive," Taeyang added, finally daring to look at you, "There was nothing sexual about it."

"Except for the fact I watched you jerk off," the hyung in question clarified.

"HEY!" The other guy got flushed again.

You swallowed heavily, feeling your throat get dry all of sudden. Oh my God. You could barely sit still at this point.

"We both like to watch," Jaeyoon concluded casually.

"So… Wait a minute," you picked up, your head spinning from the information overload, "If I understand it correctly: Taeyang, you're a sub. Jaeyoon, we're both Doms."

The guys nodded in unison.

"We're all into voyeurism."

Again, they confirmed with a single nod.

"I can't believe. This is too good to be true," you said weakly, shaking your head with disbelief.

"I have an idea," the older of your colleagues continued, "I don't wanna get too much inbetween you two."

Suddenly, Taeyang squeezed your hand under the table in a way that was borderline possessive.

"But since it's supposed to be enjoyable for all of us… I could get a bit touchy with Y/n… I suppose watching us would be enough to get Taeyangie ready, am I right?"

Taeyang looked to the side, his expression serious, but his body language unable to hide the excitement.

"Humiliate me a little and I'll be fine," he muttered under his breath.

He squeezed your hand even harder. You smiled at the feeling.

"I have one request for you," you turned to Jaeyoon, "No kissing on the lips, no hands in each other's underwear."

"I'm okay with that," he shrugged.

"You sure?" Taeyang asked.

"No worries, just focus on yourself," the older guy chuckled, "I'll take care of myself while watching you two have fun."

Was it happening for real? You felt like you were dreaming.

Taeyang brought you back to reality by bringing your linked hands to rest on his thigh.

"Do we… go all the way?" He inquired in a shy tone.

You took your time to inhale and exhale deeply before collecting yourself enough to answer.

"Yeah, we do."

(to be continued)

#sf9 imagine #sf9 scenario #sf9 smut #sf9 headcanon #yoo taeyang imagine #yoo taeyang scenario #yoo taeyang x reader #yoo taeyang smut #As the clock strikes midnight

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